Rugged

A True Mountain Man

Frankie Love

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Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love

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Contents

RUGGED: A True Mountain Man

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

COLD HARD CASH

HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN

SAINT JUDE

A Note From Frankie!!!!!

Also by Frankie Love

About the Author

RUGGED: A True Mountain Man

(Previously titled His Lucky Charm)

Clover is here in Ireland chasing rainbows, trying to turn her luck around.

It doesn’t take long to see that this sexy woman isn’t the end of me—she’s the beginning.

But while I have the luck of the Irish, Clover doesn’t, and getting her to open up to me is no easy task.

When she finds out the real reason I brought her to my place in the woods I know she’s going to run.

I need to find the rainbow she’s chasing before my luck runs out.

Dear Reader,

It’s your lucky day! This Irish mountain man is the complete package. Emphasis on package. This is a filthy-sweet romp in the woods that will have you looking for your good luck charm.

xo, frankie

P.S. I included my LA Bad Boys series at the end of this title because after you read RUGGED you’ll need something to cure your book hang over! LOL! Enjoy! Muah!

1

The pub is loud, hot, and full of drunken idiots––men I’ve known my whole life, but men I usually avoid. I prefer my cabin in the woods up in the Wicklow Mountains.

I’m still not quite sure why I let my brother Patrick convince me to leave my mountain tonight, except that the tour I gave today comprised of only three old men–not exactly the sort of tourists I take home with me after a day of pointing out rainbows and shamrocks. Usually, there's at least someone hot chick or cougar type, but not today. I sure wasn't going to take any of the three 60-year-old men home with me, so why stick around?

And since there’s no one on the mountain to sleep with after the tourists leave, I figured my chances of getting lucky tonight would be better if I came down to Dublin to see my brother, Patrick and my oldest friend, Sean.

I forgot how obnoxious the two of them get, though, and, just a few pints in, I figure whiskey alone in my barn would beat a night with these two dumbasses.

“So, Conor,” Patrick says. “Any plans for St. Patrick’s Day next week?”

My buddy, Sean, slaps his knee. “You know Conor’s plans. Same plans most every night. Take some unsuspecting tourist back to his place, woo them with his knowledge of the Irish countryside and get lucky.”

I shrug, knowing it’s the truth.

I raise a finger to get the three of us another round. I can hold my own, but these two are already getting pissed, and it’s gonna get ugly damn fast. I figure if I speed up the process, I can go home sooner. There’s certainly no one in the old neighborhood pub I want to sleep with.

“What are your plans, Patrick?” I ask, turning the tables. “God knows, you aren’t getting laid.” I grin and Patrick purses his lips, like the uptight prick he is.

He focuses on his work here in Dublin; he’s an accountant and takes it seriously. Too seriously. Never takes a day off, never lets loose. Unless you count drinking with your brother and his mate as letting loose––which maybe he does. Patrick has had as many hours of overtime as I have sexual conquests.

“I think coming out tonight is enough for the month.”

At this, I shake my head. “What kind Irishman are you? Whiskey for breakfast, and Guinness for dinner, that’s what our pop always said.” I elbow him. “Our mam, too.”

“But they aren’t with us, are they?” Patrick asks, raising his pint to the memory of our parents.

“Do you think they’d be proud of you, Patrick, slaving away like you do? I bet you haven’t had a real weekend in years.”

“Getting a little close to home, aren’t you?” Sean asks knowingly. He’s known my brother and me since we were wee lads. He knows that Patrick and I couldn’t be more opposite. Our parents always pointed that out as a flaw, and apparently, Sean has taken up their mantle.

“A little close to home, I suppose,” Patrick says. “But Conor, I don’t think you’re one to talk about making our parents proud.”

At that, I raise my hands in defeat. My mam always wanted me to settle down; her dying wish was that I find a wife, even gave me her wedding ring in her will.

A lot of good that’ll do me. What I really want, my parents gave to my brother: the most gorgeous stretch of land in the Wicklow Mountains. They wanted him to enjoy the countryside nearly as much as they wanted me to stop fucking around

“Another round,” Patrick says, waving the barkeep over. And this time it’s whiskey. I see his eyes clouding. Sean’s too. I have a feeling they’re not going to remember much of this tomorrow. Lucky for me, my tolerance is higher; must be because I drink more than the two of them combined.

“Me taking time off,” Patrick says, “is more likely to happen than Conor ever settling down. Hell, Conor, you can’t even stay with the same woman for a week. You’ve never had a real relationship in your life.”

“I have a different lass each night by choice, not because I can't keep her,” I tell him. “And be that as it may, you’ve never taken a week’s vacation.”

“You’re wrong,” Patrick says raising a finger, his words slurred. “In fact, I booked myself a holiday. That’s why I wanted you to come out tonight, so I could gloat about it.”

“Truly?” Sean asks. “I’ve known you since you were a boy, Patrick, and I don’t think you’ve ever stopped working.”

“That may be true,” Patrick says proudly, pulling up his travel itinerary on his phone, “But I’m taking a month-long holiday in Thailand two weeks from now.”

“I don’t believe it,” I say, laughing. “That certainly calls for another round.” The room is spinning, but I don’t care. Patrick, my straight-laced, three-piece-suit-wearing brother is going to Thailand. Even sober, that’s enough to make me fall off my stool.

“See?” Patrick says. “I am going to make our parents proud.”

“They wanted you to love Ireland, not a beach in Asia,” I say, finding this hilarious, but also realizing that he’s right. He is making our parents proud with this choice.

“Hey, it may not be perfect, but it’s a start. And it’s a better start than you, Conor.”

“He’s right, Conor, you have some work to do,” Sean says, slapping his knee as if my lifestyle is a joke.

I run my hand over my beard, not liking to be one-upped by my brother like this––especially in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Still, Patrick may have Thailand, but I have sweet tourists sidling up to me all afternoon as I show them the sights of the Wicklow Mountains: the fields of heather, and the lakes covered in fog, while pointing out romantic spots, like the bridge from the film, PS I Love You. The entire time knowing that they're watching me, my accent causing a flutter in their hearts.

But of course, no lasses like that were on my tour today. So, instead, I’m here with my brother and my oldest friend. And they think they know me better than I know myself.

Which, perhaps they do, but I’d bet those bastards would trade places with me in a heartbeat.

I’ve always had good luck. I built my entire business around it. The Lucky Irishman Tour Company. There’s a guarantee that if you spend the day with me, I can find you a rainbow; perhaps a pot of gold. Find the four-leaf clover they were dreaming about, and the lucky leprechaun spots. I have a knack for these things, for the enchanted land of Ireland, and it rewards me.

I get lucky as often as I like. And their insinuation that I can’t have a woman if I want her is an insult.

I down my whiskey, my indignation at their assumptions rising.

“I can keep a lass around for a week,” I say, slamming the glass against the bar.

Sean laughs. “I’ve been wed twice and know a thing or two about women. They’re fickle. You can’t just choose one from the room and assume they’re going to fall for you. Your luck won’t help you with love.”

“Are we talking about love now?” I clarify.

“Yeah, we are. Lust is one thing, you can shag the same woman for a week, and it still won’t be what our mam was talking about.”

I shrug, a bit cocky, sure, but also never backing down from a challenge––especially if it’s one of my own making.

“Bollocks. I can make a woman love me in a week,” I say, my confidence growing with each syllable. “I’m the lucky one, my friends.”

My brother raises his glass and makes an offer. “I don’t believe it. I bet you can’t keep a woman for a week.”

“A bet now?” I ask.

Sean joins in, laughing. “You make this bet, mate, and you’re fucking screwed.”

“Damn right, I am,” I laugh, rubbing my hands together, already mentally counting my winnings. “And what are the stakes?”

“An Irishman can’t make a bet without stakes being involved,” Sean adds.

I grin at my best friend, appreciating that he already believes in me. Or is trying to make a fool of me, I’m not sure which yet.

“I know what I want,” I tell them. “But it will cost you.” I cross my arms, thinking perhaps it truly is my lucky night.

There is only one thing I’ve ever wanted, and Patrick might be drunk enough and giddy enough about his upcoming trip to give it to me.

“And what’s that, brother?”

“You choose a woman, and I make her love me by next week, and you give me the land.”

Sean whistles low.

My brother pulls back. “The land, you say?”

“How hard do you really think it will be for me to capture a woman’s heart in a week?” I’m hoping the brotherly rivalry we’ve got going will tempt him to give me what I want.

Patrick smiles. “And if you lose, what will I get?” he asks.

“If I lose I’ll give you mam’s ring.” I laugh.

Patrick leans back in his barstool, thinking it over, methodical as ever, even if he’s three shades to the moon. Finally, he raises his brows, a Cheshire grin spreads across his reddening cheeks. “Only if I can pick the girl, and I'm picking her from this pub, tonight,” he says, pressing a finger into the bar.

Without pause, I nod, knowing a bargain when I find one. Don’t care where the lass is from, I just care about the damn land my parents left Patrick.

“Deal’s on, brother,” I tell him, shaking his hand. “Don’t suppose I have much need for a ring, otherwise.”

“In that case,” Sean says, “we ought to find you your lady.”

The three of us look around the pub, my heart surging with excitement. I never thought I’d get my brother to give me the land. And now it’s within my grasp.

Hell, if I’d known it would be this easy, I would have drunk him under the table years ago.

“Who is the lucky woman?” I ask. “Not her,” I tell him, nodding at a local girl who has already thoroughly enjoyed her time in my barn.

My brother shakes his head. “That’s too easy for you. That girl, she’d do anything for you and your bed. You said you can make any woman fall, so we need to make things a bit more difficult for you.”

Sean agrees and raising his pint, points to another option. “What about Hilde? She might make a good week-long wife.” We snort, Hildegard runs the breakfast shop out near my house. She scowls like a devil, forever cursing me for the endless revolving door of women leaving my barn.

Her hair is silver, she wears an apron, and she hates my guts for being a cocky ass.

“Don’t be cruel,” I tell them.

“We won’t be cruel, but we won’t make it easy,” Patrick says, wearing a shit-eating grin. “How about her?” Patrick points to a woman who has just walked into the pub.

She looks like a mess. And not one bit Irish. Her dark hair is wild, her face flushed. She’s got a map in her hand and is clearly not from around here.

She walks straight up to the bartender and starts asking about a place to stay tonight. I can hear that she’s American, and I start to shake my head. “You can’t have me falling for an American lass.”

At this comment, Patrick slaps his knee in laughter and Sean nods eagerly as if this is the perfect woman for me.

I have no problem with American girls, but this one isn’t like the regular tourists I see with their shiny faces and bright smiles, longing for an Irishman to sweep them away.

This woman hasn’t even looked in my direction, which isn’t promising.

“Lassie,” I shout.

She turns towards me, her eyes dark, a scowl on her face. “Don’t ‘lassie’ me.”

At this Sean and Patrick clutch their bellies as if this is the most hilarious thing they’ve ever heard.

“Oh, brother,” Patrick says snorting with laughter. “That’s your girl! Good luck.”

I shake my head at these drunk-fucks, having no doubt I’ll get lucky. Tonight.

2

This day has gone to shit. But what’s new? I mean my entire life has been a fucking shit show. An endless parade of fuck floats. A black cat crossing, haunted by ghosts, lost the rabbit’s foot before I ever found it, disaster.

But this was supposed to be different.

I needed to start the fuck over.

Something to jumpstart my career and at the same time give me a new lease on life.

I needed to reverse my luck.

So, I bought a round-trip ticket to Ireland where I would photograph rainbows.

Fucking rainbows.

My photography is a joke. My love life nonexistent. And I swear bad luck has followed me everywhere I go. My life is a voodoo doll, and my body aches from getting stuck with pins.

So, I thought: You know what? Enough. Enough feeling sorry for myself and my shitty-shit luck. I’ll go all in: become the luckiest girl.

And you know how I would do that?

I was going to start creating my own luck.

I’m not looking for a winning lottery ticket or a slot machine raining dollar bills. I just want a rainbow.

So, naturally, I came to Ireland. You know, the land of good luck. Of leprechauns and shamrocks. After all, my name is Clover. My entire existence is like a slap in the face. So, I came here to Ireland with my camera, backpack, and determination.

Spoiler alert: Determination means shit. Making your own luck? Not a thing.

I have walked around this island for the last three weeks and just how many rainbows do you think I found?

No, really, guess.

Yep, you’re right.

Exactly 0. As in none.

Zilch. Nada.

Fuck luck.

People say Ireland is the luckiest place in all the world? Spoiler alert number two: They’re all liars.

I haven’t seen a single rainbow.

So why am I still here? Well, supposedly thirty minutes from here, in the Wicklow Mountains, there is some tourist company called The Lucky Irishman, where they guarantee to find you a rainbow.

So, after not finding any rainbows on my own over the last three weeks, I went to the website this morning and made a reservation.

Tomorrow, it’s going to happen.

Tomorrow, I am finally going to get lucky.

I’m going to show up to this tour and I’m going to take so many pictures of rainbows that I’ll be able to make a rainbow collage. A rainbow mural.

I know a rainbow isn’t a magic wand … fairy godmothers aren’t real anyways.

But I can go look for my own pot of gold.

First, I need a drink. Hence, the bar. And hence the scowl on my face. And what is up with that asshole?

“Stop shouting at me!”

His friends are on the floor, literally; two Irishmen are laughing on the floor clutching their bellies and pointing. At him. At me. At the fucking room––I don’t know and I don’t care. I just need a drink and a room for the night.

“Sorry, lass,” he says, this time not shouting. This time speaking in an accent that is really fucking hot. Low and earthy, like he’s spent his life breathing in fresh air, making the beer and bar food seem stale. “My friends seemed to have taken a fall. I wasn’t meaning to shout at you.”

I shake my head and look away for two reasons.

1) Because I really need to grab my drink. The bartender with his flushed face and his chubby cheeks is handing me a pint of something dark and stout and perfect. It’s delicious. The most delicious beer I’ve ever had in my entire life.

And 2) I should look away because the man who was shouting is also delicious. Possibly more delicious than the beer, if you brush aside the whole yelling thing. Which I’m not going to do. It’s rude to yell.

I take a sip of the beer and it slides down my throat, and for a moment my shoulders relax and I think: Okay, calm the fuck down, Clover. Tomorrow you’re gonna go find a rainbow. It will make up for the last month of no rainbows; of an entire life of black cats and bad omens. None of that is going to matter anymore because now you’re gonna get it. You are gonna get what you’ve always been after. Luck.

Some good fucking luck.

“Lass, come take a seat with me, my friends won’t be coming back over here.” He pats the stool next to him. Gah. Should I sit with the Irishman, with the shouting and the beard and the delicious looking face that I could just eat?

My stomach growls.

I’m pretty hungry. I turn back to the bartender, ignoring the sexy Irish man and ask, “You have any food?”

The bartender looks at me like I’m a fool. Which I probably am. “Would you like a meat pie?”

“Yes,” I answer promptly. “I would love a meat pie.”

The Irishman next to me grins, patting the stool again. Which, come on, that’s pretty aggressive. Pretty cocky. He thinks because he has a yummy face and sexy accent that I’ll just sit next to him?

I scrunch up my face, offering him a visual of my thought process.

I have a beer and a meat pie and a backpack that’s literally falling off my shoulders.

And I was on a shitty bus all day, all alone. Sitting next to this guy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Not that I’d tell him that.

So, being the independent woman that I am, I roll my eyes, drop the pack to the ground, throw my map on the bar, and sit next to this shouting, delicious man.

“You want a meat pie?” he asks. “Because I have one I could offer.” He grins knowing he’s as cute as I think he is.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to learn that is the problem with Irishmen. They know their accent makes women’s pussies dripping wet and their ovaries melt. These men know their eyes sparkle. And this one? He seems to have the sparkliest eyes I’ve ever seen. Eyes that look like they are up to no good.

“Is meat pie like a euphemism for penis? Because honestly, it’s not that funny,” I tell him, offering an intentionally blank face because I don’t play games. Not anymore. Not now. Not after Julian and his lies and the mess of my life back in New York. Not after failing so many times.

I stopped playing games the moment I bought the ticket to Ireland.

I stopped playing games because they got me nowhere. Me? I’m going to turn my luck around without any games.

I’m certainly not going to eat anyone’s meat pies. I’ll stick to my own meat pie, thank you very much.

Look, I’m not saying I’m going to eat myself out or anything. First, I’m not that bendy, and second, the only thing I wanna eat right now is the literal meat pie the bartender is serving me.

And I plan to eat it like a normal, rational woman with an appetite for flaky, buttery crusts and warm, tender morsels of beef.

Why does this all sound so sexual?

I look up at the sexy Irishman. Oh.

Instead of saying something I’ll regret, I pick up my fork and take a bite.

It is mouthwateringly delicious.

Just like the Irishman’s face.

Have I mentioned how edible he looks?

“Okay, lass, you don’t have to eat my pie,” he tells me, laughing, and then picking up a fork of his own and digging into his own meat pie.

Oh. It wasn’t a euphemism.

I look up at him, watching the forkful pass his kissable lips.

Okay. So, I’m an idiot.

He smiles, winks, wiggles his brows, and dammit he was talking about his dick. “What?” he asks, his voice all charming and smooth. “I was willing to share is all.”

I huff at him, rolling my eyes.

He sets his hand on my arm, tilting his head to the side, shrugging so slightly, it’s like he knows he is handsome as hell. “Don’t leave, lass, let me buy you a drink first.”

His friends have long since stood from the floor, and they’re now looking at us a little maniacally, but the Irishman just brushes them away, turning to me.

“They’re drunk as fools. That’s my brother, Patrick.” A man with a slender face and the same light hair as the man on the stool next to me waves as if I amuse him. “And the other lad, that’s Sean. He’s been my friend since I was wee.” The sexy Irishman waves a hand, indicating he’s known this Sean dude, forever.

Sean grins and claps him on the back.

“Pleased to meet you both,” I say with a raised brow, surprised at their interest. I never meet guys like this––Julian says it is because I carry a dark cloud with me everywhere I go. Not my fault––you don’t choose to be unlucky. So, it feels nice to have the undivided attention of these three men. “And what’s your name, Mr. Irishman?” I ask the man with meat pie on the mind, my lips curled up in a smirk.

“Oh, so you want to know my name, Ms. America?” he asks, clearly finding something amusing.

Sean laughs, cutting to the chase, “His name is Conor. But lots of people call him ‘lucky bastard’. Has a ring to it, you know? Conor here is the luckiest man I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, yeah?” My eyes narrow, not having words for this serendipity. Good for you, Mr. Lucky Leprechaun Man with a face so handsome I could lick it; with a meat pie in his pants and hands that wrap around his pint in a way that I wouldn’t mind wrapping around me.

He’s flirting and I’m suddenly horny AF––three months flying solo will do that to a woman––and if this is the man I get to go home with, well, yes, please.

“Well, Conor, it’s your lucky day,” I say, smiling now, knowing this is my in if I want to take it.

But I’m not gonna make it too easy. I’ll make it fun, but not easy.

“I’m Clover,” I tell him. “Wanna show me your shamrock?”

At this, Sean and Patrick start rolling all over again. Conor simply pulls out some bills, throws them on the counter, and looks directly at me. "What are you waiting for, Clover? It’s time we got lucky.”

3

The moment they chose her, I knew I was in for a night of fun. Her dark hair is untamed, her eyes fiery, and she may not be a redheaded Irish woman, but there’s a spark in her that appeals to me at my core.

And her name is Clover.

The moment I throw the bills on the table, though, and reach for her hand, she pulls back, as if her flirtatious words were just an act she isn’t ready to play out.

It’s true that I like a challenge, but I’ve never found one with a woman.

My challenges in life have come from other things. Like starting my business and overcoming the judgment from my friends and family for the choices I’ve made.

I took my grandparents’ old barn and turned it into a house, not wanting to live in town in a shitty apartment. Everyone thought it was mad to live in the woods alone, not understanding how I’d prefer it there.

And then, no one believed this tourism company I thought up was worthwhile, but I was determined to combine my love for my country with the thing I am best at: Showing people a good time.

But the idea of having this woman, who is immediately trying to back out, gets my cock hard before she’s even given her consent to leave with me.

Sean and Patrick, of course, are laughing like the fools they are. Little does Patrick know––he’s the fool in this scenario. I’m getting exactly what I want.

Sure, I have my shitty cabin up there on his piece of property, but it isn’t mine to build on. I’m never going to build a decent place to live, so long as I don’t have permission to build.

“What are you waiting for, lassie? Finish your meat pie and let’s be off.” I grin at her, but the cocky smile on my face is immediately replaced with a frown.

Clover isn’t having it. My charm is not going to be the way I win her heart this week. My words alone aren’t going to get her to love me.

And that is the challenge at hand. I’ve got to make this woman my lover if I want what I’ve always dreamed about.

“You think I’m just going to leave this bar after five minutes, and go with you to... where exactly?” She scowls again, and her eyebrows furrow and the truth of the matter is that I find it all sexy as fuck.

“I’m thinking you might want to join me in my cabin,” I say, leaning closer with my trademark devilish smile. “Perhaps we can have a little late night romp in the woods?”

“A romp in the woods? Is that a line that actually works on anyone?” She picks up her fork again and begins shoveling more bites of meat pie in her mouth with abandon. There’s something about her unabashed appetite that causes my cock to twitch, not once, not twice––no, three times a charm.

“It seems to work with most of the ladies,” Sean laughs. At this point, the boys have found themselves seated on stools once again and ordering another round. This time, I ask the barkeep for some water instead. I need to stay clear-headed if I want to get this woman home.

Besides, it’s obvious that drunken games are not going to work on a woman like Clover.

“All the ladies?” she asks. “So, you do this a lot? Pick up girls in bars?” Clover’s lips are pressed together and I know she’s trying to make herself appear more irritated than she really is because there’s a hint of a smile on the side of her lip, her dark eyes gleaming.

She’s interested. She just doesn’t want to admit it yet.

Patrick laughs. “My brother doesn’t pick up girls at pubs. It’s your lucky day to find him here in town.”

“You don’t live in Dublin then?” she asks, her curiosity genuinely piqued.

“Can’t say that I do. But, I’m only about 30 miles from here. I’m telling you, Clover, finish that pie of yours and let me take you home. I heard you asking the barkeep where you could stay for the night––that you’re just traveling through.”

Clover twists her lips as if trying to figure out what kind of answer she wants to give me before she speaks.

But it’s already too late.

She knows that I know she has nowhere to stay tonight. Sure, she can traipse up and down the streets of Dublin, looking for an empty bed... but from the way she’s leaning closer now, licking her bottom lip with interest, we both know where she is ending up.

She’s just not ready to admit it yet.

“Yes,” she relents. “I am traveling through. But,” she says, holding up a finger. “I’m an independent woman, Conor. And I don’t need handouts from strangers at bars.”

I pull back in mock indignation. “I’m not a stranger, though; you met my brother and my best friend. You know my name.”

“I know your first name, Conor. And what’s your second?”

“Conor McGregor.”

“I’m Clover O’Malley.”

“You’re an Irish girl after all?” I shake my head looking her over once more. But then I see it, she may not have the freckles and red hair, but that fire in her eyes? Now I can place it. She may not be quite so far from home as she thinks.

“Good. It’s all settled,” I tell her. “We know each other’s first and last names, we know you’re traveling, and that I’m here for good.”

“Good?” she asks. “You’ll always stay here, you think?”

“Why would I ever leave? Ireland is the greatest country on Earth. I’m the luckiest man to be living here. And now, I’ve got you, my four-leaf Clover, in the flesh.”

At this last line, Clover throws back her head in a full-on belly laugh––directed at me.

This is not what I need my brother or Sean to see. Once again they’re holding their bellies, really loving this fiery girl. Sure that their pick is a guaranteed win for them.

“I’m telling you, Conor McGregor, your lines won’t work on me. There may be plenty of girls you romp around the woods with, but I have a feeling I’m not one of them.”

“Oh, Clover,” I say, clucking my tongue and shaking my head at this woman who landed in my life by mere chance. “Rarely are things how they seem.”

I look down at my ice water for a moment, grateful it’s not liquid courage because I know that were I to drink one more whiskey or one more Guinness I might say more than I ought.

I might say that I’m not exactly who I seem either.

I play the fool, but deep down I’m grounded. I know who I am, I know where I come from. I know where I want to stay.

Maybe she knows that already because she stops laughing, I reach for her hand, and our eyes meet. There’s a spark I wasn’t expecting, and I feel it something fierce.

She must feel it too, because she wipes her pink lips with a napkin, and nods her head. I see the rise and fall of her breasts through her jumper and all I want is to rip it off, see her in the flesh, take her body in my arms.

She swallows, as if deciding her next move, but I know it before she does. I slip a hand around her waist and draw her hips nearer mine. I hear a trace of a moan; a moan I know she’d never admit to.

But I heard it alright, and she isn’t pulling back anymore.

“All right, Conor McGregor,” she says slowly, “take me to your woods.” She closes her eyes, giving me the slightest shake of her head as if she can’t quite believe how quickly I’ve worked my way into her heart.

And if not her heart, at least her filthiest thoughts.

I get off the stool, my arm still around her. No way in hell am I letting this lass go. “And you’ll let me show you how I romp?”

She nods.

That’s the only yes I need. Without pause, I grab her backpack from the floor and sling it over my shoulder; I clap my brother and Sean on the back and wish them Godspeed.

Then I take Clover’s hand and show her the way home.

4

I know I’d been playing hard to get, sitting on this stool acting like I don’t want the thing I do want.

So, when Conor makes the move, I let him.

It’s a relief, actually.

I don’t know why, but my immediate reaction to someone coming close to me is always to back away. It certainly isn’t a good way to get the things in life I want, and considering it’s been my modus operandi for the last 24 years, it’s never worked well.

But when Conor takes my hand, I let him. I came to Ireland because I need a change, after all.

And when he grabs my backpack and leads me out of the bar, the cool March air washing over me––I breathe it in. In this moment, I’m determined not to push away.

Because I always push away. Julian would say, “Clover, you say your day is going to shit, but maybe the problem is your attitude.”

Easy for him to say––the apartment we shared was paid for by his parents, and they bought him all the fanciest camera equipment––so to say he’s entitled, is an understatement.

But the thing that really irritated me was that he was sorta right. I did walk around with a chip on my shoulder. It’s always been me against the world and that hasn’t gotten me anywhere.

I lost the fight.

I blamed my shitty luck on everyone else, and then added to it by pushing away every time things were hard or new or scary or out of my comfort zone.

Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism, I pretended not to want the things I craved.

A warm body to hold me.

A partner to help me through life, not try to compete with me every step of the way.

A man who accepts my flaws, all of me. A man who offers safety and security.

And now I’m standing in Dublin, on a dirty street, somehow having ended up at a nondescript bar very far from home.

Conor still has my hand and he’s rubbing it with his thumb and for some reason that makes me feel less alone. I exhale, knowing I’m not going to be the girl I’ve always been.

I’m not backing away from him tonight.

“Clover,” Conor says. “You still here, lass?”

I nod, blinking as I return to the moment. It’s been a long month. No one has touched me like this in so long.

“I lost you for but a moment, Clover, and we can’t have that.” His accent once again makes my insides gooey, but also, it’s the way he says my name. Slowly and drawn out, like he doesn’t want me to leave either.

“Can we go now?” I look up at Conor, into his warm eyes and his ruddy cheeks, his scruffy beard that I want to bury myself against.

I think the beard hides his cheekbones, but then he smiles down at me, and I realize that the scruff isn’t hiding anything at all because Conor looks like an open book––one that wants to be read.

So even though it’s scary to just say yes and go all in, I know I must if I want my luck to change. If I want my life to change. And isn’t that why I took a trip looking for fucking rainbows in the first place?

“Back in the pub, I was thinking you were one of those lassies who always likes to put up a fight. But not now. Now I can see that you are an American, after all.” Conor laughs, pulling at my waist; drawing me to him as if he knows me in ways he can’t yet.

But that he already does.

“Are you saying American girls are easy?”

He grins easily, and in that moment, I know his charm really must get him everything he wants in life. Right now, I can’t imagine denying this man anything.

“American girls may be easy, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about, Conor?” With my body pressed against him, I finally take in the sheer size of Conor. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and has a presence that is commanding, yet isn’t intimidating. That must be why he’s so lucky with the ladies––he’s all man, yet approachable.

Fuckable.

He looks down at me, squeezing my waist as if he knows how the night is going to end. I like the way I feel in his arms. And even though I have curves, a double-digit waist, and an ass that rappers write rhymes about, it’s like in his arms … I fit.

Conor brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, smiling at me. “I’m pointing out the fact that you’re American because you’re giving me a hard time tonight. You weren’t making things easy on me. But then, in a flash, you have a change of heart.”

“And Irish girls, they never have a change of heart?”

“Aye, they have a heart, but not like yours. You have a heart that’s willing to sway with your emotions. Going up and down, up and down.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

Conor laughs again, this time a belly laugh, the sort of belly laugh Patrick and Sean shared back at the bar.

“If you had known my mam, you’d know that I’m used to a woman whose emotions are like that of a roller coaster.”

Maybe it’s the way he says ‘mam’. How he remembers his mother so tenderly, or maybe it’s the way he laughs; a laugh that makes me feel as if he could swallow me whole. In a good way. In the sort of way I need. In a way that could wash away my bad luck forever. But all I want is this moment to be frozen in time. I want to forever remember the moment I stood outside a bar and felt so damn good in the arms of a stranger.

I lift my chin and look into Conor’s eyes, and then I kiss him.

Maybe that’s an American girl thing too, kissing first, but I don’t care. Because our kiss, it can’t be contained on one continent. The kiss is otherworldly.

His lips press against mine and it’s like the moment I give him my mouth, he has no more hesitation. Conor slips a hand around the base of my neck, pulling me closer, then closer still.

He pulls me close enough, that I know we will be very intimate, very soon. I can feel all of him pressed against my belly, and my eyelids flutter with anticipation ... all that will be inside of me.

A sigh escapes my mouth, a sigh I wasn’t planning. But you can’t plan a kiss like this.

Conor’s mouth opens, his tongue finds mine, and in that moment, with our eyes closed, the dark night sky surrounding us and the loud bar behind us, it feels like I am the only girl he has ever kissed. And even though I logically know this is something he has done a million times before, right now, it feels singular.

Conor pulls back, the electricity still pulsing. “We need to go now, lassie. Things are going to get quite indecent, quite quick.”

I just nod; his words are enough. They say everything that needs to be said.

We walk down the street, stopping at a beat-up truck, exactly the kind of vehicle I imagined he would drive. Rugged, and rusty, like he doesn’t give a shit. Because, why would he? It appears he already has everything he wants.

“You good to drive?” I ask, remembering that we just came from the bar.

“I wouldn’t drive you if I didn’t stop drinking a ways back there. And I certainly wouldn’t let you get in the car with those two any day. Sober or not.” He closes the door for me, and as he walks away, I hear him toss my pack in the bed of the truck.

Then he gets in the truck driver's seat, flashes me a quick grin, and starts driving us out of the city.

As we drive further up the motorway and take an exit toward the mountains, the roads become quieter and wider, until they are completely empty. Conor wasn’t joking when he said we’re going to the woods.

The energy in the car is alive, we keep stealing glances at one another, but the truck is silent, and I hate being in my head so much... I can’t help but wonder why he’s in his head so much too.

Suddenly I can’t help it, the silence is killing me.

“So, what do you do for fun?” I ask, immediately shaking my head at the ridiculous question that I chose. Who gives a fuck about fun? Right now, we’re two strangers who met at a bar who plan on having sex all night.

“I’m guessing the way tonight has gone gives you a good idea, no? It’s sort of a loaded question, Clover.”

Oh. Right. This is what Conor does for fun. He takes home girls he meets at bars and of course I’m no different. I don’t know why, when we stood outside the bar, there was a moment where I thought maybe... maybe this was more.

But right now, I don’t need more. This is enough. Being here with him is plenty. My thighs press together and my body awakens from a lifelong slumber. I want him.

“I guess you have a point, Conor. But do you want to know what I do for fun?” He cocks a brow at me, keeping one eye on the road.

“I’d love to know what you do for fun, lassie.”

I take his hand and press it between my legs. His hand belongs there, and my jeans are suddenly much too tight, the cab of the truck much too small. I want out of this truck, out of these clothes, and into this man's lap.

“Understood.” Conor's fingers rub over my jeans, pressing against me, and he leans over, practically growling, blowing hot air in my ear.

I whimper.

I can easily count the number of times I’ve whimpered for a man... a man who wasn’t even touching my skin... just hinting at what was to come.

It is zero times, in case you were wondering.

If I completely let my guard down right now, I’ll be a puddle in his front seat. His fingers continue to press against the fabric of my jeans, and it’s like we’re in high school all over again... except I never had anyone touch me like this in high school.

Or college for that matter.

I look at the clock on the dash; how the heck did twenty minutes just fly by? I guess I need this more than I initially thought.

He presses three fingers hard against me; my clit is on fire, my panties soaked. I close my eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Conor,” I say, through gritted, is-it-possible-to-orgasm-from-a-man-barely-touching-me, teeth.

“We’re home, though, lassie.”

“Oh?” I open my eyes, realizing the truck is in park. That we are stationary in a dark driveway.

“Now, get out of the truck so I can strip you down properly.”

5

The girl is melting at my touch. All night I’ve thought of her as fiery and alive, but after touching her for a few minutes, it’s clear she’s repressed, needy and wanting.

My brother may have done a thousand shitty things over the years, but this one thing he got exactly right.

“Come on, Clover, let’s get you out of these clothes,” I say, taking her hand and leading her from the truck, grabbing her bag from the boot of the truck and slinging it over my shoulder.

She laces her fingers through mine and holds onto my arm. She isn’t going anywhere.

Which is good on two accounts. First: my cock is fucking hard as hell, and secondly, there’s a bet I’m to win.

By the time I’ve kicked open the front door, she’s practically melting against me. Maybe she put up a fight for far too long, and after that kiss outside the pub she gave me an idea of what might be in store with her... and well, hell, I’m a lucky bastard.

“This is your place?” she asks as I pull the door shut behind us. Her eyes scan the small interior. I don’t move to turn on a light.

“You want the tour now or later?” I ask, wrapping her back in my arms, pressing my hardened cock against her belly, wanting to delay the inevitable.

And wanting to finish what we’ve started.

I fuck girls on their way out of town. I don’t screw women who might start looking at my house in a more critical fashion.

Because calling this place a house is a wee bit of a stretch.

A cabin, maybe. But a four-by-four, roof-over-my-head hovel is probably most accurate. I haven’t exactly made a fortune living life the way I do. Taking people on hiking tours isn’t quite trading stocks.

Which is the reason I do it. Because it means I’m free of any man, any woman, staking a claim on me. This lifestyle works, so long as I let it.

There won’t be vacations in Thailand like my brother plans, but why would I need such a thing? Why would I go abroad when I already live in the greatest country in the world?

Still, a woman who is as full of personality as Clover is might have a few choice words to say about this barn. Words I don’t want to hear quite yet. Right now, I’m most interested in stripping her of those American clothes and filling her with my Irish cock.

“What is it?” she asks, and I realize now it’s me, lost in my head.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, wanting only to be in this moment.

“Nothing, lassie. Now let’s see what’s under those clothes.”

At this, she smiles, throws her head back again as if she’s shocked to hear such a request. As if the request itself is foolhardy. But it isn’t. Any man with any sense in his head would be tugging up her jumper the way I am now. They’d be pulling it over her head, tossing it aside, and taking in the view of her beautiful breasts.

Her tits are so fucking full, so fucking big. And I grin like a schoolboy getting a piece of candy. “God, woman, where on earth did ya come from?”

“I don’t think it matters, Conor. I’m mostly interested in seeing where you plan to take me.”

I laugh, loving the way she jests, the way she tosses her words around like pebbles. They’re not going to hurt anyone, but get one stuck in your shoe, and it’s going to drive you mad.

“Oh, I have plenty of places I’d like to take you.”

“Figuratively or... physically?”

I shake my head at her. “I’m going to take you in my bed right now, lassie. And I’m going to fill you with my cock, and be warned: it’s a cock you’ve only dreamt about. I’m going to take you good and proper. This time, at least.”

“Oh, you already have plans for seconds?” she asks, her cheeks red, blush rising everywhere, and I press my palms against her full tits, reaching back for the clasp of her bra, so I can undo it, granting me access to see them in all their glory.

When the bra is on the floor and her hard nipples between my thumb and forefinger, I answer, “I plan on seconds and thirds. I’m an Irishman, lassie. I was born with an appetite.”

She smirks, reaching for my pants, unfastening the button, tugging down the zipper. “For meat pies?”

I shake my head, laughing again, “Right now there is only one thing I crave.”

“And what’s that, Conor?” she asks, my pants falling to the floor, her hands unbuttoning my flannel shirt.

“I want your pussy. I want to know if it’s as sweet as clover.”

“Guess you’ll have to let me know, won’t you?” She raises a brow, her fingers wrapping around my stiff cock.

I grab her ass then, lifting her from the floor and carrying her to my bed. The barn is small, only this one room, but I’m grateful the bed is clean, sheets washed, ready for her to ruin.

I pull off her socks and leave her in nothing but her panties. I want to take my time. Her skin is soft and creamy, her thighs practically asking to be pushed apart. I may want to savor this moment, but my cock wants to get to business.

“You need to lie back, lassie. And I need you to stay still.”

“You know most men don’t talk this way, don’t you?”

“I’m not most men, Clover. The Irish do things differently. How many times will I have to explain this to you?”

“No explaining,” she says. “No more talking. Just––” She adjusts herself on the bed, her dark hair spilling over the pillow and the window letting in the light from the crescent-shaped moon. “––let me know if I’m sweet.”

“Oh, I think we’ve already determined you’re not a sweet one.”

She laughs, the lilt of her voice filling the dark room. When she laughs, the room feels bright.

I spread her legs apart, lower my head to her thighs––the only place I want to go.

I run my fingers over her panties, remembering how I touched her so innocently in the truck. I have no doubt her body is going to respond to this tease too.

“Oh, Conor...”

Clover’s body relaxes, giving into this moment. And for that, I’m fucking grateful. I have had my fair share of uptight tourists who want the thrill ride with an Irishman, but often it’s women who don’t want their bodies to be really touched; really felt.

They’re women who say they want to be fucked, but these women have no idea what it means to have a man make love to them.

I rip off her panties, tossing the shredded lace to the floor. And then my tongue runs along her creamy slit. Her cunt is already nice and wet, ready in the same way my cock is rock hard.

My tongue moves up and down, tasting the sweetness as I dart inside her pussy. And I was right. She does taste like clover. Like green grass, fresh air, and sweet honey.

My tongue deepens, and I’m sucking her lips and licking her hard, getting her ready to come. I want more of her, I want her to pour over my face, but I know her body is still tight, needs to be loosened up a bit more.

And so I press a finger inside of her, her pussy practically begging to be fucked this way, she is so fucking tight, I can only guess she’s never been with a man who was blessed with a cock entire continents would be jealous of.

I flick a finger over her clit, and hell, it’s pulsing and wanting more. I move a finger in and out of her, moving my mouth to her thighs and planting kisses up and down them, then wrapping her thighs around my neck, and devouring her once more.

I let my fingers fuck her harder, banging her until her release covers my hand and I feel her body tighten and then relax as she comes on my face. Without pause, I lick up all her creamy come.

Her back is arched in the air and I run my hands over her stomach, then reaching higher, I fill my palms with both of her tits. My mouth sucks hard against her cunt as she continues to orgasm against me.

She’s panting, overcome, and that’s the sweet spot I’m looking for. It gets my cock harder than fuck. How the hell did I get so lucky? Clover’s pussy is so wet and willing, her body so alive. And her heart––so fucking full.

“I need you in me, Conor. I need more than you fucking me with your mouth, your fingers. Now, I need you to fuck me with that cock.”

I grunt, unable to manage anything more. Her words are like fire, consuming me with desire. I pull on a condom and slap her ass, encouraging her to turn over, to get on all fours. I need to fuck her pussy nice and hard, I want her tits to bounce as I thrust inside of her.

Deeper, harder, nice and good.

She’s on all fours on the edge of the bed, and I stand behind her, edging my cock closer to her slick pussy. As I slide into her tight entrance, I’m glad I worked her pussy over––finger fucked and mouth fucked––all in preparation for this grand fucking finale.

“It’s too big, Conor,” she says, and instantly my mouth is on her ear, whispering the words she needs to hear.

“Hush now, lassie, it’s going to fit, but I will warn you, it’s going to ruin you. Once this Irishman fucks you, no other cock will ever do.”

“Show me, show me what you mean. Fuck me, Conor. Don’t make me wait.”

And so, I don’t. I press myself inside of her, filling her up completely.

I don’t inch myself in nice and slowly, no. She said she wants it now––and so I’ll give her what she wants.

My cock slams into her core and she screams out, “Oh, God, oh, my God, the...” Then Clover is unable to speak. Her elbows drop to the bed, she’s still on all fours, and I hold her at her waist, both hands on her hips, and I plow into her.

I thrust into her so fucking hard and she loves it. Her tits are bouncing, and every time they hit one another, my cock grows harder still. I’m holding onto her, and I swear I won’t let go.

Her nice round ass is in the air, she’s got the perfect pair of bouncing tits and her hips were made to hold onto––Clover is a fucking dream come true.

My cock is on fire, so close to exploding. I wish I didn’t have a condom on. I want my seed to fill her cunt. I want to fill her up so bad.

“I’m going to fuck you all night,” I growl in her ear, pushing her hair away, making sure she hears every syllable.

“Good,” she pants. “I need you too. My pussy needs that so fucking bad.”

I thrust against her, my cock releasing hot come deep inside her cunt. She comes again, too, her body quivering, shaking as I finish.

“You were right,” she manages. “You said we were going to get lucky,”

She collapses on the bed, a laugh escaping her as if this entire thing was a lark.

I roll her over so I can see the exhilaration on her face. With a hand on either side of her, I lean over and say, “Clover, what just happened here, that wasn’t just luck.”

A flash of darkness crosses her face. “No?”

I shake my head, grinning. “It wasn’t luck, lassie. That was perfection.”

6

The next morning I wake up, my body sticky sweet and very naked. I cover my face realizing where I am, and what I’ve done.

I’ve pretty much had the best sex of my life and it came out of nowhere.

Maybe I had hit rock bottom. Maybe this was the start of something new. A new version of Clover––the girl with the shittiest luck in the world.

I drop my hands and realize there is a smile pasted on my face, and I’m not a morning person so this means something.

Maybe this was going to be the day everything changed––the day I came to this country for in the first place.

The day I find my rainbow.

I look over and see the bed is empty. Sitting up, I wrap the sheet around myself and try to get my bearings.

When we came here last night, it was dark and there was only one thing on our minds––to let loose the sexual energy pulsing between us.

Now that we have that out of the way, for now at least, there’s something new on my mind: Getting food in my belly.

I’m starved. That meat pie seems like a lifetime ago, and let’s just say I worked up an appetite last night. Now all I want is to be filled with carbs.

Any carb will do. Pancakes. Scones. Biscuits. A slice of week old bread. I’m not a picky eater.

Maybe Conor has something here, otherwise, it’s a long way down the mountain, and I still need to get to my appointment.

I look at the watch on my wrist; it’s early, only eight in the morning. My tour starts at 10, so there's still plenty of time to shower, dress, eat, and get where I need to go.

I stand, the sheet wrapped around my naked body, and I wonder where Conor is. Maybe he’s one of those romantic men who make breakfast in bed for their lovers.

I’ve never actually had that sort of scenario happened. Julian. I know I need to stop thinking about that toxic, lying, a-hole, but he is now the barometer by which I measure every man.

I know Conor isn’t like Julian. When Conor and I had sex last night, he was like, literally having sex with me. Julian had sex on me. In me. To me.

Never with me.

Before last night, I didn’t think there was a difference.

Conor knew what to do with my body, and he didn’t just take me there, we went there together.

Already my pussy is wet again, imagining Conor between my legs, licking me and sucking me, as if I was the tastiest thing he’d ever had.

I bite my bottom lip and peer around the bookshelves that separate the bed from the rest of this one room … studio? I’m not seeing him anywhere. And I’m also realizing that, while Conor was made to seduce women, he doesn’t exactly have a house. This is more like ... what is this?

I look around with more discretion. And, um, I swear to God, this place is a barn.

There are a lot of competing images I have of Conor right now. There’s the sexual image of Conor bending me over and filling me up and then there’s my cocky-guy-at-the-bar image of Conor–– and those two things fit together. But trying to reconcile the barn-dweller with that?... It’s proving more difficult.

Stepping into the living space, I see that somehow these pieces actually fit. Only a man as cocky as him could score as often as he must, and only a man like that, who lives so flippantly could handle living in a place like this.

“Conor?” I ask stepping into the ... living room?

There’s a couch here, and it looks like it’s always been here. For, like, the last 100 years. And there’s a fire burning. Good sign, he wouldn’t have ditched me forever if he had a fire going. Or would he?

The truth is, I know nothing about him besides his face. His delicious face. His deliciously kissable face. And mouth. I need that mouth.

“Conor?” I ask again. Stepping out of the living room and I immediately step into the kitchen. Because the square footage we are talking about here is like roughly two hundred feet? It’s like suddenly I’m in a shitty Manhattan walk-up, and not the sprawling Irish mountainside.

There is a rickety old stove and a kettle. Okay, so there must be some sort of tea. Good sign. I look around, trying to find some sort of food. There’s a refrigerator. And a sink full of dirty dishes. Okay, not gonna get too judgmental there.

My own fridge, back home––before I got kicked out of the apartment that Julian owned––had basically only consisted of leftover take out. Take out menus on the fridge, and take out containers in the trash.

Feeling like it might be sorta presumptuous to open his fridge and start making myself something to eat––no matter how hungry I am. I decide to hold off and get dressed instead.

Maybe when I’m done, he’ll be back. If not... I guess I’ll let myself out and try not to take his disappearing act personally.

It’s not like I’m going to go outside wrapped in this sheet and start looking for him. Although, he did mention a romp in the woods. Maybe he’s out there waiting for me?

I shake my head, no. That’s not what he meant by that. Stop thinking like a crazy sex-crazed woman, Clover.

I walk to the front door––that’s all of four paces away, and grab my backpack. Hauling it over my shoulder awkwardly, I carry it to the bedroom area.

As I walk back across the barn, I realize this place is pretty charming. It’s unpretentious and well worn, but also unique. I smile, dropping the backpack on the bed, appreciating the quilt that fell to the floor––it looks hand stitched, and the braided rug on the floor looks handmade too. Nothing about this place reminds me of home, yet it feels so familiar.

Smiling to myself, I relax in the moment, something I haven’t done for three weeks. Traveling alone has forced me to keep my guard up. But now, I drop the sheet to the floor and begin looking for clothes.

I need underwear for starters because I’m sure I remember Conor ripping them off me last night like a savage mountain man.

Oh, my God, that sex was so fucking good.

Focus, Clover. In two hours, I need to be at the office of The Lucky Irishman Tour Company... and I still need to look up the address. I only knew, when I signed up online yesterday, that it was somewhere right outside of Dublin.

Finding what I need, I begin to shimmy into some underclothes. Before I pull them on, however, I hear the door open. And while bent over, my ass bare, I know he’s standing in the doorway. Getting a full moon.

“Wouldn’t mind waking up to that every day, darling.”

I turn on a dime, raising a finger in indignation over what––I’m not sure of. “Where were you?” I ask as if I am owed this information.

“Was getting some breakfast, lassie.”

Not sure I believe he really went out to get us food, I keep up my guard. “Lassie or darling? Which one is it?”

“Which would you prefer to be?” From behind his back, he pulls out a white paper sack.

“You drove all the way back to Dublin to get breakfast?” I remember the drive last night; it was 30 minutes, easy.

“I didn’t drive all the way back there. There’s a little place to stop and get a bite to eat, cup of coffee or tea, just down the way. The tourists like to go there. Traditional Irish fare.” He says this with a flourish.

“Well, thanks. I was on the verge of becoming hangry. And you don’t want to see that.”

“Hangry? And what’s that, dove?”

“Dove?”

Conor shrugs. “Trying to make sure I’m calling you the right thing. Haven’t decided yet.” He waves the bag in the air, tempting me. “You said you were hungry?”

“Not hungry, hangry. Angry and hungry at the same time. It’s a thing. And it’s something I suffer from. And something you’ll suffer from too if you don’t hand over that bag.”

Conor laughs and it’s like we’re back where we started. I’ve never had that with a man before––this level of ease. Especially, when I’m standing in front of one stark naked. My thighs and breasts are bigger than I’d like, but Conor doesn’t seem to notice that at all.

He’s staring at me as if I’m a work of art as if he paid money to walk into a museum and look at me.

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like a masterpiece before.

Forget that, I know the answer. I know I haven’t. But standing here in front of Conor, for the first time in my life I feel like I’m something worth admiring.

And Conor, with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbow, a knit cap on his head, and a white pastry bag not only tempting me but also making me feel special––I know the truth.

Conor is worth admiring, too.

7

Clover stands there looking more edible than the biscuits in my bag. Probably tastes much better too, considering Hildegard down the lane made them. She’s not exactly known for her baking or cooking. Or generosity.

The only thing she’s known for is the fact that she’s the one person on the road to Dublin serving anything to eat. And for a man like me who lives alone, and works alone, most days Hildegard is the only reason I eat all.

But now, after tasting Clover last night, I have a feeling she would satisfy me damn well every day.

Standing here before me now, her body bare, her eyes grazing over me with as much lust as I have for her, I thank my lucky stars for the hundredth time today that my brother and Sean happened to choose her from the crowd.

The idea of winning her over for a week doesn’t feel like much of a challenge because, in this moment, I wouldn’t mind winning her over for much longer than that.

And that’s saying something for a man like me who has pushed away commitment and obligation for as long as I’ve lived on this green earth.

“So, are you gonna hand over the bag?” Clover asks, pursing her lips in a way that both seduces and teases.

“I’m undecided, sugar, I don’t think that’s what I want to taste right now.”

I drop the bag on the bed and wrap my arms around her warm body. My hands run over her bare ass as I draw her closer to me. She just shakes her head and laughs.

“I wasn’t joking about being hangry, Conor. Yes, you were amazing last night, but I can’t just forget about my health to sleep with you.”

“You’re telling me, doll, that you’d rather have that shoddy pastry instead of a mouth full of my cock?”

She jumps away from me, grabbing the pastry bag, opening it up and pulling out a few biscuits. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I need this biscuit in my mouth before I can even think about anything else.” She jams it past her lips recklessly. With a mouth full of Hildegard’s round cake, she asks, “Oh, and could you make me some tea?”

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to be so high maintenance, lassie.”

“I like that one best,” she says, crumbs falling on her bare breasts. She doesn’t make a move to brush them away, and once again I’m struck by how irreverent she is. How unorthodox.

And I mean that in the best way possible. Clover is unrestrained, untethered. I truly feel as if I’ve met my match.

“You like which one best?” I ask, not following.

“Lass. Lassie? The other ones: love, doll, darling? I don’t know... those feel tired. But when you say, lassie, it makes me feel...”

“Like an Irish woman?” I ask, stepping closer to where she’s perched at the edge of the bed, and spreading her knees so I can fit between them.

“Maybe that’s what it is.” She shakes her head. “But when you say it like that, it feels cheap. Don’t Irish men say lass to everyone.”

“Not true. Not every Irish man knows how to speak to a woman.” My forefinger lifts her chin, her eyes meet mine. “Besides, it’s an old word, not used every day.”

“But you, Conor, you like things more traditional? Because I didn’t really get that impression when I walked around the barn.”

I cock a brow. “You like my barn, lassie?”

“I don’t know what I think of your barn. But I do know what I think about you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, now that I’ve had my biscuit, I’m willing to put other things in my mouth.” She says with mock seriousness and I appreciate her candor.

She’s not playing games, she wants more of me, but she’s not going to keel over to get it. She is still her own woman.

This is all new territory for me. I’ve never been with a woman I wanted to go get breakfast for in the morning. A woman I wanted to keep in my bed for longer than a night.

Then again, I’ve never had stakes like this, where I needed her to stay put to get what I wanted.

“Then let’s get to it,” I tell her.

She nods, her eyes bright, the Irish sun streaming through the window gracing her with a halo of light. And even though the day outside is cold, inside the barn, where the fire blazes, it’s plenty warm.

It’s about to get a hell of a lot warmer.

“And then you’ll make me the tea, right?” A smile plays in the corner of her mouth and I know she’s teasing––but also, not.

“C’mere, lassie, then I promise I’ll make you some tea.”

She undoes my jeans and they fall to the floor, her fingers tug down the waistband of my boxers. My hard cock is ready for her.

And she is ready for it. She looks up at me, surprise on her face, her smile widening.

“Conor, do all Irishmen have cocks like this? Because last night it was dark and while I know how you felt inside me, I didn’t get a good look at you.”

“Not every Irishman is graced with this, but I’ve already told you, lassie, I’m one of the lucky ones.”

She sighs, licking her lips, her fingers wrapping around my length. She strokes me softly, her other hand cupping my balls, and the heat from the friction gets me hard as a rock.

“I don’t know, Conor. From where I’m sitting, I think I’m the lucky one.” She wraps her mouth around me, her lips suctioning around my length, and she begins to suck.

Her mouth is warm and her tongue slides across my skin. She’s sucking me hard, up and down, and her bobbing head makes me want to explode in her mouth. “Slow down,” I tell her, laughing. “I want this to last a wee bit.”

Her shoulders shake as she laughs, her eyes meeting mine, her mouth still full of me.

“Mmmhagargor,” she mumbles, but I can’t make out the words, and that makes me laugh too.

“I want to know what you’re saying, but no bother,” I tell her. “Just get back to it.”

My chest tightens as I feel her mouth around me, my cock hitting the back of her throat, her tits bouncing, moving as she bobs her head.

Who is this magical creature, my own little leprechaun, who showed up out of nowhere? Who is this nymph giving me a blowjob and making me laugh at the same time? I’ve never met a woman who makes me feel like this: bigger than myself.

Truth is, I usually feel damn big on my own. But with Clover’s mouth wrapped around me, sucking me until I’m ready to explode, my heart feels bigger than it ever has before. She has made space for herself inside of me, and she isn’t even trying to.

“Oh, oh yeah,” I groan as she sucks me harder.

Until she sucks me off completely.

My come rushes into her mouth and she looks up at me with those wide eyes, swallowing everything I have to give her.

Her fingers circle around the base of my cock making sure she has been given every drop. When I finish, she pulls away and wipes her lips with her middle finger, catching her breath as she does.

I look at her, cupping her cheek with my hand.

“Thank you, Clover.” It feels weird to say those words because I’ve never said them to a woman for getting me off before. Most of the time, the entire thing is their idea.

But with Clover, it feels different. With Clover, everything feels like she is giving me a gift.

“You know I was just doing it so you would make me some tea, right,” she says smiling, teasing me so easily.

“I know, and I don’t mind being used like that.”

“I don’t mind it either,” she admits as she stands and pulls on her panties, reaching for her bra.

“You have to get dressed so soon?” I ask, tugging up my own jeans, not wanting her to go.

“Actually, I have plans today. I’m not staying in Ireland for long. In fact, I’m leaving as soon as I get the one thing I came for.”

I grin, grabbing the pastry bag and walking to the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water and place it on the burner. “And what were you coming for? Because you came pretty good for me last night.”

She’s still in the bedroom getting dressed, but I hear her laugh.

“I have a tour today with The Lucky Irishman Tour Company.”

Her words cause me to stop in my tracks; she has a tour with me today?

“I came to Ireland to find a rainbow,” she explains. “I know it sounds weird but I was just wanting a change and decided to find a rainbow would be the first step in changing my luck around. But I’ve been here for three weeks and haven’t found one at all. I have a return ticket that I can use anytime I want, but I’m only staying until I find that damn rainbow. Then I need to figure out the rest of my life.”

I root around the cupboard and find some black tea, setting the teabags into mugs. While I wait for the kettle to boil, I consider her words, frowning as I do.

“You came here for a rainbow? I’m pretty sure they have them back in the States, lassie.”

She comes out of the bedroom now, in jeans and a cream-colored jumper. She’s threading her hair into a braid as she explains, “But here’s the thing––everything was really going to shit at home, and it was kind of like a last-ditch effort to turn my luck around.”

“Things must’ve been going pretty badly if you came all the way to Ireland to find some good luck.”

“They were.” She leans against the kitchen island, pulling open the pastry bag. “I mean, not to get overly personal, but while I’ve always had bad luck, the last month things went from bad to terrible. I caught my then-boyfriend cheating on me––after he lied to me about it for a solid six months. P.S, men who lie are fucking douche canoes I don’t have time for.” She rolls her eyes, huffing, clearly triggered from the memory.

I clench my jaw, trying not to feel like the complete bastard I know I am.

“Anyways,” she continues. “Catching them meant we broke up, which means I lost my apartment. While mourning my new homelessness, I forgot to go to four shifts at work, which means I got fired from the coffee shop. And to top it off, I had a photography show that went terribly wrong. A reviewer said I need more life experience. So, here I am. Gaining life experience. Or at least,” she says with a defeated shrug, “I was trying to.”

“Don’t suppose any black cats were crossing your path as well?” I tease while pouring the boiling water into the mugs.

“It’s not funny,” she tells me, taking the bowl of sugar I offer. She adds two heaping teaspoons to hers and then looks around for some milk. Thinking one step ahead of her, I hand her a jug from the fridge.

“I don’t think you understand. I know you were joking last night about being lucky, but I am the unluckiest. Black cats have been my bread and butter. I’m always stepping under ladders, and constantly breaking mirrors. The things I want are always just barely out of my reach. Like this fucking rainbow.”

“Why a rainbow?”

“The way I’ve been operating hasn’t been working. I needed to do something totally different. Take a crazy risk. Take a chance.”

“And has it been working for you, lassie?” I ask, raising the tea to my mouth.

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. I know I’ve touched on something deep and raw within her. And I love that she doesn’t pull away from the complicated question.

“No. It hasn’t worked at all. This new lease on life has been one massive letdown.”

“Surely not all of it has been a letdown?” I ask, raising my eyebrows and looking down at my groin.

“I know what you’re doing, being cute to make me feel better; and Conor, I seriously appreciate it. But, I really mean it. This was my grand scheme to recharge my life …and now it’s almost over. My money’s nearly gone, I have a ticket to go to a home I don’t even have. I suppose I can move back in with my parents, but... it feels so anti-climactic. I just honestly don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

“I thought you said you were going to find a rainbow?”

She sighs deeply, and then as if mustering up every last ounce of courage she nods her head. “Yes,” she says sadly. “I’m going to try and find a rainbow. But then what? I mean, say I do find a rainbow, —it doesn’t mean there’s going to be some pot of gold at the end of it.” She shakes her head.

“But, what if there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?” I ask, already wondering how this story between us is going to play out, and realizing it’s a lot more complicated than Patrick or Sean thought. More complicated than I thought, certainly.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Part of me wonders if this has all been one life lesson, teaching me that there is no such thing as luck.”

“Oh, lassie, that’s not true at all. I think you met me for a reason.”

“You? What do you have to do with me finding a rainbow?”

I grin, realizing I may not know where our story ends, but I have an idea of how to get us there.

“Because, Clover, I’m The Lucky Irishman. I’m the one you paid to help you find your rainbow.”

8

When Conor tells me he’s The Lucky Irishman, my mouth drops. Is he fucking kidding me with this?

“Honest?” I shake my head, confused.

“Cross my heart, hope to die. Swear it on my mam’s grave. My father’s too.”

“You don’t have to swear on your parents. I … just. That’s a really weird coincidence.”

“Aye, I don’t believe in coincidence. My entire career has been built on expelling them.”

“I guess that makes sense.” I laugh, picking up my mug of tea, wondering where exactly this day is taking me. “So,” I clarify, “you’re The Lucky Irishman.”

“I am like I just explained.”

“And you’re not just teasing me. Not just saying that to like, get me to sleep with you again?”

Conor chuckles. “I don’t think I have to lie to you to get you to sleep with me, lassie. I think you want to do that again, regardless of what I say to you.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks because he’s right about that. Going down on him in the bedroom was the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, and all I want is to do it again.

“See, now I know what you’re thinking about,” he tells me. Setting down his mug, he runs his hand over his scruffy beard, grinning. “I’ll find you a rainbow, Clover. And after we find your rainbow, we’re coming back here and you can have more of what we started.”

“I don’t know if that will happen,” I say, already pushing back on what I want. Which is what I always do. Denying myself the good things I deserve... not really believing I deserve them at all. “Once I find the rainbow, I’m going home. I already have the plane ticket.”

“But you told me you don’t have a home to go to,” he presses. “Are you really so anxious to leave?”

I shrug, thinking over the last three weeks here in Ireland. They have been the loneliest three weeks of my life.

The truth is, I don’t have a ton of friends at home. A few years back, when I was in college it was easier, but after I graduated, I never really tried to meet new people. And sure, I have coworkers at the coffee shop, but I’ve never been one of those girls who had a best friend forever.

I swallow because obviously, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why I’ve never had a BFF. My modus operandi has always been bitchy and bitchier. It’s no wonder I don’t draw people in.

I drink my tea; avoiding Conor’s eyes, knowing that maybe I’m the reason my luck is so damn bad, just like Julian suggested.

I push away every good thing. People like that are left alone, trekking across the country of Ireland all by themselves. People like that don't find rainbows, not because they're not there, but because we refuse to see the good right in front of us.

And now, standing in this Irishman’s kitchen, I’m with a man who is funny and charming and sexy, who lives in a fucking barn worthy of an Instagram account capturing rugged mountain homes, a man who knows how to make tea and loves his country, feels like more than I deserve.

“Conor, once I find the rainbow I’m leaving. The truth is, I have no real reason to stay.”

Conor looks at me closer than I’d like, not answering me right away.

I change the subject, not wanting to dwell on my personal revelation.

“I paid for a private tour, so, Conor, where does it start?”

***

Outside, in Conor’s driveway, I see that he has a magnificent view. The barn is situated on a lovely spread of land, green as far as the eye can see.

“The property is beautiful,” I tell him.

“I’m glad you think so.”

He points to a van at the end of his drive. “So, I usually take the tour van right there, but I usually have a bigger group of maybe 4 or 5 that I drive around.”

“How long is your tour?”

“Well, I do my best to take them to the main tourists’ attractions in Wicklow. We go to Glendalough and Guinness Lake, stop at the Avoca Mill, places like that. But truly, the reason people choose my tour over another company is that I do my best to take them to the luckiest places, I have a knack for it, really. Just like you, others come for the promise of fairies or leprechauns. Or the rainbows, which I know you’re looking for.”

“And you usually find these things for people? You find leprechauns for your tourists?” I laugh, not believing this.

“Look, I show them the things they want to find. More than anything, though, I make sure to give the tourists a good time. That’s what they are here, after all, to enjoy themselves.”

When he speaks of tourists enjoying themselves I can’t help but feel a gurgle of jealousy inside of me, thinking he probably does show them a good time.

“Well, I booked you for the entire day, all for myself; spent my life savings to do so,” I tease; only half-joking. “So, let’s do this.”

“I think we’ll start in Glencree. Once there, there’s about a three-hour hike to Ravens’ Rock, and at the top of the rock, I’m sure we’ll see a rainbow.”

I smile, appreciating his focus on my one and only goal.

“Sounds perfect.”

“But we can go in my truck, no need to take the tour van.”

A few minutes later, we’re on the road and I can’t help but look out the window and marvel at everything I see. While I’ve spent the last three weeks in Ireland, the truth is, I haven’t had a real chance to let down my guard and relax. I’ve been so singularly focused that I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy myself.

But now, someone else is in charge and that helps me enjoy myself.

“We’ll cross through the lush gardens first,” he tells me. “They’re just magnificent, and the lochs there, too––just gorgeous”.

“It all sounds so wonderful. I live in Brooklyn and there’s not much in terms of wildlife. It’s hard to get out of the city.”

“Aye, then this is a far cry from home. You always lived there?” he asks, parking the truck in a small lot beside a dozen parked cars.

“I’ve always lived in New York, but not the city. I grew up in upstate New York. My parents still live in Buffalo.”

“Is it far?”

“Only half a day’s drive and I visit a few times a year. They’re busy with work, and honestly, we’re not that close.”

“Just half a day? That’s quite far, Clover. Takes that long to get from Dublin to London.”

I smirk as he points out another difference between us.

“But I’m truly sorry to hear that,” he adds.

“I take it you and your parents were pretty close?”

“The closest. It was difficult when Patrick and I lost them so quickly. My mam fell a few years back, broke her hip, never recovered. My father, he died a month later of a broken heart. The saddest story I ever heard, but just the ending is sad, I reckon. Those two had a happy life together.”

I nod, my heart swelling at his tenderness towards his parents. I reach over and take hold of his hand. Not letting go until we get to Glencree.

Once there, we hop out of the cab, ready for our adventure. I grab my camera bag from the truck and sling it over my shoulder. I unzip the case and triple check that everything is here.

As we start hiking up the trail, it’s impossible not to be whisked away by the romance of the mountain. And seeing Conor here, it’s obvious he’s in his element. Each step he takes looks natural, he moves with so much ease. And I swore he looked like he fit in down at that Dublin bar, but now I know being there was a far cry from his truest self.

Here, in the woods, Conor looks like he was carved from the same trees we’re passing as if he was made to walk alongside the green grass. As if he was made of this land, of this dirt, of this sky. Conor was made from this country, and I’ve never seen someone look so at home as he does, here.

“You doing okay, lass? You’re awfully quiet.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” I tell him, “but I must say I wish I’d worn better shoes.”

“You came to Ireland for a month to traipse around for a rainbow and you didn’t bring proper hiking boots? Just a pair of runners?” he asks, looking down at my tennis shoes.

“I think we’ve already established I wasn’t thinking this entire thing through when I made the decision to come,” I tell him shaking my head. “So, tell me, where is this rainbow you promised?”

“We’ve got another 3 miles to go at least. We’ve only walked half a mile so far.”

“Right.” I shake my head at my stupidity.

“At the top of Raven’s Rock, that’s where we will look for one. And look,” he says, pointing to the sky, “the clouds are just beginning to part. It might be a lucky day.”

It feels good to have Conor lead me to this guaranteed rainbow, but part of me wouldn’t mind not finding one.

He offers me his hand, and I take it.

If I don’t find one, I have an excuse to stay... even if it’s just for one more day.

Not that I’ll tell him that.

***

I’m sweaty and hot, and we’ve finally completed the 3.5-mile walk. The entire thing was uphill, not that I minded.

I swear I’ll never complain about this hike.

For 3 miles, I have had the privilege of watching Conor’s derriere as he walked up the mountain, straight ahead of me.

His ass is perfect in those jeans and every time he bent over to tie his shoe or point out some indigenous flora and fauna, the back of his flannel shirt raised ever so slightly, teasing me. Tempting me.

“Here we are, lassie.”

Standing at the top of Raven’s Rock, it feels like we can see forever.

“It’s lovely,” I tell him. “And I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but I’m wondering about that promised rainbow, Lucky Irishman.” Elbowing him, I tease. The sky is clear blue, not a cloud in sight, and certainly no rainbow.

He laughs, “Look, I don’t know what’s happening. There are always rainbows when I come. Always.”

“You sure about that?” I give him a signature scowl.

“I’m sure, lassie. I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Well, should we just sit here and wait or...?” My stomach growls, and I know it’s way past lunch time. We stopped a hundred times on this hike for Conor to point out something, all of it amazing, but it also means combined with the drive out here, it’s already afternoon, and we still have to walk back to the truck.

“Do you want to wait and look for one?” he asks. “The truth is, looking at that sky, I wonder if we’ll find one here today.”

“So, your whole guarantee a rainbow thing... Not exactly a science?”

“I’m telling you, I usually get to five or six stops on the tour a day. We’ve only managed one so far. So, don’t get your panties in a bunch yet.”

“Well, I’m hungry, so can we get some food and then go to stop number two?”

“Course, lassie. Wouldn’t want to see you hangry now would we?”

I smile. “No, we wouldn’t want that. Just let me get a few photographs, and then we can go.”

“I love that you take photos, Clover,” he says, watching me unpack my case and screw on a lens. “It’s so incredible, that you can look at a landscape and know just how to capture it.”

I smile up at him, positioning the camera in front of me, noticing where the light catches.

“I went to school for it, it’s not like I was born knowing how to do this,” I say.

“Don’t downplay your gifts.”

“Your gifts are better,” I tell him. “You know these mountains like the back of your hand. And know your place in them.”

“You know, lass, for a photographer, sometimes I think you don’t know where to zoom in or zoom out.”

I lower the camera. “Are you saying I don’t know how to focus?” Irritation flowers in my belly.

Conor shakes his head. “No, I’m not saying you don’t know how to focus, just that maybe you’re focusing on the wrong thing. What you aren’t, instead of what you are.”

I raise the camera to my eye, clicking wildly to avoid this conversation. Knowing though, as I do, that my eye is naturally trained on the right things when I look through the viewfinder. I know what parts of the photograph are inessential, and what parts matter the most.

And I know, deep inside, that Conor is absolutely right.

In life, unlike my creative work -- I’m focused on all the wrong things. What I haven’t got. Who wronged me. Why things aren’t fair.

I turn with the camera still to my eye and snap a photo of Conor looking out at the mountain views he has spent his life taking in.

The portrait of him is lovely. The green hills behind him, his face rugged and alive, as if he knows exactly where he belongs. Who he is.

In this moment, I know being here with him--a man so good and so true and so unfucking pretentious--is not an accident. I was supposed to meet him. A man so willing to say the hard truth.

Because I need the hard truth. I need a reality check.

He turns, realizes I’m focused on him.

“What is it?” he asks as I set the camera down.

I shake my head, not quite knowing how to say any of that to him.

“Did I hurt you, with my words?”

I shake my head again.

If I speak, I’m going to say things that are way out of line. Words like, I want you. Words like, please never let me go.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry, lass?”

“Thank you,” I manage. “For your honesty.”

As if knowing I can’t manage more of this conversation right now, Conor simply takes my hand and leads me down the mountain.

In this moment, finding a rainbow is far from my mind.

Because right, now, I feel like I have a pot of gold all my own.

9

I hate lying to her. And I can justify it in my mind, that it isn’t lying exactly... but it isn’t honest either.

She thinks I couldn’t find her a rainbow, but that isn’t the truth at all. Just when we crossed a riverbank in Glencree, I saw one up ahead, and that’s not all of it, I saw nearly a dozen throughout the day.

Every time, though, when one was near, I bent low, grabbed her hand, and pointed out some rubbish plant or animal track.

It was all for a good cause. If she finds her rainbow, she’s good as gone.

And I can’t have that. Because of the bet, surely, but also because I want more time with her.

Clover is a fucking treasure, and I swear, I’d traipse through a grassy hill all day looking for a shamrock or chase a leprechaun––even if I knew I’d never find one if it meant she was by my side while I was looking.

“Here we are,” I tell her, pulling into Johnnie Fox’s Irish Pub. “It’s said to be the highest pub in all of Ireland. Nestled high in the Dublin Mountains. Established in 1798, it’s one of the oldest pubs too.”

“Is this the spiel you give all your tours?”

I shrug, “Tis. Do I make a good go of it?”

“It feels a little info-dumpy, but it’s fine. Factual yet concise; I approve.”

I open the pub door for her, and we find a seat in the corner near a turf fire.

“You cold?” I ask as a waitress brings us each a pint of Guinness.

“This will warm me up,” she says, holding up her glass and knocking her rim against mine.

“What are we toasting?” I ask.

“Double rainbows?”

“I think that might be a reach, for now, let’s just hope for one.” I smile, raising my glass to hers, but beneath the smile, I feel a growing worry deep inside me––if she realizes what I’m up to, I’m royally screwed.

We both order lamb stew, and as we wait for it, Clover surprises me.

“So, I was thinking, it’s already four in the afternoon and after we eat, there’s still quite a drive back to your barn... I don’t see how we can fit in more rainbow stops today.”

I furrow my brows, surprised that she’s okay with giving up her quest for now and nervous that it means she’s over this entire hunt.

“Are you planning on leaving without seeing one?” If that’s the case, I'll really feel like shit for having seen plenty today and just avoided pointing them out to her.

“I don’t want to go yet. I mean, I want to see one... just... well, how do you manage seeing five places in one day? We only managed one, and could maybe squeeze in a second.”

“Well,” I cough. “Uh, well, I stopped a lot more and explained the scenery to you. Also, I don’t take my tours on the hike. We could have just parked at the top of Ravens’ Rock.”

“You mean to say we didn’t need to hike for three and a half miles?” She pushes her lips forward, annoyed. “Each way?”

“Well, not exactly. But it was a lovely hike, wasn’t it?”

“It was lovely, Conor, but you knew my goal. What I was trying to achieve. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I thought we might see some on the walk up... look, lassie, we can go out again tomorrow. No rush.”

“Don’t you have other tours?”

“I can cancel them.”

“That’s ridiculous. Saint Patrick’s Day is in a few days. I bet you’re booked solid. The only reason I got one was because your site said there was a last-minute cancellation.”

“I don’t see why you want to argue,” I tell her. “It might be a hassle to cancel the bookings, but if it means more time with you, it would be worth it. I mean, besides, you haven’t got any other place to stay, so I suppose you can shack up with me.”

The waitress brings us the stew and Clover picks up her fork, not looking at me, instead she frowns into her bowl.

“What did I do wrong?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience, Conor,” she says. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

“In the way of what?”

“Of your fun with other tourists. I know this thing between us has a shelf life, and I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

“Goodness woman, are you trying to drive me mad?’

She looks at me then, her eyes wide in disappointment.

“Am I driving you crazy? Because my ex, Julian, always said that. That my emotions were too much for him.”

“Fuck Julian. And fuck crazy. I’m not scared of a little crazy, and when I say you’re driving me mad, it’s not an insult. It’s a compliment. Don't ya realize, yet, that no woman has ever had that effect on me?”

“I don’t know what women do to you, and I don’t think I want to know.” Clover shakes her head, and I see she’s upset.

“Listen,” I tell her, reaching for her hand and lacing my fingers through hers. “There’s been a hell of a lot of other women, and its sounds like you’ve had a rough go with other men––but hear me out. You’re not other women. And I’m not other men. It’s just Conor and Clover here, nothing else, nothing more. Can’t we be enough for one another? For this night, at least?”

She bites her bottom lip, tears brewing in her eyes.

“Look, I didn’t mean to make you cry, lassie.”

She blinks, wiping her eyes with her hand. “They’re not bad tears, Conor. You’re just so fucking honest; it kind of takes my breath away.”

“You know what else might take your breath away?” I raise a brow at her, grinning now.

“What’s that?”

“The romp in the woods I was telling you about.”

“And when will that happen, Conor?” she asks.

“As soon as we finish this lamb stew, down these beers, and drive back to my barn. Then I’ll give you that tour I promised you last night.”

“In that case,” Clover says and brings a forkful of stew to her mouth, “we ought to get eating.”

10

On the way back to Conor’s barn, I unzip my pants and pull them down to my knees. Then I press my fingers to my pussy.

“Lassie, you’re gonna make me crash this truck,” he says, grabbing my thigh and squeezing it.

I take his hand and press it between my legs. I’m wet and bothered and I need him to know how badly I want him.

“I’m so wet. I don’t know what it is about you, Conor, but you make me hot in a way no one ever has before.”

Conor pets me, when he touches me I feel safe and secure and wanted. I bite my lip, loving the way he growls as I press a finger inside myself.

I don’t think there are any three better ways a man can make a woman feel.

“Almost home,” he tells me. “Just telling you so you’re ready.”

“Oh Conor, I’m already ready.” My fingers move quickly, pressed against my clit, and I watch Conor, whose hands are back on the steering wheel, trying so hard to focus and keep his eyes on the road.

But he keeps glancing down at me, watching as my fingers move in fast circles. I bring my middle finger from my pussy and touch it to his lips. He sucks my juices, biting down on my finger as he sucks. I laugh, tugging my hand away.

“You’re not supposed to hurt me.”

“Oh, lassie, you know I’m not hurting you. I’m just playing with you.”

“I think I’m the one playing with myself,” I tell him, and I recline the seat as back as far as it will go.

Leaning back, I work myself over faster and faster until I’m close to an orgasm. I reach over and grab his cock through jeans as I come with a crash. My moans fill the cabin, and my thighs are spread apart, my cunt dripping wet and my eyes are only for him.

“Good God, woman, I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing to me.”

I squeeze his cock through his jeans and laugh. “Oh, I think I know exactly what I’m doing to you.”

It doesn’t take long for us to get out of the truck and into his house, but it’s freezing cold. I watch as he lights a fire striking a match against some kindling in the wood stove.

“I thought we were going to romp in the woods? Did you change your mind?”

“No, lassie, I’m taking you to the woods tonight. To a place, I know you’re going to love.”

Not sure about what he means, I watch as he goes to the bedroom and brings back two bathrobes. He tells me to strip down and put the robe on.

“I was picturing us running in fields of heather, not getting ready for a shower. Where are you taking me, exactly?”

“It’s a surprise, lassie, haven’t you ever heard of those?”

He rests his hand on my back and guides me out the back door. He grabs a flashlight on the way out and I tease him for it.

“I thought you knew these mountains like the back of your hand?”

“Aye, but I wouldn’t want you scared, Clover.”

I shake my head and lean into him as he leads me down a path. The cold night air whips around us and a heavy mist is setting in from the shores in the distance.

“It feels magical out here,” I whisper, scared to talk too loudly in a land so enchanting. He lifts the boughs of a tree and we pass an old stone wall, past something which was the crumbling foundation of a house.

“Twas my great-grandparents’ homestead,” Conor tells me, flashing the light. “But where I’m taking you wasn’t here when they were alive.”

Curiosity overtakes me, and when he pulls back a fence made from fallen limbs of trees, a breath escapes me.

“Conor,” I say, hushed, “what is this place?”

Stone steps lead to a spring of water in the ground. The heat from it floating in the air, creating a sensual ambiance of another world, another time.

“It isn’t a hot spring if that’s what you’re wondering. I made it myself.”

“You made this?” I ask, incredulous.

“Can’t tell my brother, though, swear it?” He looks at me gravely, offering me his pinky. “He doesn't want me getting too comfortable since it's not my land—he lords it over me every chance he gets.”

I latch my pinky to his and pull it to my lips. “I swear.”

“I built this hot tub, mostly because I needed something to do out here at night when I’m all alone.”

“From what your brother and Sean were saying it doesn’t sound like you’re alone too often.”

Conor shrugs. “I’ve had my fun, sure, but I’d never take a girl I just met out here.”

“You just met me, Conor.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the steps, and then he stands before me, undoing the ties on the terrycloth robe. I take a sharp inhale of breath, everything about Conor catching me off guard.

“I may have just met you, Clover, but it feels like I’ve known you forever.”

I turn my head, hiding my face in my shoulder.

“You must say that to all the girls.”

“Stop,” he says, gently turning my head with his strong hand. “Stop with the self-deprecation, lassie. You are one of a kind. That’s why I brought you here. Now take off that robe and let me watch you get in that steaming tub of water.”

I raise my eyes to the star-filled sky, wondering when I got so damn lucky.

Seems like the moment I was at my lowest, Conor swept in and picked me up. Kept me from falling.

I swallow, reach for the collar of the robe, and pull it off, letting it fall to the stone floor. Then I reach for the belt on Conor’s robe, push off his robe, and run my hand over his chiseled chest. It’s rock hard and begging to be touched.

“You are insane, you know that? Right?” I ask, shaking my head at how well built Conor is. People say Scottish men are hot, but they have no idea what an Irishman can bring to the table. Everything. “I want to lick you. Like, every part of you. Does that sound strange?”

“It doesn’t sound strange, because the truth is, lassie, I want to devour you.”

Conor laces our fingers together; pulling me close, so close our skin collides and a thousand dots connect. My body was made for him. Never in my life have I fit anything or anyone so well.

I blink back the emotions brimming to the surface.

“What is it?” he asks, running a hand through my hair, planting kisses on my ear, my neck, and my cheekbones.

“I’m just really happy,” I tell. “In a way I never have been before.”

Conor takes hold of my face, holding it with both hands, and he kisses my forehead, my nose, my chin.

“Clover, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not just about the sex, is it?” I ask, admitting the one reservation I have about Conor. That this whole thing is a fairy tale that ends with a Princess running home without her glass slipper.

“No, it’s not just about the sex.” Conor licks my lips, nose to nose. “But lassie, that certainly helps.”

Then he kisses me, a kiss that literally sweeps me off my feet. Our mouths part, and his tongue brushes over mine, I sink into his kiss, into his arms, my fears washing away.

Then he leads me to the tub he made with his own two hands, the water steaming, hot, and intoxicating. We sink into the water, our bodies finding one another’s instantly. It’s a hot tub built for two and made for us.

He sits down on the bench, pulling me onto his lap, and I straddle him, my breasts bobbing in the water, his cock hard against my pussy.

“Does it get any better than this?” I ask, whispering again, the night feels more magical than I’d ever had guessed.

“It does lassie, it does.”

Conor guides his cock inside of me, my pussy expanding to fit all of him. I bite my lip, my arms wrapping around his neck, my core on fire.

“Conor,” I moan, instantly getting off on the way his massive cock fills me entirely. “You’re so... so... oh, Conor, we’re so...” I pant, my head falling back.

“We’re so what?” he asks, thrusting his cock deep inside of me.

I sigh, his cock filling me up, stealing my breath away. My eyelids flutter open, and I look deeply into his eyes. “We’re so damn lucky.”

11

The next morning Clover and I stop at Hildegard’s to grab some breakfast before we start our day of touring the mountainside.

Hildegard isn’t going easy on me. She’s a terrible cook and is a little too crass for her own good. Her saving grace is that there’s nowhere else to stop for a bite.

“Look at this spectacle.” Hildegard shakes her head, drying her hands on her apron front. “Conor bringing a lady with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sight. It’s always girls stopping here for something to eat after you’ve kicked them to the curb.”

“Aye, that’s enough, Hilde. We’re just here for breakfast.”

“I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

Clover’s eyes raise, clearly embarrassed.

“Maybe we ought to go,” I say.

Clover shakes her head and leans in with a whisper. “No way, I’m starved. This woman doesn’t scare me.”

I put my hand on the small of her back, and then face Hilde. “We’ll have traditional breakfasts, without any side of your sass.”

She humphs at us but waves us toward a table. Before we sit, I hear her tell Clover that whenever she realizes I’m nothing but a bit of fun, and needs a ride from my place to Dublin, to give her a call.

I try not to roll my eyes.

We’re sitting down with our food when lo and behold Sean wanders in.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, immediately feeling protective of Clover.

Of her learning anything before I’m ready to share.

Last night surpassed my wildest dreams... Clover opened her body and her heart to me. And me to her.

I woke this morning, watching her sleep; the rise and fall of her chest, imagining she and I using that piece of land from Patrick to build a home for a family. Our family.

I don’t bloody know what’s happened to me in a few days’ time, except that I am falling for Clover in a way I never knew was possible.

This is how my parents must have felt when they met, head over heels.

And unless I have Patrick’s land there isn’t much I can offer her. A barn? My tourist business makes ends meet and then some, but it isn’t a massive company. I need more to offer her than what I currently have.

“I was coming your way,” Sean tells me. “I wanted to check in on how you’re doing,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Clover. “And how are you doing as well, miss?”

“I’m doing fine.” She smiles, biting her bottom lip. “Great, actually. Your old friend Conor has been treating me quite nicely.”

“Really?” Sean frowns. Before he can say anymore, a waitress I’ve never seen before stops at our table. She’s about the same age as Clover, but an Irish girl with curly red hair. Sean asks her for a cup of tea and a plate of food. Not having much game, he asks her plainly, “Where are you from? I’ve never seen you about before.”

She smiles widely at him and Clover raises an eye at me. “I’m from the North, here helping my great aunt out for a bit. Do you come by often?”

Is this waitress flirting with Sean? Only a newcomer in town would do such a thing—everyone else knows his piss poor history with women.

“Not, uh, often. But, uh, maybe I’ll be back.”

The waitress leaves, her hips swinging, and Clover smiles at him. “You could have at least asked her name.”

Sean hangs his head sheepishly and we only stop giving him a hard time because Hildegard’s bringing round our biscuits, eggs, and sausage. It’s all overcooked and burned to a crisp.

In between bites, Sean raises a chin to Clover. “So, you’re telling me you haven’t thrown Conor in the bin yet?”

Clover shakes her head, smirking. “Should I?”

Sean shrugs. “Just surprising is all.”

I kick Sean under the table. What the hell is he getting at, and why does he care?

“Ow,” Clover yelps, grabbing her foot. “Why’d you do that?”

“Sorry, lass. Didn’t mean to.”

Sean laughs.

I glower. “You and Patrick managed to get home alright, the other night?”

“Barely. After you two left, the pair of us were near ready to pass out. But I got him in a taxi. You haven’t spoken with him then?”

I run my hand over my beard. “No, why?” Suddenly a sense of dread washes over me. What if neither of them remembers the bet? Why if Patrick denies it? “Neither of you were too drunk not to make it to home, then. So, I reckon you remember most of the evening?”

Sean nods slowly. “He remembers. All of it, Conor. No need to worry. I saw him yesterday, was in the market getting lunch, and he was too.” The two of them both work in the financial district in Dublin, so it isn’t uncommon for them to run into one another. “We were laughing about the right good night we had––he says he hasn’t let loose like that in ages. It was right good of you to come down from your mountain to see him. I think he gets lonely, to be honest.”

“You don’t see your brother often, then?” Clover asks.

I shrug. “It isn’t personal, exactly. Just Patrick is a little uptight, never really lets his guard down. Kind of a drag, to be honest.”

“It’s true,” Sean adds. “Though I think the tide is changing. He has his trip in a week or so, who knows, maybe he’ll never return.”

“Where is he off to?” Clover asks.

“Thailand, the first vacation he’s ever taken.”

“Good for him.” Clover smiles. “Now, what exactly were you worried your brother forgot, Conor? Sounds ominous.”

Sean raises a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “Just bullshit, ragging on Conor here for his past indiscretions.”

“Let the past be buried, alright?” I warn Sean, who has a habit of pushing things a wee bit farther than he ought. Not that I should talk. I’m the one who made the stakes for the bet in the first place.

“Well, we all have our past, don’t we?” Clover asks, resting her hand on my knee under the table.

“Sean certainly does. Just ask his ex-wives.”

“Wives?” Clover asks.

“Past indiscretions.” Sean shrugs sheepishly. “I’ve played around as much as Conor, but I kept marrying the ladies.”

“And Conor managed to avoid tying the knot?” Clover asks.

“Conor avoids any commitment, spending more than a night with you makes you his longest relationship.”

Feeling like I need to cut this conversation off before we get in some seriously murky water, I tell Sean our plans for the day.

“After breakfast, we’re headed to Guinness Lake, then Glendalough.”

“Sounds lovely, though I do hope the weather agrees. It’s cloudy and wet.”

“That’s good,” Clover says, her voice chipper and hopeful. “We’re looking for rainbows. And hopefully when the sky clears, one will appear.”

“Rainbows?” Sean shrugs. “Well, you certainly have the right man for the job. He finds one every day, luckiest bastard in Ireland.”

“I know. That’s why I was in Dublin in the first place, I had signed up for his tour.”

Sean slaps the table. “No bloody way! Truly?”

I grin. “Who’da thought, right?”

“That’s quite the coincidence, mate.”

“Coincidence?” Clover says. “Conor doesn’t believe in those.”

“Right again,” Sean laughs, looking between us, softening. He raps the table with his knuckles. “Well, looks like I’m not needed here,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gotta head to the office anyway.”

“Aren’t you ready to quit the bullshit and move out to the country?”

“More than ever. This racket in town, it’s grinding my last nerve. I’d love nothing more than to have a change of pace.”

“I know, brother, I know.” I clap Sean on the back, knowing he’s had a rough go of it. Two wives, both cheated on him. Clover may think she’s unlucky in life, but Sean? That bloke is unlucky in love.

After Sean leaves, Clover looks down to her plate of food as if she’s memorizing it.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, it’s just ... does everyone razz you about the women you’ve been with?”

I add more pepper and salt than necessary to my eggs, deciding what exactly I want to say. “Look, it’s no secret that I’ve fucked around. But it’s all been harmless fun. I’m out here in the sticks, what else is a man supposed to do?”

Clover twists her lips, conflicted.

I take her hand in mine. “Listen, I’m not perfect. We’ve covered that plenty. And the truth is, this is all new territory for me.”

“What territory are we talking about, exactly?”

“Us. This.” I take off my knit cap and run a hand through my hair. “I mean, the last few days have felt like we’ve been on hyper-speed, hasn’t it? Like we’ve been at this a lot longer than we have?”

“It does.” Clover nods, slowly. This conversation clearly isn’t easy for her either. It’s vulnerable and honest and it has me shaking in my boots. But then Clover speaks again. “It feels like I’ve known you forever, Conor. Like I can trust you. Like I was meant to be here, with you. Maybe that sounds crazy, or intense but––”

“It doesn’t. I feel it too. And I want to see where it takes us. In two days’ time, I feel like I’ve known you forever. What will it be like in two more days?”

Clover blinks tears in her eyes again. “I didn’t think this was real, whatever this is.”

“It’s the magic of Ireland, lassie.”

“Then I suppose today is the day I'm going to find that rainbow.”

She grins at me, her face bright and glowing, and I love seeing her this way. The girl so scared of her own shadow a few days ago is long gone.

I just don’t know what to do about the mess I’ve got myself in.

Part of me thinks I ought to call Patrick and call off the bet, but I know my brother, and our rivalry has deep roots. If I call it off, he’ll call me a loser. But since Clover isn’t going anywhere without me, he’ll see her again, and soon.

So, where would that leave me? She’d find out about the bet regardless.

And I wouldn’t have the land I want to offer her.

I haven’t much choice but to push forward.

Besides, I’ve gotten myself out of bigger scrapes before. Certainly, I can manage this lassie’s heart.

12

After our heart-to-heart at breakfast, the day gets going without a hitch. We make our way to the gorgeous Guinness Lake, where we wander for hours, nearly circling the entire thing.

 “It earned its nickname because it borders the estate owned by the Guinness family,” Conor explains. The water is a rich brown color, just like the pints we drank at Johnnie Fox’s the night before. “The family actually imported the white sand that you see on the shoreline to make it look like a frothy head on a pint.”

I take pictures of the iconic spot, but every time I think there might be a break in the clouds, Conor shakes his head and tells me to keep going.

It’s a disappointment, and I have my camera slung over my shoulder the entire day, ready to point and click, but the only ones I take are snapshots of Conor and me.

I make him take a hundred selfies with me, and he’s a good sport about it, so long as I listen to him ramble on and on about the countryside that we’re in.

Guinness Lake has been here forever it seems, and as I walk around it with Conor, it feels like I could spend forever here too.

By the early afternoon, we get to Glendalough and I’m ready to see some freaking rainbows.

“Here you go lassie: shamrocks,” Conor says pointing to a patch of greenery.

“It’s not a rainbow,” I tell him glumly.

“Well, maybe not, but let’s see if there are any four-leaf clovers.” We get on our hands and knees looking for one, and of course, within minutes Conor plucks one from the earth and hands it to me.

“There you go, my Clover. It’s good luck. Maybe it will help us find our rainbow here.”

I smile and tuck it in the threads of my sweater.

“Okay, Conor, now it’s time to bring your A game. Tell me about this Glendalough that we’re at now.”

“Thousands of years people have been drawn to the Valley of the Two Lakes. Besides being just so damn beautiful, it’s inspirational to be here. You can’t leave without your heart feeling a little more full than it was when you came.”

I know just what he means, because as we walk on foot around the monastic city, then get in the truck to look at monuments and the lakes, I feel like I can breathe easier.

I never breathe this way in New York. Ever since I graduated college, and moved there, my life has been a non-stop treadmill. I’m terrified to stop moving, so instead, I go faster and faster, the speed accelerating past anything I am capable of.

When I wasn’t working, I’d spend hours in the darkroom of the studio I rented, trying to come up with some brilliant new concept. I’d spend hours trying to take photographs that were truly spectacular.

The fear was, that if I didn’t create some breakout hit, then I was just going to wash away and disappear in the masses that are the city. Julian never helped the stress, he just amplified it. We met at a gallery, both of us competing since we met.

I never want a relationship like that again. One where I am constantly trying to one-up my partner. One where I am constantly treading water just to survive.

But here in the mountains, the idea of disappearing doesn’t seem so terrible. In fact, it sounds inviting.

If I were to live in Ireland, specifically the Wicklow Mountains, I can imagine being satisfied because there’s no one to race with. The only person I really would need to be content with is myself.

And for the first time in my life, it feels like maybe who I am is enough.

“You’re back in your head, again,” Conor says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“I know, it’s just this is more than I expected. I had been in Ireland for three weeks, but never once did I feel so at peace as I do now.”

“Maybe you were in the wrong part of Ireland, but I don’t think that’s possible. I think the problem you had was that you weren’t with the right guide.”

Conor pulls me to him, and with the green grass and the snow-capped mountains surrounding us, and the four-leaf clover at my chest, he kisses me.

He kisses me in a way that makes me think that maybe, as crazy as it sounds, we can really be something. Something real. Something forever.

And even though I spent my whole life running and therefore, creating my own bad luck, I don’t want to run anymore. It’s like, the moment I walked toward the unknown, the scary––the Conor––I found something life changing.

I found him.

“Your smiles go on for miles,” he tells me, then kisses me again. And when he kisses me, I breathe him in, the mountain air that he is made of, the rocky river banks, the wood burning stove, and barrel-aged whiskey. Conor smells like the place I want to call home.

“You’ve made me into a sappy romantic,” I tell him, turning back around to take in the view, Conor wraps his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me to him. “I’ve never been like this before. I’ve always been too disgruntled for my own good.”

“Looks like times are changing, Clover. This romance isn’t going away anytime soon.”

“Is that your way of telling me you are looking forward to another nighttime romp in the woods?”

“Of course, it is. Only this time you’re not going to straddle me,” he whispers in my ear.

“No?”

“No, this time I’m going to take ye from behind, lassie.”

“Sort of like the position we’re in now?” I ask, grinding against his groin, but knowing there are tourists roaming about and that getting him too hard up here is nothing but cruel.

He laughs his warm breath in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“This position will be perfect.”

“In that case, we need to get down to business.”

“You’re ready to go then?” he asks, spinning me round to face him.

“Of course, just as soon as you show me this damn rainbow.” I smack his ass, and he grabs my hand.

Conor knows the right path to take, and we end up at the highest point in Whitehill. The mountain path we are on is a patchwork of different mountainous and uphill areas. My legs are killing me by the time we reach the top.

“We’ve been walking for hours,” I moan. “I should have let you take me home before we started this hike.”

“This was all your doing, all right,” he jokes. “But truly, are you holding up okay?”

“I’m doing okay,” I say sitting on a fallen log. “But my confidence in you as a tour guide is quickly diminishing. I think you may have written all those Yelp reviews yourself,” I tease, remembering all the descriptions of how easily the tour guide deemed The Lucky Irishman was able to find these people what they were looking for.

“I know, I know. Tomorrow we’ll find you one. It’s already getting late. It’s after 4 o’clock and we’ve still got a long way to walk back to the truck.”

I’m disappointed, but the photographs that Conor and I took together more than make up for it.

The truth is, I don’t care about finding a rainbow. Not one lick.

But if I tell him that, he might go back to his regular life, booking tours and actually doing his job.

And I’m not ready to say goodbye to him. So, I’ll let him take me around again tomorrow and the next day. Crossing my fingers the whole time that there are no rainbows in sight.

Because as soon as I find one, I won’t have a reason to sleep in his bed, a reason to be held in his arms.

We haven’t made any promises, but the truth is, after a few days I feel ready to make all sorts of commitments to him.

13

We spent a day going through the gardens of Glencree, having a meal at Johnnie Fox’s pub. Then we spent a morning walking around Guinness Lake and the afternoon touring Glendalough.

Yesterday, we went to the Avoca Mills and saw where many of the traditional Irish jumpers and hats are made; we had lunch at Sheryl’s pub and then came home early. Both of us worn out and tired.

No rainbows found.

Which is complete bullshit; I saw three. Before noon.

Of course, I didn’t tell Clover because I am terrified that she’ll leave me once she has what she came for.

When we got to the barn last night, Clover was spent and fell right to sleep. Me, though? I paced the house trying to figure out what I was going to do––scared of losing everything. Right when I am so close to having it all.

It’s not just about the land or woman, about winning a damn bet or my fingers itching to run across her skin.

It’s become so much more than that now. I want to tell her how I feel. I want to tell her what she means to me.

I want to tell her words I’ll never take back.

When we wake, I know that today is the day. It’s finally St. Patrick’s Day. The day the deal is finally off, and I can come clean.

I look over at Clover, she’s stirring and smiling in her sleep. It’s been surreal watching her change over the week. She’s gone from a girl with a guard so far up she was biting at everyone, to a woman who has allowed me to work my way all the way into her heart.

How did I get so damn lucky to wake up with this woman in my arms?

“Morning sleepyhead,” Clover says, her fingers running from my cheek down past my chest towards my cock.

“You want to talk about sleepyheads? You fell flat on your face at seven o’clock last night.”

“I know, you’ve worn me out this past week,” she groans, though I know she’s in a lighthearted mood by the way she wraps her legs around mine. “Traipsing through the woods, walking everywhere, I swear I’ve never worked out this much. And then, on top of that, every night we get back here and roll around in this bed until dawn.”

“Not every day,” I correct her. “Last night, remember, you fell asleep. I had to sit here all by my lonesome.”

She leans up on her elbows resting them on my chest. Her body is tangled against mine; both of our bodies bare.

“And what did you do Conor, all by yourself last night?” she asks. Her sleepy morning eyes starting to wake.

I reach for her elbows and pull her close to me, forcing her upon my chest. Her body covers mine.

“I cried myself to sleep,” I tell her. “It was the saddest sight I’d ever seen. I had such a beautiful woman here and yet she was passed out. A blow to my ego is what it was.”

Clover laughs, her hair falling over her shoulders, the strands of hair tickling my face. I brush it aside and pull her mouth to mine. I kiss her hard; kiss her completely.

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you right now?” I ask.

“I can take a wild guess.” She reaches down her hand, grabbing my cock and moving it closer to her pussy. Her already wet and ready and willing pussy.

“I want you forever, Clover.”

“How long is forever?” she asks.

“Forever is always.”

“Those are big words, coming from you. You’re a man forever scared of commitment.” Clover inches me inside of her, biting her lip as she does, but she’s meeting my eyes. I wonder if this conversation is more than she is ready for.

“Things change, lassie. You’ve changed me.”

She sits up, straddling me as she eases herself onto me, turning her hips ever so slightly, rounding them in a circle so every part of her is filled with me.

“I’m still an American, I can’t stay here forever, this isn’t my home.”

“Lassie, do you want to go back to America?”

“I want to find a rainbow.”

“I failed you on that, didn’t I?” I run my hands over her back, down her spine, holding her ass in place, forcing her to stop moving above me.

She shakes her head, pressing her forefinger to my lips. “Shush, Conor. Why do you always have to make things so serious? I wake up and the first thing from your mouth is heavy questions. You could do other things with your mouth, you know.” She laughs, and I know she’s teasing me.

I make up for it by grabbing her tits, both with my hands, squeezing them until she laughs.

Nuzzling against her neck I whisper, “I don’t know how to do all of this, Clover, I’m trying here.”

“I don’t know how to do it either, Conor. It’s all new territory for me too.”

“Is there something you want me to say, something that would make you stay?”

Clover smiles softly, but her mouth doesn’t part, and she shakes her head, circling her hips against me again, drawing me closer.

I pull her to me, wrap my arms around her back, our chests pressed tight against one another.

I roll her over, I'm on top of her now, thrusting inside of her perfect body, wanting to mark her with all that I am. Fill her with all I might be.

I fuck her sweetly, she fucks me softly, my hands gripping the headboard as I move inside of her, harder and harder.

Her eyes close and our conversation is lost as we come, together, completely.

After, we stand in the shower and wash one another’s bodies. I run my hands through her wet hair and look down at her, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She was dropped into my lap in the most unexpected way. I never want to hurt her, I never want to make her cry.

I need tell her how much I care about her.

And also, the truth of why I brought her back to my barn that first night, as hard as it will be.

Of course, I’m scared she’ll leave me for good.

But I’m hoping the truth will incite her to stay.

14

Here’s the thing about Conor, we can be rolling around in his bed one second, and then the next, he asks me questions that take my breath away.

But he doesn’t give me a full answer, a complete story. And it makes me wonder what he is holding back.

In life, it’s always been me who is the one holding back, but my gut is telling me he isn’t being completely transparent. He’s not saying everything he wants to say, and unless he does, there’s no reason for me to stay.

I still have a plane ticket home... and the last thing I want is to stay somewhere I’m not wanted.

“So, where are we headed today?” I ask as we jump in his truck.

“I have one last place I want to take you. I think you might find a rainbow there. It’s Saint Patty's day, after all, I think luck might be on our side.”

“I think I’m done with the rainbow thing.”

“But what about your photography show? The massively spectacular one that you have planned?”

“Conor.” I shake my head. “Stop it. There’s not going to be a show. I’m going to move back home and get a job like everyone else. It’s time I grow up.”

“You don’t need to be so dramatic.”

I huff, rolling my eyes at Conor. Of course, he doesn’t seem to understand that it is dramatic, it’s my life.

A life I would give to him if he asked for it.

But he hasn’t. And I don’t expect him to. We’ve been inseparable for one week, but just because he said he wants a forever with me, it doesn’t mean those words are true... they could be lines he’s used before and lines he’ll use again.

I don’t want that to be true... and most of my heart doesn’t think it possible––when he speaks to me it feels more than special … it feels like love.

“Tell me, Clover, what sort of photography have you done in the past?” he asks as we drive down the road, attempting to take the edge off my tone. He doesn’t seem angry with me for being emotional––he takes it in stride. Conor accepts me.

I exhale, trying to stay present even though my mind is a thousand miles away, thinking of the future. “I’ve always tried too hard to be unique. I did a series of portraits of people in Central Park. The whole thing was forced.”

“Portraits of people in the park seems quite nice.”

“Yeah, but mine were all really dark.” I shake my head remembering the stupid photographs I made. “Like literally dark. You could hardly see the people in them.”

“Not artistic license?”

“No more like trying to be so different I ended up like everybody else.”

“Is no one else taking photographs of rainbows?”

“I was going to transfer the images, I had this idea about the way I would capture the light in them, almost like I'd make it opposite. I know it’s hard to explain, but I wanted these rainbows to not just show the happy, but also the sad. Because not everyone finds a pot of gold. That’s why I was going to interchange the colors.” I look out the window. “It’s stupid, probably a dumb idea anyways. I mean, I had to find a fucking rainbow first, right?”

Conor coughs gruffly, then grasps the steering wheel tightly.

“What?” I ask.

“Why are you trying so hard anyways?”

I snort. “Why are you always taking things so easily?” I ask. “I mean, you just started this tour company because you wanted to. Live in a barn because you want to. You’re able to take everything in stride, never having a real problem.”

“Real problems? And what exactly are your real problems, Clover?”

“This is my problem, fucking it up. Making everything weird between us. I get scared. I get fucking terrified that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I might be reading you all wrong.”

“Stop it. Trust yourself and your instinct,” he says, not giving in to my wailing. “I don’t know why I’ve been so charmed, but I have and that’s that. My parents loved me, my brother was nice even though he is an asshole. But a regal sort of asshole. So, I don’t know, I never take things too seriously. But that’s my downfall when it comes to you. You think you’re scared of the unknown? Dammit, Clover, I’m terrified too.”

I bite my knuckles, knowing we’re pushing past nicety and veering into a very real, very vulnerable––very true relationship. Everything is being tossed into the open and there is no safety net.

“In my parents’ will, they left me my mother’s wedding ring. Do you know why?”

“No. Why?” I ask not quite knowing where he’s going with this.

“Because my parents’ greatest wish, the ongoing joke in our family, was that I’d never settle down. Marrying was their greatest wish for me.”

“Well, that’s very sweet.” My shoulders are so freaking tense and I run my hand over my neck. Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on this. This relationship with Conor. I’m hoping that he’ll ask me to stay, but maybe I’m asking too much, more than he can handle.

Conor runs his hand over his jaw, groaning. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking it up––getting you all worked up and that wasn’t the point of today. The opposite, in fact.”

I drop my head against the headrest on my seat, silence overtaking the truck. Conor reaches for my hand, grasps it and pulls it to his lips.

Knowing he’s still here, that we’re in this together, I ask, “Do you ever feel like life would be easier if it were in black and white?”

“Why would you want things in black and white, lassie?”

“It might be easier.”

“Easier? Maybe. But fucking boring as hell. Why would you want your world to be in black and white when there’s another option?”

“It might feel safer. More secure.

“And that’s what you want? Safety, security? More than anything else?” Conor asks me. “I thought you wanted bright, beautiful rainbows. A life lived in every shade.”

“Yes, is that so terrible?” I shake my head. “I’m tired of chasing things that aren’t real. I’m chasing rainbows, but I’m scared I’m just going to end up lost.”

Conor parks the truck on an empty road. He gets out of the truck and walks around for my door, and helps me out.

“Safety and security are lovely things,” he says. “But I believe a life with color is even more beautiful. Look at me, Clover. You don’t want life in black and white. Open your eyes and look around you. Don’t you see all the green hills and the snow-capped mountains? See the river running under that bridge, the brown dirt and the rough rocks? That’s what you get when you live life in color. So, tell me why you want your life in black and white.”

I shake my head. “Everything with you is amplified, it’s like when we’re together we’re really happy or really sad or really horny.”

“That’s a good thing, Clover. That is life in color.”

“I need more than that. More than a metaphor. I need something concrete from you and I’m terrified that you’re too scared to give that to me.”

Conor takes my face in his hands, looking at me dead on.

“I’m not scared of saying what I mean,” he says. “If that’s what you’re asking. I want to say it. Been wanting to say it for days. Wanting to say it since the night we met. Since I saw your fiery eyes not putting up with anyone or anything. I’ve been wanting to say it since I heard you laugh at the pub, a laugh that came from the deepest part of you. You are unapologetically, you.”

“Flaws and all?” I say, blinking, knowing the tears are going to fall, and once they do, I won’t be able to stop them.

“There are no flaws with you, Clover. You may get a little hysterical, hangry even––but that’s your charm, lassie. Wouldn’t change that about you for the world.”

He takes my hand and pulls me over to the bridge, where the river is running beneath it.

“I wanted to bring you here today, to this specific place,” he tells me.

“Why? Because you’re gonna find a rainbow?”

“Believe it or not, there are no rainbows out here today. They’re over at Glencree now, I reckon. But listen, this bridge is from a famous movie, do you know it?”

I look around, and then smile despite myself, realizing where we’re standing. “This is the bridge from the movie, PS I Love You, right?”

He nods. “The final, most romantic stop on The Lucky Irishman Tour.”

He takes my hands and laces our fingers together. When he looks down at me, I swear I can hear his heart beating through his shirt.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Clover, I love you. I wanted to say it last night.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You fell asleep on me, lassie.”

I laugh because as cocky and arrogant as this mountain man is, he also makes me smile in ways I never have before.

And he loves me.

Conor loves me.

“Listen,” he says, “I wanted to say it this morning, but I wanted to be at this spot, a place we would remember for always. Clover, with all that I am, I love you.”

“Conor,” I say, the knot in my stomach long gone, the tension in my shoulders evaporated, the smile on my face, wide. “I love you too.”

“Even though I didn’t find your rainbow?”

“Even though.”

He kisses me then, a kiss that fills me to the brim. Standing on this bridge, the Irish sun shining down on us, I don’t need a picture to remember this day. It’s been sealed to my memory, bound to my heart. Conor is here with me, and he loves me.

And I love him.

“Can we go back to your place now?” I ask.

He laughs. “You don’t want to find the rainbow today?”

“I don’t need a rainbow if I have you.”

Conor lifts me from the ground, and I wrap my legs around him as he kisses me again.

“I love you, Clover. I hope you know how much I mean that.”

“I know.” We smile, foreheads resting against one another.

And never in my life have I felt so safe, so secure.

In this moment, there is nothing that can change that.

15

On the ride back, I’m beaming, telling Conor how I’ve never felt so safe with anyone before—never had someone who was so completely honest and open with me.

I get that I’m talking a lot, but it’s like once Conor told me how he felt, I was safe to tell him more about how I felt too.

He doesn’t say much, but I talk enough for the two of us.

We’ve only been gone from his house for a little over an hour, but I’m so excited to get in bed with him, maybe go down to his hot tub later, begin exploring one another’s bodies in a new way, a way that has promises attached to it.

But when we get inside, Conor drops his keys on the counter and turns to me with a serious look on his face.

Thinking he wants to get down to business, I walk toward him and begin unbuttoning his shirt, but he gently brushes my hand aside.

With that motion, I know there’s more to the story than just I love you. There’s something he hasn’t said.

“Listen, Clover, there’s something I need to tell you, something that might make you a little... angry?”

“You mean hangry?” I ask, hoping he just doesn’t have any groceries and that we’ll need to go back out.

“No, I mean angry-angry.”

I laugh tightly, not wanting anything to ruin this picture-perfect day.

“You waited until after you told me that you love me before you break the bad news? What is it, are you dying on me? Are you actually a convicted felon?”

Conor runs his hand over his jaw and I see that he’s not matching my jokes tit for tat. Whatever he’s going to say next is truly serious.

“I had to tell you how I felt before I told you this part because I feared losing you over it.”

I frown, suddenly genuinely scared. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, as if ashamed. “There was a bet. A bet on you. A bet I made with my brother Patrick.”

I press my lips together, and then ask, “What kind of bet was it?”

Conor sighs, like the weight of the world, is on his shoulders.

“I think we need some whiskey for this,” he says like the true Irishman he is. He grabs a bottle and pours two shots. One for me and one for himself. He raises his glass to mine. “Just try and have an open mind, lass.”

Not liking the tone in his voice, I shake my head, but then knowing this may very well be the end of this great ride, I tip back the whiskey anyways.

“Keep talking, Conor.”

“Look, before you I never kept a woman around, and my brother and Sean didn’t think I could manage a woman for a week. The night we met, I’d struck a bet with Patrick. I had until St. Patrick’s Day to show back up at the pub with the woman of their choosing, proving she’d fallen for me.”

“And if you did,” I press. “What would you get?”

“If I did, I’d get my brother’s land. The land that this barn is built upon. I don’t own it. Patrick does. He inherited it.”

“You got a ring and he got this entire piece of property?”

“All my parents wanted was to see me married, and for Patrick to slow down and enjoy the simpler things in life. The things you can enjoy out here in the woods.”

I scoff, crossing my arms because if I did anything right now besides pulling up my guard, I would be lost to a sea of tears.

I love this man and I am nothing but a bet to him?

“Was any of this real?”

“Of course, it was,” he tells me. “I swear to you. It wasn’t a trick. I mean that part wasn’t a trick. They chose you from the crowd, and lucky choice, right? We were made for one another. So yes, it started as a bet, but then it turned into something real.”

“Is that everything?” I ask. “Or is there more?”

“I want to be straight with you, I can’t tell you I love you and then be dishonest. So, listen. You know how all week we’ve gone looking for rainbows?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do you really think you could go a whole week without seeing one with The Lucky Irishman?”

“You lied about rainbows?” I throw my hands in the air, feeling like the fool I am. Of course, the moment I threw inhibition to the wind, I end up a joke.

“Listen,” Conor says. “What would have happened if I pointed one out to you? What would you have done that first day when I turned you around and pointed out the rainbow right behind us?” Conor shakes his head. “I know exactly what you would have done. You’d have left.”

“And you wouldn’t want that because then you’d lose your precious bet.”

“No,” Conor says. “I don’t care about the bet, well, not completely. I care about you. About losing you.”

“Nice way of showing it, Conor. You saw rainbows all week, the one thing I came to Ireland to find, and you didn’t tell me? How is that love?” I ask, my emotions on overdrive, my anger rising. “Conor, you kept me here by lying to me. What else have you lied about?”

“Nothing else, I swear it.”

“And why should I believe you?” I shake my head, this is Julian all over -- a man who lies to me, who makes me believe we’re something we aren’t.

I’m such a fucking fool.

“We can go outside, I’ll show you a rainbow. I see them everywhere I go.”

“That’s fantastic, Conor. I’m so pleased for you.” I step away from him, turning to his bedroom. “But I’m leaving. I have to go.”

“Don’t leave, Clover. We can work this out. I don’t care about the bet; we don’t need to go to the pub. Just stay here with me.”

“I’m such a fool, a fool to think I could change my luck.”

In his room, I start shoving my clothes and toiletries in my backpack, needing to leave. Needing to run. Fast. If I stop, I might fall apart.

I find my cell phone and punch in the numbers to Hildegard’s restaurant down the street.

“Hildegard, it’s Clover, up at Conor’s place. I need a ride to Dublin. Can you give me one?”

“What did he do now?” she asks.

I look right into Conor's eyes as I reply, “He broke my heart.”

16

I’m a man, but that doesn’t mean I can’t cry. Especially when Clover has her bag thrown over her shoulder and her face turned from me.

Hildegard’s car is here, and I tell her not to go. Clover just shakes her head, her face washed in tears. Mine is too.

Hilde’s watching with a smug look on her face, and I just want to kick in her tires, take Clover by the arms, and drag her into my house.

“You can’t just leave like this. You don’t have to. I love you.”

“I need to go into the city, I feel so confused, Conor.” She covers her face, crying, and I try and wrap my arms around her, but Clover isn’t having any of it.

“I trusted you with everything, Conor. And you played games with me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry love. I truly am. I knew you’d be angry but––”

“Angry but? Conor, this isn’t me angry—this is me heartbroken.”

“Hilde, it’s crazy to take her to Dublin now, the streets are gonna be wild. Tourists with their green beer and drunken riots––Clover shouldn’t be alone.”

“Stand back, Conor let the lady in the car,” Hilde tells me like she has any right over me. “She’ll call you if she wants ta.”

I move aside and let Clover get in the car, I don’t want to step away, but after all I’ve done, the last thing I want is to hurt her anymore.

I respect her too much, even if at this moment she’s not right in the head. I’m the one who did this to her. I said I never wanted to make her cry, yet she’s leaving my place with nothing but tears and a broken heart.

The car drives away. I call out after it, shouting that I love her.

Love her so damn much.

I scream at the sky, “Goddammit!”

How could I be so fucking stupid? At the beginning of the week, I was still confused, I didn’t know what I really wanted. I thought the property would give her a reason to love me, yet she was willing to love me even though I had nothing grand to offer her.

After the car drives off, I try to calm my thoughts, but they’re a mess, there’s only one thing I know for certain–– I need to go after Clover.

Sean and Patrick text to see if I’m gonna be at the pub, and when. Of course, I am, I lost the bet, and I may be an ass, but I’m a man of my word.

Besides, I need to go to Dublin now. That’s where Hilde’s taken Clover and I’m determined to find her.

I don’t know where she’ll be staying, but I’ll knock on every door in Dublin tonight until I find my girl.

***

A bit later, with my pocket full, I walk into the pub and see that Patrick and Sean are already sitting on stools, drinking their beer. The streets are wild, grown men dressed as leprechauns and women with American accents pinching my ass.

It reminds me why I live in the mountains, as far from this scene as possible.

When Sean and Patrick see me, they look around exaggeratedly, shouting that they don’t see any woman by my side.

“We knew it couldn’t be done,” Patrick laughs. He slaps his knee as if this is the funniest thing he ever saw.

“Where did Clover go off to then?” Sean asks. “A few days ago, I thought you two were ready to ride off into the sunset. Told Patrick as much.”

“She found out about the bet,” I tell them.

“How’d that happen?” Sean asks.

“I told her myself. Couldn’t lie to her anymore.”

“Oh hell, brother, are you a fool? Did you want to lose?” Patrick laughs then orders a round and hands me a pint of Guinness.

I grab the ring from my pocket and hand it to Patrick.

“I lost fair and square. As much as I wanted to win, I learned there’s only one thing that matters. And it isn’t the land or the ring––it’s the girl. And I lost her because I’m a fucking fool.”

“So, take it Patrick, and don’t be like me. Go to Thailand or quit your job or whatever it is you need to do to be happy––but don’t walk around like a cocky fool like me, thinking your luck is going to get you everything you want. You might miss out on the best thing you never had.”

“Conor,” Patrick says, his eyes wide, never having heard me make such an honest confession in my life. He rests his hand on my shoulder, looking in my eyes. “Are you bullshitting me?”

“Not even a little,” I tell him. “I wish I’d never made the bet, it fucked everything up.”

“But you’ve wanted that land your whole life, brother.”

“What good is a piece of land if you have no one to share it with?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says. “But if that’s truly how you feel, I can’t take this ring.”

“Just take it. I must go and find her. I’ve got to fight with every breath I’ve got.”

“Knowing you and your luck you’ll find her at the first place you look,” Sean says.

“And when you find her, she needs this ring; mam’s ring, Conor. Take it and give it to her.” Patrick presses the ring back in my hand.

I realize Patrick may be an asshole of a brother, but he’s still an Irishman. A man with integrity. A man with honor.

I clap my brother in a quick embrace. “I’ll see you around then, hopefully, sooner than later.”

Sean speaks up. “The truth is, I think we’re gonna be seeing you sooner than we thought.”

Before I can ask why someone is tapping on my shoulder.

I spin around and there she is.

Clover.

“What are you doing here, lassie?”

“I can’t have the man I love losing a bet because of me, now can I?”

“The man you love?” I ask, blinking back the tears in my eyes. Somewhere along the way, it seems I’ve become an emotional roller coaster––much like the woman I love.

Slipping away from my brother and Sean, I tell Clover the plain truth.

“The bet’s over. I don’t want the land if it means I won it like this. Won it by breaking your heart.”

“I don’t think my heart is that fragile,” she tells me.

“Back at my house, it seemed to be. You said I broke you, Clover.”

She shakes her head, her dark hair swishing around her shoulders and we’ve only been apart a few hours but it feels like a lifetime. I never want to be without her again.

“Right,” she says. “I did say that. But I may have been overreacting just a tad.”

“A tad?” I ask, realizing she isn’t running. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

“After I got dropped off by that crazy woman, Hilde, I checked into a bed and breakfast, a terrible one at that, because everything was booked solid.” She smirks, inviting me back into her heart. “Apparently, Saint Patrick’s Day is a big deal here.”

“Really, you just figured that out?” I ask, crossing my arms, looking her over. Her curves are on display in the tight jeans she wears, the sweater hugging her tits in a way that makes my cock hard. Dammit, I could stare at her forever.

“And when I got there, I realized a few things. First of all,… you may have lied, but you weren’t trying to hurt me like my ex. You were an idiot sure, but I know you weren’t being cruel. When you say, you love me, I believe you.”

“Are you saying you don’t see things in black and white?” I ask her, my heart beating fast.

“No. I want all the colors, just like you taught me. I was looking in the sky to change my luck, but it was right in front of me.”

“You said you realized a few things. What else, lass?”

“When I sat down on that rickety old bed in the bed and breakfast,” she tells me. “All I could think was what was the point of having a bed if the person you love isn’t sharing it with you?”

“You love me then?” I ask. “Even if I never found you a rainbow?”

“Fuck rainbows, Conor. You’re all I want.”

“I’m hoping you might want one more thing,” I tell her, dropping to one knee. “I’m hoping you might want to be my bride.”

Clover covers her mouth, and the rowdy pub goes quiet. Patrick and Sean have pulled out their phones to commemorate the moment and the whole place is watching. Suddenly I’m nervous as fuck, but it’s probably good that I am. I never used to be nervous about a damn thing because I had nothing that was precious to me.

But now I do. Now I have Clover.

“What will it be, lassie?”

She bites her lip, and for a second I think she’s gonna say no.

“I have to confess something first.”

“What is it?” I ask. “My knee is killing me here.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find me a rainbow, because the truth is, I never wanted to leave.”

I laugh, relieved at her confession, her telling me she wanted to stay as badly as I wanted her to.

“Good, now you never will, rainbows or not. You’re stuck with me, lassie.”

I pull my woman to my knee, sitting her down where she belongs and pull out my mam’s wedding ring.

“I’ll ask you again, but I’ll need a proper answer this time.” I look at her, the woman I love, the future mother of my children, the person I want to grow old with. “Will you marry me, Clover, and make me the luckiest Irishman to ever live?”

She smiles wide, throwing her head back the way she did the night I fell in love with her.

“Yes,” she tells me. “But I think you’ve got it wrong, Conor. I’m the lucky one.”

I shake my head, slipping the Claddagh ring on her finger, an emerald heart wearing a crown, centered between two hands. “Do you know what the ring means?” I ask.

She shakes her head no, her eyes brimming with tears, and when they fall, they shine on her cheeks. She looks like a cup of love, overflowing. “With this crown, I give you my loyalty. With these hands, I offer my service. With this heart, I give you mine.”

And then I kiss her, whispering to her all the naughty plans I have for the night.

Getting lucky is our duty after all.

And I will never fail her again.

Epilogue

One year later...

It was easy to fall for Conor. He accepted me for who I am, and he insisted my weaknesses were my strengths.

A year later, my Irish mountain man hasn’t wavered one iota. He’s become my bedrock, holding me up when my emotions toss me to and fro. He’s my anchor, but he’s also the boat, carrying me to safe and secure waters.

And I’ve never needed that more than I do now.

“I still can’t believe she could come any moment. I’m not sure I’m ready, Conor,” I tell him as we stand on our porch overlooking our property. His old barn is in the distance––Sean lives there now, and we’re in the new cabin that we built shortly after our wedding ten months ago.

For our wedding present, Patrick, all sunburned and bright eyed––having recently returned from Thailand––gave us the land Conor had always dreamed of.

“I’m not staying anyway,” he’d told us at the small reception we held at the pub where we’d met. My parents had flown in, and a few friends on both sides were there, but it was intimate––Conor and I prefer to party all by ourselves.

“Where are you going?” Conor had asked his brother.

“I sold my stocks, cashed out my 401k, I’m traveling the world. Thailand wasn’t enough. So, take the land, make a home. Be happy.”

And we are.

Of course, finding out we were pregnant a few weeks into our marriage wasn’t a part of the plan––but we’d thrown plans out the window a long time ago.

Conor kisses me on the forehead now, the sun is high in the sky, and Conor has a picnic basket in hand, having a day off for once. He and Sean have been working hard at building up their tour company. I have too.

I took all my photographic skills and created new brochures, a website, a promo video depicting all the most beautiful stops on the tour of the Wicklow Mountains. It’s my part in helping them expand their business. It’s working, the company is booked solid and we’ve even had to buy a bus to replace the eight-passenger van.

“Where are we going?” I ask him. “You know I can’t walk far. Our daughter is determined to jam her foot in my rib cage every chance she gets.”

“Must be a feisty one, taking after her mam.”

“Funny,” I say, cocking a brow at him. “You packed plenty of food, right? Because I’m––”

“Getting hangry? Got it, lassie. I’ve been your husband for nearly a year now. I think I know how to pack you a lunch.” He smacks my ass, and I yelp, grabbing his hand and pulling a finger to my mouth. As I suck on it, he groans.

“Woman, you’re making me crazy.”

“Good,” I tell him. “That’s just where I like you.”

***

He’s spread a blanket out on the grass, and after eating our sandwiches and chips, Conor has fallen asleep with the sun shining down on his face.

Watching the rise and fall of his chest, I’m so turned on by the man who is my husband. He’s grown his beard out even more––something the space between my thighs is thoroughly grateful for––and I find him more handsome than ever. It’s like he’s relaxed over the year, and the onset of fatherhood has helped him take things more seriously.

Of course, his cocky attitude is still there at times, but my Irishman has mellowed out.

I’d like to think I have too. Except right now I don’t feel very mellow at all.

In fact, I feel all kinds of hot and bothered.

He must feel me staring at him because one eye opens, and he raises his head. “What are you lookin’ at, love?”

“You,” I say, lying beside him. “I was thinking how this might be one of our last days as a family of two. This girl is coming soon, I feel it.”

Conor rolls over, his hands on my massive belly, kissing my belly button that popped months ago. I’m wearing a short sundress and he lifts the hem, running his hands over my thighs, higher still. I feel his fingers brush against my pussy, and I let out the softest of moans, the fluttering of his fingers waking me at my core.

“Don’t tease me,” I tell him, arching my back, dropping my knees and inviting him in.

“Never.” He moves aside my panties and looks me in the eye. “I love you, Clover.”

“What do you love?”

“I love how wet you are, lying here, thinking about me.”

I bite my lip, sighing in pleasure as his fingers stroke me softly, drawing out the pleasure.

He pulls my panties off and unbuttons his pants, dropping them quickly. His massive cock causes my nipples to harden, my desire mounting. With one hand, he strokes himself in the fresh mountain air, and since we own this piece of land, he has nothing to hide, no inhibitions.

I watch as he runs his hand over his velvety length, his other hand pressing inside of me.

“I don’t want your fingers, I want you,” I tell him. “I can’t bear it any longer.”

“Anything you want.”

I laugh. “I have a feeling this is what you want too,” I say, smacking him. I lift my legs, slightly bending them as Conor kneels before me. He takes hold of my thighs, pressing his cock deep inside me.

My pregnant belly is between us, but our eyes are on one another.

He thrusts inside of me and I ask for more, never having enough––especially during my pregnancy. As soon as I passed the morning sickness, I turned into a sex fiend.

Conor hasn’t seemed to mind one bit.

“Oh, oh, yes,” I pant, wanting him to come in me because every time he does my heart blossoms with love for him.

“I’m so close,” he says, pressing himself into me, holding my thighs, my feet in the air as he comes in me, ribbons of his seed in my pussy just the way I wanted it. “I love you, Clover, and I could stay like this forever,” he tells me.

He lies by my side, taking my hands, our legs entwined, our bodies wrapped close together.

“I love you too, Conor, but I can’t stay this way forever,” I tell him.

“Please,” he begs playfully.

“No, in fact, we’ve got to go right now.”

“What is it?” he asks, leaning up on his elbows as I start laughing, not surprised that it happened after a romp in the woods.

“My water just broke, Conor. It’s time to meet our little girl.”

Conor stands, pulling up his pants, reaching for my hand. As I do, he turns my head, his hand on my cheek.

“Look, lassie,” he says, pointing to the sky where a color-drenched crescent rises high above us. “It’s our rainbow.”

I blink back happy tears. Of course, there is a rainbow here, now. Conor always sees them when he’s traipsing around the mountainside on his tours, and he points them out to me whenever I’m with them.

He swears he sees them now more than ever.

He jokes that I’m his lucky charm.

The truth is, somewhere along the way our life became a pot of gold... we found ourselves rich beyond our wildest dreams because we had each other.

***

The labor is awful. Good luck be damned because when it comes to pushing a person out of your vagina, it’s pure hell no matter how you try to spin it.

But like so many women before me, after the birth, I forgot the pain, because the moment I saw my baby, all I could feel was pure bliss.

“She’s perfect,” Conor says, nuzzling our daughter in his arms, wrapped in a pink blanket.

The nurse who helped deliver her pats Conor’s arm. “She’s healthy too, and couldn’t have been more ready to enter the world. That was the swiftest delivery I’ve seen in a long time. You were lucky, Clover.”

Conor’s eyes meet mine, and we share a silent laugh. My Irish mountain man knows me so well, and I know him.

“What are you naming the wee one?” the nurse asks, checking my vitals and making notes on a chart.

“Rainbow,” I tell her.

Conor hands her to me, sitting on the edge of the bed. I take hold of my daughter, knowing her life may be complicated, not seem fair, and often a cruel joke.

I can’t protect her from self-doubt and denial, things all of us inevitably face one way or another––but I can make sure she knows her father and I think we’re the luckiest people in the world to have her.

And I think that might be enough.

In fact, I think that might be everything.

COLD HARD CASH

By Frankie Love

Chapter 1

Cassius

Five minutes before I walk onstage in the warehouse downtown, I see my girlfriend Gina kiss my brother Chad.

My stomach drops. My mind reels. Flashes of her and me for the past five fucking years grind into my skull.

I went to the alley to breathe before my show, but now all I want to do is punch the fucking wall until my knuckles bleed. The only reason I’ve gotten this far—which still isn’t very fucking far—is one hundred percent because my Gina and Chad have had my back.

Apparently the only backs they have right now, though, are one another’s. Their kiss is more than just mouth-on-mouth; it says a thousand fucking things.

But mostly it says that I’m in this alone.

On the one fucking night of my life I need them more than ever, I don’t have them.

I have nothing but my motherfucking self.

Gina’s eyes lock on mine, and she pulls away from Chad, knowing they’ve been caught.

“Cash, listen to me,” Gina pleads. She tries to grab my arm, make me stay. But she knows that whatever we had is gone. We both know she left first.

Because I’d never have fucking left that woman. I don’t leave people behind, ever.

And where has that gotten me?

I turn and stride into the warehouse, where I’m supposed to open for Elle Camino. She’s the biggest female musician to ever rise up from East Heights, our south of LA neighborhood. She chose me to open, and I thought Chad of all people knew tonight is supposed to be about me.

Chad comes after me, but what can he say? He’s my brother, but I guess blood isn’t as thick as I thought. I push away, not letting them ruin this chance. This night.

It’s my time.

But first I need to fucking remind him that, while he may be my brother, he isn’t my friend. Throwing him against the wall, I ball my hand into a fist, swing back, and let my knuckles crack against his jaw.

“Motherfucker,” he moans, pushing me away as blood rushes from his mouth. He covers his face with his hand, protecting himself. There’s fear in his eyes. He knows where my punches have landed me in the past.

I don’t want him to forget. Prison made me hard—but this play of his, with Gina, is what’s making me cold.

“You need to get on stage,” Chad tells me, his voice wrecked. He’s scared of me, and I’m glad. I never wanted this moment to be about him, anyway.

My eyes burn, but I haven’t gotten here, today, only to let them ruin this.

As I walk onstage, all I have is my pounding heart and a microphone—and the lyrics I wrote lying on a bare mattress in state prison for thirteen months straight. The lyrics I memorized while living on the other side of the tracks, in a hellhole apartment, waiting for my time to come. The lyrics I branded on my heart as I worked my ass off to get here.

Today.

Now.

There’s no looking back.

Not back to Gina, the girl I made a million promises to. The girl I thought was my fucking forever. The girl who chose Chad, on the biggest night of my life.

“You ready for Cash Flow?” the emcee calls out to the full house. There must be over a thousand people here, ready for tonight’s show. I don’t want to think about the ones who aren’t here, the ones who had my back until I turned my back on them—until I left the scene for good.

I couldn’t stay with the boys from my hood—not if I wanted to make a name for myself as a rapper, anyway.

I had to choose.

And running with them was what landed me behind bars in the first place.

The emcee calls to me, “You ready to drop it?”

I want to scream, fucking punch something, lose control.

Instead, I bow my head, stand front and center.

A record label is rumored to be coming tonight, and I can’t fuck it up.

Not now. Not after everything.

This is it.

I have one shot. So I pour my heart out on that stage. And when I’m done, the blood, sweat, and tears that were once in my body are no longer mine to carry.

Because at the end of the performance, I’ve given it all.

* * *

“Someone’s here, wants to talk to you,” Chad says, finding me minutes after I leave the stage.

Anger swells back up the moment I see my brother’s face. The performance of my life hasn’t dissipated the rage coursing through my veins.

My hands shake, my heart races, the adrenaline pumps through my veins. Chad and Gina. My brother and my girlfriend.

I can’t forget what I’ve seen. Their hands on one another, their bodies pressed tight in the warm summer air.

Their betrayal is like a death.

“What the fuck?” I grab him by the neck of his tee shirt, slam him against a brick wall. I fucking want his head smashed in, want his eyes to burn the way my chest does. “You fucking do this to me? Now? You think I wanna talk now? Fuck you.”

Chad’s eyes are ablaze, wild. But I know it isn’t fear, not anymore. He knows that no matter how much I hate him right now, how much I want to see him bleed, I need him if I want to make this happen. If I want backing from a major label.

Before prison, I’d never even tried to rap, but the only instrument in the slammer was my vocal chords, so I learned how to fine-tune my voice.

Chad heard about my newfound talent before my stint was over, and he’s been the brains behind this project since day once. He’s the one who figured out how to get me a Twitter following, a YouTube channel, an Instagram feed. He knew how to refine my rawest edges and turn me into something marketable after I got out of prison. He saw my talent as a ticket out.

I hate the bullshit, becoming a product. I just want to make music—and not this rap persona I wear. I want to sit on a stool with my guitar.

I never needed an audience.

But strumming chords doesn’t pay the bills, and Chad reminds me of that every time I mention wanting to lay something down besides a beat. I need to get on the fucking stage and put on a show if I want more than I’ve got. More than I’ve had.

And my Ma—she needs more, too. Especially now, after a car crash—a crash where she was the one drinking and driving—nearly killed her three months ago. Her hospital bills and rehabilitation costs have put us in more debt than we can pay off with my day job as a line cook and Chad’s gig as a fucking car salesman.

She’s back home in our apartment now, but she needs an in-home nurse to come every day and help.

Just yesterday the in-home care service provider called; this month is the last they’re sending the nurse to her unless we fork over cash.

So much is on the fucking line.

It would be one thing if she was improving, but she isn’t. She needs more help than Chad and I can give.

“You need to put that aside, Cash,” Chad says, struggling under my hands. “Right now, you need to go meet the man from Kendrick Music Group.”

I swallow. An exec really came tonight—from the label that signed Jack Harris no less. Fuck, I didn’t think it would really happen. Dreams are cute when you’re a kid, but I’m twenty-two. At some point I need to put up or shut up—set the music aside and get a real fucking job.

Not that anyone is willing to hire an ex-con.

But maybe tonight that will change.

I let go of Chad; I’d rather see this music exec’s face than my brother’s mangy mug anyway.

But before I walk away, Gina shows up.

“Baby, it didn’t mean anything, I swear.” Gina rushes over to where Chad and I stand backstage. I look at her skanky-ass ripped jeans, cropped top, and high heels; her bleached-blonde hair; and the makeup covering every beautiful thing about her. Seeing her here, looking nothing like the girl I grew up with, fucking hurts.

I know how hard she’s trying to be something, prove something. I know, because I know everything about Gina. She was my first everything.

Looks like she’s also the first person to break my fucking heart.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I tell her, stepping away from the people who stabbed me in the back. I wanted to end this night with her in my arms, just like I’ve done for every single performance of my life.

But not anymore. Now I just want to get the fuck away.

* * *

Pushing through the crew backstage, I scan the space, looking for a music executive—whatever the fuck that looks like.

A man in a suit stands in a corner; when I meet his eye, he nods discreetly, then uses two fingers to wave me over.

Like I’m already in the fucking palm of his hand.

Which, no doubt, I am.

I need this break. Everything hinges on this night. This man. This chance.

Chad sent my demo to every major label in the country. He knows the business side of things—and, as much as I hate the motherfucker, I know this meeting isn’t one I’ll easily get again.

“Cassius, the man of the hour.” The suited man gives me the slightest smile. I’m not sure if I should play it cool, like Chad always seems to do, or if I should go with my gut instinct, which is to lay it all out at this man’s feet.

“Cash, people call me Cash,” I tell him. I swallow hard. All the confidence I had out on the stage is gone. I need the bright lights blinding me, the buzz of the crowd blocking out any thoughts. Now my mind only sees one thing: Chad and Gina. Together.

I gotta clear my fucking head. Focus.

“I’m Marshal,” he says, sticking his hand out for me.

I shake it, grip firm. Don’t want him to think I’m a fucking pussy.

“Marshal Kendrick,” he clarifies. “Of Kendrick Music Group.”

“You fucking with me?” I ask, giving a low whistle. Why the hell is the CEO here at my show? I mean, I know Chad worked to get someone here tonight, but this is more than I ever hoped.

Kendrick shrugs good-naturedly. “I represent Elle Camino, and I live in LA. It all seemed to work in your favor tonight.”

“I wasn’t expecting you, is all. Glad I didn’t know you were here before I went on.”

“You get nervous?” Kendrick’s eyes narrow in, clearly wanting to get a read on me.

I need to put up or shut up.

“Ehh, you know,” I say coolly. “It was a big show. Elle Camino’s a boss around here.”

“The girl has a big tour starting up in a month. That’s when her name is going to explode. Give Elle a few years, and Beyoncé won’t have anything on that girl.”

“Big shoes to fill.” Elle Camino has everything I want: signed with KMG, a national tour, all before she turned twenty.

I know I need to make this happen now, or my career will never take off. If I’m lucky I’ll get an audition for The Voice or some shit.

I want more. I want to walk away with a contract from Kendrick.

“Elle Camino still needs an opener for her tour,” Kendrick said. “You seemed to offer the right vibe. Your grassroots, raw style complements her South American influences.”

“I’m the guy you need. You won’t regret it.”

Kendrick pauses. “I saw you back there, with your brother. Are there skeletons I need to know about?”

“Fuck,” I tell him. “I’m not looking for bones.”

“What are you looking for, son?” Kendrick asks, his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m looking to make some motherfucking magic.”

Kendrick smiles, shakes my hand again. We have a deal.

I’ll bury my past. In fact, looking over at Gina and Chad, who are watching us, that’s all I want to do.

Right now, I’m ready to live.

* * *

Chapter 2

Evangeline

I just want him to stop looking at me like I’m some little girl. I’m twenty-one, and ready for my life to change.

Ready for any sort of change.

With Mom gone, all I know is this: I can no longer live my life for anyone but me.

“Dad, just let me be an intern for a few months. I’ll get coffees and send emails. And I know you think it’s beneath me, but it could be good for us … give us something we’re doing together. Like, a way to bond. And I’m already home all fall with nothing to do.”

Nothing to do besides walk around wondering why Mom would rather take her own life than stay around for Dad and me.

Dad snorts, clearly not seeing this as his daughter’s cry for help.

We’re in his top floor office at Kendrick Music Group, and he isn’t even looking at me. He’s looking at his phone, scrolling through whatever is more important than giving me a job.

“Evangeline, first of all, this isn’t some hobby of mine that we can do together. I’m the best in the business because I’m ruthless. There’s no room here for my daughter. Besides, there’s no reason for you to work. Let some college kid do this. You’re above it.”

Under my breath I mutter, “That is such bullshit. I am a college kid.”

My tone gets him to look up. Huh, maybe I should have dropped a few f-bombs earlier, and he would have thought I needed attention.

“Evangeline, you may think you want to follow in my footsteps, but you play the piano at Julliard. Sure, you’re a musician, but running a record label has nothing to do with craft. You don’t know the first thing about this business.”

“I can learn. But when the faculty suggested I take the fall semester off, it wasn’t so I could be stuck home all by myself. Besides, I told you I don’t even want to play anymore. I lost all my inspiration.”

“You’re supposed to be home to rest. Let the sun and the beach be your inspiration. Your therapist—”

“I am so not talking about my therapist with you.”

“You’ve been through the wringer this year, Evangeline. We both have. The best thing you can do right now is stay home where you’ll be safe, stay away from anything that might cause you any pain. And coming to a high stress environment, for a job you don’t need and aren’t qualified for, won’t help the situation. You need to sit at a pool, drink some wine coolers, and work on your tan.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice is final, and it causes my eyes to well with tears. “I’m not giving you a job. I don’t want you to be a part of this world. It’s full of assholes. Your mother would hate the idea, she wanted you to play—”

“I’m not talking about Mom. Not here.” I look around his office, waving my hands at the glossy surfaces, window walls, and half-dressed women in the halls parading around as employees.

I cross my arms and sling my purse over my shoulder, one thousand kinds of upset. I don’t want to sit at my dead mother’s house all alone. I want a reason to get up every morning, a reason to focus on something else.

Anything else.

But Dad wants me to stay just as sheltered as I’ve always been. I’m ready for more.

“Fine. If you won’t give me a job, I have nothing more to say. I’ll just go get one somewhere else. Jude said he could get me a job on the set where he’s working.”

“Your cousin Jude is the last person I want you hanging out with.”

My father’s always had an issue with Jude, probably because Jude is the opposite of him. Both men play by their own set of rules, but they’re very different ones.

Dad is back to texting, already so far from this conversation, and it infuriates me. It’s like he assumes that since I’ve always done what Mom wanted, I’ll do what he wants, too.

Not anymore.

“You can’t stop me from working for Jude,” I tell him, raising my voice in a way I never, ever do. “And you know what? I don’t need your permission.”

“You are one of the best pianists in the country. You can’t give that up. If you step foot on his movie set, I’ll stop funding—”

“What, stop paying for my school? Good, because I hate college,” I tell him. “My apartment? Fantastic. Because I hate New York. My piano lessons? Finally. I’m so over pressing my fingers against ivory keys. They’ve kept me locked up way too long.”

Dad raises an eyebrow, dismissively. “It’s all fun and games when you’re twenty-one. But the real world isn’t easy on privileged girls.”

I don’t answer. There’s nothing to say. I honestly don’t think he’s ever heard me; I have no reason to believe he will now.

“If you have nothing more to say, Evangeline, I have a meeting in five. Can you see yourself out?” Dad walks over to where I’m standing and kisses my forehead like we’re not in the worst fight of our life. Like I’m a little doll he can keep on a shelf. “And don’t forget tomorrow, remember? You have a dinner date with Thomas Bracken. Now that is something that will be good for you. Get you out of the house with a safe, respectable young man.”

I purse my lips. It’s unbelievable that I’ve been home for all of three days and already Dad thinks he knows what is best for me.

“Listen,” he says, “I’m having drinks tonight with the manager of my newest talent. And if you want to get out and do something so badly, go get dinner at the club. Everyone there is vetted and respectable.” He raises a finger patronizingly, wagging it in my face. “Just no dinners with any of my clients. It’s even in the contract. Against my rules. Business and pleasure never mix. Besides, you’re way too good for them. Always have been. The perfect daughter, the perfect student.”

I scowl. As if I’d ever date the guys he signs. The only half-decent one all year was Jack Harris, and the entire world knows he’s a married man.

He leaves with a smug smile on his face, leaving me alone in his office. I think he actually believes he just parented me.

I exhale, completely disappointed by this well planned—on my part—meeting that went absolutely nowhere.

And did he seriously suggest I make some plans for tonight? Does he not know me at all? I don’t do nights out.

I never have, but especially not now.

Whatever meaning I used to draw from life now falls flat.

I spent my life trying to make my mother proud, but she’s gone. I can’t help but wonder why I spent so many years sitting before a piano. Because she wanted me to? In the end, my musical talent wasn’t enough for her to choose life over death, so why should it be enough for me?

My dad is a multi-millionaire and my mom devoted her life to me, her only child.

Well, she also spent a fair share of her life on alcohol. She spent as much time in rehab as she did at the house.

I’ll never need to work in my life, never need to wash my own clothes or grocery shop. I can hire people to do everything for me

So, yeah, I get that it’s a privileged life, but it’s still my life. It’s the only one I get.

There’s this poet I read in a Lit class—Mary Oliver—and she said, This is my one wild and precious life. That’s how I feel. Mom dying so suddenly put it all in such clear, precise focus.

Dad wants me to stay in his box so I stay safe, so nothing happens to me—but the four walls he and Mom made for me are too small.

I’ve spent forever tiptoeing, making sure my words were light and my smile sweet.

But maybe I’m bigger than that.

Maybe my life is too.

I just don’t know how to make it happen, because I’ve always let my world be defined by the people around me.

I don’t know how to define for myself, even if I want to.

Pulling open the doors to Dad’s office, telling myself not to take it personally that Dad hired the interns who wander around yet he wouldn’t hire me, I step in the hallway with my heart on my sleeve.

I step into the hallway knowing something needs to change. Now.

By the time I press the button for the elevator, I feel as if my heart is crushed. As if I’m all alone. As if what I really want is for someone to reach out and offer me their hand, and be in this with me. For just a day, even.

I’m not greedy. I’m just so lonely.

In the elevator, I blink back tears. This can’t be my life. Dad dismissing me. Mom being dead. Me having no one else.

I spent my childhood with private tutors and piano coaches, and I have nothing to show for any of it. I don’t even want to play music anymore.

I just want to go back in time.

I want something that no longer exists.

My throat feels all tight, and I need to be outside. I need fresh air and deep breaths and no more worries and no more fear. I want oxygen and hope, and anything besides what I’ve got.

I let my head fall back against the elevator wall as the doors slide shut.

But before the elevator doors close completely, a hand pushes through, the doors jump open. A man walks in.

And, with one look at him, I remember how to breathe.

* * *

Chapter 3

Cassius

I thought I was gonna fly off the rails about ten times today, and I’ve only just got to KMG headquarters. This should be the start of the rest of my fucking life; instead Chad and Gina come here like they’re my fucking entourage, determined to make a name for themselves riding my coattails.

It’s been three weeks since the show where KMG offered me a deal. Three weeks since I found out my brother’s been fucking my girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend.

This morning, when I was getting ready to leave in the private car KMG sent to the apartment complex to pick me up, the two of them walked out of their room. Chad was in a suit and high gloss shoes. Gina wore pants that, yes, were hella tight, but she also wore a blazer. They looked professional. Well, like they wanted to be seen as professional—seen as something besides the broke jokes we all are.

And if I was a bigger ass, I’d have told them hell no, but I don’t want to make any waves. Not today. Right now I just need to fucking keep my head on straight.

But damn, they’ve been all up in my business—while I signed my contract, took some headshots, reviewed the tour schedule. I can’t handle watching them together; I need to get the fuck out of this building.

They’re still here, looking over the photos from the shoot I just had, deciding which images to use for some promotional material. As my manager, Chad told the art director we were working with that he could cover the rest of the decisions on my behalf, and then he dismissed me. Like I couldn’t fucking pick out a glossy 8x10.

But fuck, I could care less about the headshots. I just need to breathe. I need out of the space Chad and Gina fill.

The worst part is that they know how much I depend on them. I’ve relied on them since the day I got out of prison. And somehow my safety net has become the one thing I despise most.

I need to figure out a way to separate myself from them, maybe schedule a meeting with the head guy around here. Marshal. He launched Elle Camino’s career, and I’ve certainly never seen her East Heights posse hanging around her, trying to bring her down.

Maybe that’s the part that needs to motherfucking change. Maybe it’s time for me to be my own man without my brother signing off on it. I can get a manager on my own terms, one with my best interest at heart. Because it wouldn’t surprise me to find Chad selling me out if it means more cash in his pockets.

Though … shit, the idea of cutting ties with him would mean saying good-bye to the only brother I’ve got, and he’s also the one who’s helped me keep my head low, helped me stay away from the guys who let me go to prison, when I wasn’t the only one committing crimes that night three years ago. Dad left before I knew him, Mom is a mess, and Gina…. Fuck, Gina’s just more baggage I need to let go of.

That’s heavy shit to deal with before I’ve had lunch.

I head to the bank of elevators, slip my hand through a door just before it slides closed. I can’t wait for another one to arrive. I need out of this building, now.

“Shit, that was close,” I say under my breath.

I step into the elevator; there’s only one person in here, and it’s a girl. Well, a woman. My age, probably. Dark-haired, and dressed the part of an uptight rich girl. A hot-as-fuck rich girl.

But one glance at her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips, and it’s clear she’s on the verge of a breakdown—and fuck it, if there’s one thing I’m well-versed in besides music, it’s falling apart.

“You going to the lobby?” she asks. Her gaze seems to flit over mine, ever so briefly, and then she’s staring intently at the wall of buttons.

She sucks in a large gust of air, and I wonder how someone so petite could have lungs so large. And how someone so small can take up so much space in a nearly empty elevator.

Everything about her, though, demands my attention.

I nod, mesmerized by the way her emotions are splayed across her naked face—her upturned nose, her soft cheekbones, and her lashes wet with tears. She’s what muses are made of, and I’ve only had my eyes on her for five seconds flat.

“Yeah, the lobby.”

It’s as if the bullshit photo shoot I just left never happened. Or it’s like it did, but entering this elevator is some alternate reality.

Whatever was fucking with my head earlier no longer matters.

“Then we’re good,” she says, her voice soft, hushed. Like she doesn’t trust it—her words or her strength.

The L is lit, and the elevator starts its descent from the eightieth.

“You sure you’re good?” I ask. I can’t help it. I’m a rescuer. A saver. A fixer.

Why the fuck else did I stay with Gina so damn long? Because I thought if I left she’d fall apart.

Instead, we were what fell apart.

I stayed for nothing.

Believing the best in people is a fucking double-edged sword that I’ve fallen on way too many times.

But, damn—in one minute I know I’d fall for this girl, too.

She has gray eyes, with dark lashes, and the tears welling up in them make her look like she’s going to break. Like any moment everything inside her is going to crash and fall.

I can’t take my eyes off of her.

She doesn’t notice. Her eyes are focused on the rows of buttons that will take us to the ground level, plant our feet on something solid.

But what I really want to do is pick her up and carry her somewhere safe, because I have a bad feeling she’s about to get hurt.

“Do you need something?” I step toward her, and I swear her body leans in to me, as if my words are exactly what she needs.

“I need to get outside.” Her words are spoken softly, breathlessly. “I think I’m having a panic attack.”

“This isn’t a panic attack.” Looking her over, I resist pulling her hair back and pressing my mouth against her pink, parted lips. Damn, I’ve never felt like this before—instant attraction and an absolute need to save the girl in front of me.

“It isn’t?” she asks, deflated. “Well, I’m really angry right now.”

She may be falling apart, but she isn’t overcome with anxiety. I try and explain that to her.

“You aren’t shaking or hyperventilating or freaking out.” But even as I say it I wonder who the hell I think I am to tell her how she feels?

She huffs, dejected. “Actually, this is me freaking out.”

I look at the light over the elevator door. We’re falling quickly, passing the sixtieth, the fortieth floor.

I suppress a smile. When Gina’s upset, she’s a fucking force to be reckoned with. It’s all smashed windows and words thrown harder than a punch.

This, though, is a meltdown, which in my experience is a lot easier to handle.

“I wouldn’t call this a panic attack or angry episode.”

“Oh yeah?” she questions. “What would you call it?”

Floor twenty.

“You’re a mess,” I tell her. “Maybe you’re having a shitty day or an existential crisis, but angry? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

She wipes her eyes, brushing her tears away, looking at me more closely. “What are you, a therapist?”

I bite my lip. Shit, I’m certainly no shrink. I had to learn that shit in the slammer, when they made me take anger management classes as part of “rehabilitation” or something like that.

Who am I to tell this girl anything?

But I swear, she wants me to. She wants me to tell her what to do next. She swallows, looking up at me with those cloudy eyes, practically begging to be swept away into some blue-sky day.

Oh, I’ll fucking give this girl the sun if she wants it.

The elevator stops.

We’re at the lobby. The door rushes open, and we step out as people crowd in.

I glance over at her, and she’s looking out across the lobby, eyeing the glass doors two hundred feet away. I don’t think she can make it that far on her own.

She looks over at me, pulls in her lips like a lost girl wanting to be found.

I grab her hand.

“Let’s go get some fresh air,” I tell her.

She doesn’t hesitate.

* * *

Chapter 4

Evangeline

His hand is softer than I’d have guessed. It holds onto mine as he leads me across the lobby and out the door.

I don’t have time to think it through.

But I know, even if I had the time, it wouldn’t change my choice. I’d let this man carry me anywhere.

Maybe it’s a case of right place, right time; maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s exactly right. I needed someone to carry me away from the trap of that building, and my suffocating father—and then this man walked into my day and carried me away.

Exactly what I wanted.

When do I ever get the exact thing I want? Never.

Yet here he is. A man whose blue eyes reminded me to breathe, because I didn’t want to die before I spoke to him.

And then what did we talk about? About my anger issues and panic-ridden moment. I’m sure that really turned him on … said no girl ever.

And, oh. Just, oh, my hand in his feels so warm. So comforting. So right.

And I don’t know the first thing about him, besides the fact that his hair is light and his eyes are lighter, and his shoulders are broad and his grip solid and his words sincere. Like he knew exactly the right thing to say, without knowing a single thing about me.

Like he knows everything.

We push through the enormous glass door of my father’s building—a place where I’m only welcome if I play by a set of rules I silently agreed to a long time ago, before I even knew their importance. But I’ve outgrown those rules: Smile. Agree. Hands on the keys.

That can’t be the sum of me.

Though, if you take those things away, what’s left?

“Hey.” The stranger is looking down at me. We’re outside, and I pull in my bottom lip, wondering what happens next. “Breathe,” he tells me. “In and out.”

I do as he says.

“Again.”

I nod, inhaling, exhaling. I close my eyes, letting the LA sun wash over my shoulders and feeling the concrete beneath my feet. I no longer feel like I’m free-falling.

I’ve been caught.

“Better?” he asks, as my eyelids flutter open, as my eyes meet his.

I nod. “Much better.”

And I am. He’s still holding my hands, and it’s like the world is spinning but not in a dizzying way. In a way that reminds of being a child on a carousel.

In a way that feels alive with movement.

“Want to go somewhere?”

“Where?” I ask, knowing I’ll go anywhere, because I don’t want to ride a carousel all day, buckled to a toy horse, stuck in a circle. I want to break free.

“Away,” he says, his eyebrows raised, tempting me with a side smile, not realizing I don’t need a smile from him in order to go.

My heart, it’s off and running.

Still, I smile, shake my head. Who is this man? “I don’t know you.”

“What do you need to know?”

I look at him more closely, realizing that I’m crazy attracted to this guy and the way he acts like he actually doesn’t give a fuck about anything besides this exact moment. But I also know he’s not my type at all. I date the guys who attend NYU: business majors and law students, oxfords and blazers and khaki pants.

This guy is ... different.

He has on a straight-billed ball cap and a tight tee shirt, and his biceps could ... well, they could carry me anywhere. He has on slim jeans, high-top shoes, and a chain around his neck. He looks straight out of my dad’s catalogue of clients—and that’s when I realize, of course he is. We were exiting the same floor.

“You were coming from KMG?” I ask.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah. I, um, my friend’s an intern there.” I lie. Not a spectacular way to start this … friendship, but for some reason I don’t want him to know I’m Marshal Kendrick’s daughter. I’ll be judged as something I’m not. And I’m so tired of that. I’m so tired of myself.

He nods. “So ... should we go?”

I may be ready to throw caution to the wind, but now my curiosity has been piqued. “Why were you up there?”

He runs his hand over his jaw. “Honestly?” The question makes me blush, because I know I wasn’t being honest with him. “It sounds so fucking pretentious, but I just signed with them.”

“Oh, yeah?” At least my dad has faith in him as an artist. That must mean he isn’t a wanted criminal. My dad would have had a background completed on him before he forked over an advance. Even though this stranger looks like he stepped out of a music video, I’d be lying if I said his rough edge didn’t make me a little ... or a lot ... weak in the knees. “Did you sign the contract and everything?”

He raises an eyebrow and offers me a corner smile. Oh. That smile is solid gold. Like, dimples in his cheeks perfection.

“Why?” he smirks. “You after some cash?”

I snort. “What? No,” I scoff, embarrassed at how I may have sounded. “I don’t want your money.”

“I think you might want something I have.”

“What? I swear I don’t want anything from you.”

“You sure you don’t want anything I can offer?” He squeezes my hand, and that’s when I realize he’s still holding it.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“I’m joking, girl. My stage name’s Cash Flow, is all. Bad joke. You know, you want my money. Like, you want me. Right.... ” He grins. “So, now you know how much game I’ve got.”

Is he kidding me with that? No wonder my dad signed him. His face is a freakin’ gold mine, and I may not be a KMG intern but I am a music exec’s daughter, and I know that smile is going to sell loads of records.

“You’re Cash Flow? The rapper?” My eyes narrow. I recognize the name. He’s supposed to be the next up-and-coming everything. My dad has talked about him a lot, actually, when he’s taking calls at the house. And since I never have anywhere to go, I usually overhear parts.

“That’s me. And, to answer your question: Yes, I did sign this morning. So I’m thinking we should celebrate.”

“How do rap sensations celebrate?” I ask. I’m imagining Cristal on ice, and dancing on couches at a nightclub.

In which case I will most certainly pass.

“I don’t think I’m a sensation yet.”

“No? When does that happen?”

“I have no fucking clue about much,” he says, surprising me with his sincerity.

“Like what?”

“Like, what’s your name?”

“Evie.”

“You don’t look like an Evie.”

“Uh, okay?”

“What’s your full name?” he presses.

“Why would I tell you, Mr. Cash Flow?”

“Touché.”

I want to be honest with him. “My full name’s Evangeline.

“Gentle Evangeline,” he says without hesitation.

I pull back, looking at him closely. “You know Longfellow?”

“Rappers read poetry.”

I shrug, embarrassed but also intrigued. I wish I knew the right questions to ask Cash—about poetry and words and how this man with knuckle tattoos also knows about old poetry. But I’ve never spoken that language. I speak with keystrokes and silent syllables. I’m not a wordsmith ... but I like that Cash is.

He looks around. The sidewalk is crowded and people rush past; taxis zoom by. We’re staring at one another, and I like how he doesn’t press any harder, and how he reads my emotions and knows when to stop. I like that he’s direct, and I trust him. Even though he is not my type and not what I need, in this moment he’s all I want.

He’s the adventure, the escape. The middle finger to my father, and the rush I crave.

I deserve a day with Cash Freaking Flow. This is my life, after all.

“Well, Evangeline, you from this neighborhood?”

“I grew up in LA,” I tell him. “You?”

“Yeah, but not these parts. I’m from East Heights.” He looks at the ground when he says that, and I understand. He’s from the other side of the literal tracks. “Do you know anywhere we can eat lunch around here? I’m starving.”

I don’t want to waste this chance. I want to give in, and break free—and I need to go all-in with this sculpted piece of man candy who’s actually much more than spun sugar. He’s like a layer cake. And, yes, that’s cheesy as hell, and maybe I have been way too repressed if all I can think is that I want to lick off his frosting … but I can’t help it.

I want something reckless. Something decadent.

Something sweet, and something that might not be very good for me.

What are the odds Cash shows up today of all days, and is willing to go anywhere with me?

I lick my lips, knowing what I want. Something I’ve never had before.

“My house?”

He raises an eyebrow again, as if not expecting that, at all.

Neither was I.

I give him a smile, and I’m glad I do because I’m rewarded with another one of his.

“What?” I tease. “I have a pool. And we can eat on the deck.”

Though, in my belly, I know that isn’t what I want at all. I just want him to take off that shirt, and I want to run my hands over his chest … and I don’t even know where these ideas are coming from. I just know they’re here. That they’re real. And that they’re mine.

He nods, slowly, as if memorizing my inflection—memorizing my smile—and I feel like he’s committing this moment to heart.

I don’t know why.

But that’s a lie, too.

I know why he is.

Because I am, too.

Chapter 5

Cassius

She’s way out of my league. I’m dissing Gina when I say that, and I swear I’m gonna stop thinking about my ex, but Gina is more than an ex ... Gina is part of the fabric of my life. I’m not someone who’s okay with shredding that, even if she was the one who made every last tear.

But right now, Gina’s with Chad on the eightieth floor, and I’m in a pale blue convertible Mini Cooper with a girl named Evangeline whose eyes look like a storm and whose words are almost too soft for me to hear. A girl whose hand held mine on the busy street corner, like she was holding on for dear life.

Maybe we both were.

“So, you grew up here, but don’t live here now?” I ask, as she heads down the freeway toward Malibu. Fancy shit.

“Yeah, I go to college in New York, but I’m home for the semester. My dad lives here, so.”

I try not to be an insecure ass, but I already know this girl is way too sweet, way too rich, way too fucking hot to be driving me to her house. And now I know she’s in college. It makes me really fucking wish I had more than a goddamn GED—and that I hadn’t spent a year in prison. Makes me wish I were something more than a line cook.

And that’s just a promotion I got a few months ago. Before that, I’d been washing dishes for two years.

It takes me a second to remember that I’m not a line cook anymore. Now I’m a rapper with a record contract, and studio time next week. And a national tour.

“Where do you go to school?” I ask, trying so damn hard to play it cool.

“Uh, Julliard?” She says it with a lilt to her voice, ending in a question, as if I’d never heard of the school.

“Shit.” I exhale slowly, because, damn. “And what do you do there, Evangeline?”

“I play the piano. Sort of.”

I can tell she’s trying to dismiss her talent. I roll my eyes, shake my head and smirk at her. “I see. So you’re one of those students who got into Julliard even though they weren’t hot shit? I didn’t know they existed.”

“I’m not being modest. I knew a guy.”

Now I full-on laugh. “Girl, when you say it like that, it’s like you’re friends with the mob boss. Like your connected.”

She flips on her turn signal, giving me a sidelong glance. “I am Italian.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah, I am. But I do know a guy. My dad’s brother is, like, on the board of admissions. I didn’t even audition.” She presses her lips tight, giving a nearly silent squeal. “I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve never told anyone that. It’s the most embarrassing thing about me, actually.”

“You’re a lucky girl, Evie.”

“Why? Because I didn’t have to try to fake-impress a room full of critics who knew I was slightly above average?”

“No, because if that’s your most embarrassing truth, you’re lucky. “

“Oh, yeah?” She turns off the freeway and we’re careening down a palm-lined street, where you can’t even see the homes because they’re so far behind massive gates. “What’s your most embarrassing truth, Cash Flow? I mean, besides your rapper name.”

“You don’t like my rapper name?” I laugh, appreciating her honesty—because I fucking hate it, too.

“You’re getting off the subject,” she scolds. “Back to the embarrassing stuff.”

“Girl, there’s way too much stupid shit to even begin.”

“Try.”

“Uh, one time I got arrested for stealing Slurpees at a 7-11.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, right? I’m an original gangsta.”

“Did that really happen?” she asks, punching in a code on a panel next to a wrought iron gate.

“It happened. I was in ninth grade. First time I got handcuffed.”

“They seriously handcuffed you over flavored ice?”

“Well, we had a bunch of pot on us.”

“Oh, now there’s an us involved. The plot thickens.” She laughs, and her laugh is so surprisingly refreshing, so clear and clean and true, that I feel myself get hard. When the fuck have I ever gotten hard over a girl’s laugh before?

The gate slides open, and a mansion sprawls before us.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling like I should have picked a story that painted me with a bit more badassery. God knows there are a fuck-ton; my brother and I were idiots. The boys we rolled with were as stupid as we were. And the sad truth is, I’d still be with those boys if they hadn’t ditched me first.

“So, my room’s out back, in the guest house,” she says, getting out of the car.

I follow her, checking my phone as I do, because it’s been buzzing for the past five minutes.

Chad: where the fuck did you go?

Me: Out. I’ll catch up later at home.

I silence my phone. I can’t stand being around Chad right now. He wants to micro-manage the fuck out of me and I can’t go there. The high I should be on for signing this contract is non-existent. And it’s not about him and Gina—honestly, ending things with her is good. I’ve finally been forced to drop the baggage I couldn’t let go of on my own.

I’m grateful to have this contract, but I need to find a way to put my heart and soul into the music. Right now it’s a struggle to connect my public persona—this ex-con rapper—and who I really am. Who I am right here, right now.

They’re two different people.

“You coming?” Evangeline asks, and I nod, dropping my phone in my pocket.

I smile, letting her lead the way. My stomach clenches, because shit, I’m uncomfortable as hell with this sort of money.

“Your pops must have done something right,” I say as she leads me around the yard, where a massive infinity pool draws my eyes to the Pacific Ocean.

It’s insane—the view, the space, the girl next to me. I might have just signed a quarter-million dollar contract, but the money’s already divided a hundred fucking ways. My mom, mostly, then taxes, and Chad, and Gina, and me.

I’ll have plenty, but a place like this is half a billion dollars, or some crazy-ass shit. I don’t know. I live in a goddamn apartment, not even a house. Certainly not a castle on the coast of California.

She sidles up next to me, and we look out at the sprawling ocean. It’s crazy, but I’ve never been to this part of LA before today, never set foot in this neighborhood. But here I am, with Gentle Evangeline.

“Yeah, my dad’s good with business. But family? Not so much.”

“So you have some daddy issues, that’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Oh, major daddy issues.” She gives me that laugh again, the one that makes time stop and my heart race and my hand clench, wishing it had a pencil in it so I could write something down about this moment, because I swear her laugh is like a song. Her laugh is why music was made. Her laugh needs to be remembered.

I swear, I won’t forget.

“So,” she says, “can I get you lunch?”

She looks at my hand and hesitates, and that’s when I’m reminded that this girl is hella sweet, and hella good. And I know I’m all wrong for her.

Still, I can tell that she’s way too tentative to reach for mine, and that inviting me here may have been the most reckless thing she’s ever done in her life.

I take her hand, and it fits mine in a way we both know it shouldn’t: perfectly.

Chapter 6

Evangeline

Okay, so I really, really invited a boy—um, man—to my place. Like, I for reals just did that. Me. Evangeline. The girl who never, ever takes a risk, never steps out of line or breaks the rules.

For example, the rule about: Don’t have dinner with my dad’s clients. My dad said it like it was a joke, an improbability. But Cash-freaking-Flow is in my guesthouse, with his tattoos and strong jaw and eyes that slay me.

I don’t even know what’s happening with my life right now, but I needed a breath of fresh air so damn bad, and the moment I voiced that need in the elevator, Cash arrived. Slipped into my day, just like that, and now I want more of this abandon.

Because Cash holds my hand like he’s not going to let go—but not in, like, a creepy way. In an I’ve got you way.

In a way that makes me melt.

“This is my place.” I wave my hand around, because it isn’t anything special.

“It’s nice,” Cash says, looking around.

“I moved out here when I was a senior in high school, because my mother thought giving me a chance to spread my wings was important before I left for college.”

“Did it?” he asks, playing with my fingers, the ones still laced through his.

“Did it what?”

“Help you spread your wings.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I shake my head. My memories of my mother and me are the root of every story, every choice. Every part of my life. I don’t know how to explain that to a stranger. “The truth is, I think she just needed space. She was one of those people who pushed everyone—pushed them too hard or pushed them away.”

“Was?”

Realizing he caught my past tense, I explain, “Yeah, she died earlier this year.”

Cash’s fingers tighten around mine, and I know this hook-up, or whatever is supposed to happen next, just got really heavy.

“But now she’s gone,” I tell him, shrugging even though I don’t want to, even though it hurts to let my shoulders fall. I don’t want to dismiss the memory of her.

And, for the first time since she died, I don’t feel like someone is asking me to. I don’t think Cash is asking me to. He’s just watching me with these soulful eyes that seem to hear every word I say.

“And now you’re back home,” he says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, except nothing about this property feels like home without her. She was never a safe place, but she was my mom, my rock. “

“How does that work, Evie, not having an anchor?”

“I’m floundering, big time,” I admit, letting go of his hand, not knowing why I’m opening up to this guy so candidly. “Why am I telling you this?”

“I know exactly why.”

“Which is?”

He smiles, his eyebrows raised. “You’re terrified to kiss me, so you’re telling me everything that might push me away.”

I don’t know if Cash is right. Maybe he is a therapist, because I’m sure opening up to him more this afternoon than I have in three years with mine back in New York.

“Who’s your anchor, Cash?”

He gives me a sad smile, and I’m reminded that we all have nerves, pressure points that mess with our minds.

“I don’t have one either.” He takes my other hand, laces our fingers, and pulls me to him.

“Did you ever?”

“I thought so.” He wraps our hands behind my back; my body is against his, and I don’t pull away. I always, always pull away.

“And then what happened?” I ask, forgetting, again, how to breathe.

“I was wrong, Evie. Really wrong.” He whispers this in my ear. His smell is so unfamiliar to me. It’s gritty and deep and broken.

“I’m not terrified to kiss you,” I tell him. “That’s not why I’m telling you all this.”

He raises an eyebrow, leans his forehead against mine. “No?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t know why I’m telling you ... but I know for certain it isn’t because I’m scared.”

And I’m not. I want him to kiss me. That’s why I brought him here.

“I don’t scare you even a little?” He lets go of my fingers, runs a hand up my spine, over the back of my neck. My hair falls through his fingers as he reaches my chin, tilts it ever so slightly, looking straight at me.

“No.”

I always thought the magic word was please or thank you—not no. But with Cash, it is.

Me saying no causes him to cup my face with his hands; his mouth brushes against mine, softly at first, before pressing tight against my lips. He doesn’t waste any time, and for that I’m glad—because I’ve wasted too much time in my life already. I’ve wasted all the time.

I’m not wasting anymore.

I find myself sinking into him. I wrap my hands around his waist, pulling him still closer to me. His fingers on my face are tender and gentle, which is not at all how I expected him to kiss. I expected something dirty, hard. Something worn. But I was wrong about Cash. I was wrong about everything.

His tongue slides into my mouth, entwines with mine in seconds. I let out the softest groan—a groan that causes his kiss to intensify, and I don’t know how that is even possible. But it is. He’s deepening the kiss, his hands still cupping my face, and my back arches in response, as if I want to offer him more.

Offer him everything.

He pulls away from the kiss after he has completely devoured my mouth, both of us catching our breath as he kisses my neck, and moves back up, all the way to my ear.

“Oh, girl,” he whispers in my ear, causing my entire body to tingle in delight. His hands wrap around my waist, and I feel so small in his grasp. I want to be pressed against him deeper still.

“Will you have sex with me, Cash?”

He pulls back, fast, like I’ve just requested something he hasn’t considered—which I know isn’t true, because he’s been pressed against me long enough for me to know that he wants this to happen as much as I do.

“What?” I ask, tugging him closer. “You don’t want to?”

“Damn, girl.” He’s smiling softly; I see one dimple, and that’s enough.

“What?” I ask, unable to resist kissing his cheek, because that dimple is so damn sexy.

“I didn’t realize you were such a player, is all,” Cash tells me.

“I’m not a player. I just crush a lot.”

“Are you for reals, right now?” he asks, giving me a full-on grin.

“Oh, Cash, I’m too legit to quit.” I step away from him, and for a moment we watch one another. I’ve never hooked up like this, so I don’t know if the feelings surging through me are from the adrenaline rush of doing something so un-Evie, or if it’s because there’s something deeper going on between Cash and me.

I don’t want to be naive and think this is something that it isn’t. And Cash has player written all over him.

Reminding myself that I invited him here for fun, not for anything serious, I plaster a smile on my face, forcing myself to be as chill as ice. “How about you think about my request while I get you some food.” Feeling bold, I add, “I have a feeling you’ll need the sustenance.” I laugh, warmth spreading through my belly, because I can’t remember feeling so silly since before Mom died.

“Who are you?” he asks as I move toward the kitchen.

I feel his eyes on me, and I like it. “I don’t know, Cash. I honestly don’t know.” I open the freezer, for no reason besides needing the cold air to wash over me.

Cash has gotten me hot all over.

* * *

Chapter 7

Cassius

I watch her pull containers out of the fridge, but I don’t offer to help because I’m too spun up. Too worked up. Way too revved up.

That kiss was fucking insanity.

Why, exactly, was I monogamous for two years straight?

I turn from her, adjusting my cock because, damn, this girl is making me insane.

Evie is so fucking precious, and she has no idea how appealing that is. She has a black dress on—but not like that, not how you’d think. It has a belt high on the waist and goes down almost to her knees, and there are tiny ponies printed all over the entire thing. She has flats on, and her hair is in waves around her shoulders, and everything about her screams innocent.

Everything about her screams Yes, please.

Will you have sex with me Cash?

It’s a fair question. Will I?

“So, I have chips and salsa,” she tells me as I turn back around. “And I can make us quesadillas. Oh, and beer. You want a Corona? Or are you a tequila guy? I can’t tell.”

“What are you?” I ask her, leaning against the kitchen island. She called this place a guest house, but most people would die for a place like this. “I’d guess sangria.”

She smirks, gives me a shrug, then pulls a bottle of tequila down from the cupboard. Grabbing a lime, she slices it, then pours us shots, finds a salt shaker.

“To you, Cash,” she toasts. “To your contract.”

We toss the shots back. The alcohol burns my throat, and I watch her grab the salt, the lime. I don’t want either. I just want her.

She’s wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and her gray eyes seem brighter. She lets another laugh escape.

“Do you lure lots of guys back to your guest house?” I ask, as she pours us another round.

“No. None. Ever.”

We take the second shot. This time I know what to expect. Her laugh still gets my cock hard, but at least I knew it was coming.

“I need to eat,” she says. “I’m a lightweight.”

“You don’t say?” I ask, coming up behind her, kissing her neck and running my hands around her narrow waist, letting them linger lower. As low as possible without literally pressing my hand against her pussy—though God knows I want to.

Her breath is heavy, and I hold onto her as she turns on the gas, sets a pan on the flame. Adds a tortilla and shredded cheese. When the fuck did making lunch become such a turn on?

The whole time, my arms are wrapped around her. I’m nibbling at her ear and the base of her neck, inhaling her soft hair. She’s wind-blown—salt water and saltier tears. And the thing is, she doesn’t swat my hand away or act coy. She’s all-in.

She leans her back into me, her little ass against my growing cock, and damn, it takes everything in me not to flip her around, rip off her dress, press my mouth against her tits.

I know if I start I won’t stop, and I don’t know if fucking this girl an hour after we met is in her best interest. She seems fragile today; she was crying when we met. I may come off as a bad boy but the truth is, I treat girls right.

“It’s ready,” she says, turning to me.

“Girl, you’re killing me.”

She tosses her head back. “Cash, I’m the one who put the offer on the table, so your death is on you. But I really hope it doesn’t come to that.” She pushes away from me, grabbing the tequila. “You wanna eat outside?”

I nod, grabbing the chips and salsa. She takes the plate of quesadillas and the booze, and we step back into the Los Angeles sunshine.

“So, Cash, I already know an embarrassing story about you,” she says, grabbing a cheesy tortilla. “So tell me something else.”

“There isn’t much to tell, honey.”

“No, you don’t get off that easy. You’re clearly driven. KMG doesn’t sign talent if they aren’t going to top the charts. So what’s your story?”

I need some more fucking tequila for that. I pour a shot, throw it back. “I’m from East Heights, about as far from the life you have as you can imagine. Think 8 Mile. I’m doing this to help my mom. She needs the money bad, and more help than I’ve been able to give her. Growing up, though, it was my dad who caused me problems.”

“We have that in common.”

I give a sharp laugh. “I don’t think our daddy issues are the same kind.”

She looks at me steadily, pouring herself a shot. “Probably not, but I’m thinking both our fathers probably shaped our world view a heck of a lot more than we like to admit.” She drinks the clear liquor. Licks her lips. “Thing is, those assholes who messed us up gave us a gift, unknowingly. I’m better for being my father’s daughter. I know what kind of man I don’t want. And I’m guessing you know what kind of man you don’t want to be.”

“Fuck,” I say, shaking my head. “I need a pad of paper when I’m with you, girl.”

“Why’s that?”

“Everything you say makes me feel like I should be writing it down. The way I feel when I’m just next to you belongs in a fucking song. You are lyrics personified, and you don’t even know it.”

“You have a nice vocabulary,” she says, a hint of a smile playing across her mouth. I know she likes my compliments. She could probably use a hell of a lot more.

“I practically memorized a thesaurus. When I write lyrics, it’s all about the words.”

“What kind of music do you make?”

“I rap, solo. I wasn’t messing when I referenced 8 Mile—though, fuck, I didn’t intend to do this, be a rapper or some shit.”

“What did you intend?”

“I wanted to make music. I used to play around with a guitar, thought I’d be a singer-songwriter or whatever.”

“Was this before or after the Slurpee phase?”

“Around the same time, I guess. I mean, I got a guitar when I was, like, thirteen.”

“What happened?” She dips a chip in the salsa, but keeps her eyes on me. I can’t avoid her. She makes that impossible, because even if she wasn’t looking I know she would see me.

“You know my stage name, Cash Flow?” She nods and I continue. “Well my older brother, Chad, he heard me playing, and knew I had chops. Everyone in the neighborhood knew I did. And then when I was nineteen I got in trouble with the law, and didn’t have a guitar for, like, a year. So I was writing a bunch, and started rapping, because what else was I gonna do?”

She leans forward, listening.

“Well, I got out and we needed money, badly. Dad was gone, Mom was drunk, and it was like, this is the one shot. My music was the only thing we had. Chad thought I could pull off the rap thing. He had a vision for me, and he knew the money—the real money—wasn’t in some indie songwriter shit.”

“Well, you must be really talented. Chad must have known you had a gift or you’d never have gotten signed.” She bites her lip. “You don’t like taking about the past, do you?”

“It’s nothing good, Evangeline.”

“Understood,” she says, slowly enough that I know she means it. “So you became Cash Flow because you needed the money?”

“Well that, and my first name is Cassius. People always called me Cash.”

“Cassius? That’s cute.”

“Cute?” I shake my head, knowing I shouldn’t have told her. “Honey, I just told you—I fucking sold out before I even began.”

“Does Chad always tell you what to do?”

“No. He may be my manager, but I’m my own man.” I stand and pull Evie up, too, and kiss her again. This time I don’t wonder when or how I’ll stop. I’m not planning on it.

Her lips are soft and boozy, and melt into mine. She looks up at me with her hooded eyes begging me to take complete control. I like her eyes this way. They’re no longer rimmed in red; now they’re full of desire.

I hold her face in my hands, my palms covering her cheeks, and I kiss her deeply, sliding my tongue into her mouth. My body lights up with anticipation, because Evangeline brings emotions out in me that no one ever has before.

“I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do,” I whisper against her mouth. Her lips are parted and wanton. “I know exactly what I’m going to do right now.”

* * *

Chapter 8

Evangeline

He pulls me into the guesthouse, and once we’re inside and I lock the door, I know there’s no turning back.

And, God, I don’t want to go anywhere but forward. With him, and my life, and just everything.

He follows me into my bedroom, where my bed is unmade and my clothes litter the floor. It looks like the maid hasn’t come in yet today.

I don’t care; the sheets will just get rumpled anyway.

He’s sliding off my belt, and then his fingers run across the neckline of my dress. His hands are big and capable, and maybe it was listening to him tell me about his life, but I want to do whatever I can to make him smile. To make him laugh.

It should be a day to celebrate. My dad only signs the best talent, and that is Cash. I can see it—how soulful he is. I imagine his lyrics penetrate something deep and raw and real. I bet he’s incredible on stage.

He’s making me feel incredible right here.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Evie,” he tells me, wrapping his large hands around my waist, making me feel small in the biggest sort of way—a way that makes my heart bloom with petals soft and full.

When he tells me I’m gorgeous, I believe him.

He unbuttons my dress, and I step out of my flats. When he reaches for the hem of my dress and lifts it over my head, I let out a small sigh, because I can’t believe I’m doing this—can’t believe how badly I want to do this, how badly I want to do something I have never once done before.

I’m standing before Cassius, in a black bra and black panties and nothing more, and I want him to like what he sees. He’s the opposite of me in so many exterior ways, but is it crazy to think that inside, deep down, we aren’t that different?

That’s crazy, right? Cash is this gangster or something, in his Adidas and his gold chain and tattoos. And me in my what? My La Perla bra that cost three hundred dollars, and my trust fund and rich daddy. Me and my untouched skin and my innocent everything. Me, a girl who needs tequila to make good on what she craves, because God knows I’d chicken out if left to my own devices.

Cassius looks me up and down, and I want to look at his body the same way. I want him undressed; I want his skin against mine and I don’t want to wait.

I reach for his shirt, and he pulls it off. With his shirt gone, all that’s left is the chain around his neck, but now with his skin exposed, I see a body etched with a story that’s deeper than I can understand. He says he needs a notepad to write down words, but lyrics are engraved across his skin.

“Cassius,” I say, stepping closer. The window is open; the curtains flutter as a breeze washes through my room, and the sunlight casts a glow across us both. “You are a piece of art.”

He licks his lips, slowly shaking his head as he moves his hands over my chest, running across my belly and over my ass.

He pulls me to him. “No, you’re the masterpiece, Evangeline. You.”

I sink into him, wanting his chest pressed against my body, tight. The fact that he has a history I can’t comprehend draws me to him so quickly. My life is private camps and fancy schools and piano lessons.

So. Many. Lessons.

But what have I learned?

I learned that the first time I take chance on myself, I am nearly naked in the arms of the sexiest man I’ve ever met.

I should have taken a chance a long time ago.

His jeans are slung low on his hips, and a deep V leads down to something I know will be very good, but I don’t have the nerve to make that move. I don’t know how much tequila I’d need for that sort of bravery—the kind that would give me the resolve to unbutton his jeans and slide them off and reach for the hardness that I feel against me, that I want inside me.

He will need to make some of those moves on his own, because even now, with his fingers reaching for my bra clasp, with me sliding it off and my breasts falling from the cups, I can hardly breathe. I’ve forgotten again. But I don’t need to go outside for fresh air.

I just want his oxygen.

I kiss him, deeply, running my hand through his hair, over the shaved sides, and then the longer strands on top. I hold onto his hair, my mouth filled with his warm tongue, his soft lips, his breath. I pull him closer to me.

“Oh, girl,” he moans, his hands on my breasts, his fingers running over my hard nipples. My pussy tightens—because, oh, it feels so good when he caresses me with such devotion. I swear it’s like he only has eyes for me, like he sees me as more than a hook-up—which I know we aren’t. But, as he touches me, it almost feels holy.

“Do what you want with me, Cash. Please.” I’m begging him, because I know being with him is going to be a heck of a lot better than the rabbit vibrator in my dresser drawer.

He doesn’t hesitate; it’s like something has been unleashed when I give him complete control. He picks me up, his hands tight against my ass, and my legs wrap around him. He sets me down on the bed, my legs hanging off the edge, and he kneels down on the floor.

“Aren’t you coming up here?” I ask, patting the mattress.

“Not yet, honey. First I’m going down.”

* * *

Chapter 9

Cassius

I tug down those panties, revealing a well-trimmed pussy dripping with desire. Spreading her knees apart, I dip my mouth between her thighs, my fingers running across her skin, so soft and smooth.

My tongue presses against her tender clit, rolling in circles over her throbbing bulb. Wanting to make her body tremble in pleasure, I run my tongue up and down the length of her gap, and she moans above me, her knees instinctively drawing together—because this amount of pleasure feels forbidden, feels too good to be true.

But it isn’t.

“Your cunt is perfection,” I tell her.

“Cash.” She laughs softly, and I feel her vibrations as I press my mouth back on her mound. “I can’t believe you used that word.”

That gets me up, moving above her body, and I grab her hands, pin them above her head. Her perfect tits press against my bare chest and I want to press my mouth against them, too, but first I have to clear the fucking air.

“Oh, girl, your cunt is perfection. I want to press my fingers in it until you soak these sheets.”

“Not the word perfection, the c-word.”

“You don’t like the word cunt?” I ask, smiling above her, watching her cheeks redden as she bites her bottom lip.

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually heard a guy say it.”

“What do you want me to call your pussy?” I ask, raising my eyebrows as I straddle her, my hands moving over her tits. They’re so perky and round and begging to be sucked. I lean my mouth over one, twirling her hard nipple in my mouth as she squirms in delight.

“Call my pussy anything you want, Cash. I like everything that comes out of your mouth.”

“You like it dirty?” I ask. “Because I don’t know if you can handle how dirty we could make this.” I smile down at her, teasing.

“Do I get to see your cock?” she asks.

I press my mouth against hers. Maybe it’s the way she surprised me with her shots of tequila, or the way the word cock comes out of her parted lips with such a sweet inflection, but I need to kiss her.

I swear I could fucking lose my load before I get my cock out of my pants, but I have to kiss her. Again. More. Now, forever. I want this girl. I need this girl.

I pull away and head back to her pussy, to make sure she’s ready to take me. I don’t want to hurt her.

I part her delicate pussy lips; her folds are so tender and soft and wet. Oh, so fucking wet. I press a finger against her opening, and hear her gasp slightly at the touch.

Fuck, this girl is tight. So very tight.

Too tight.

I pull away from her, lean back up, looking at her intently.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Are you a virgin, Evangeline?”

She swallows. Her smoky eyes widen. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Without missing a beat, I ask another very important question: “And how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

A surge of relief washes over me, but I know my trouble has just begun.

“And you want me, a man you just met, to take your virginity?”

She props herself up on her elbows. “I don’t want you to take anything.”

My jaw tenses. Is this some massive dick tease?

She smiles, shaking her head, reaching for my hand. She laces her fingers through mine. “Cassius, I don’t want you take it; I’m giving it to you.”

I draw in a deep breath. It fucking feels like that’s all I’ve been doing today.

“I can’t take that gift.”

“Why not?” she asks. “You said my pussy—I mean, my cunt—was perfect. Don’t you want it?”

“Oh, girl, I want it. But not like this.”

“Then how?

“You don’t want your first time to be with a guy you don’t know. It should be memorable.”

I run my hands over her smooth skin. She’s flawless. Even her belly button turns me on.

“I’m sure I will remember every single detail of this day. Don’t worry about me.”

I look at her—and the truth is, before Gina there was a string of well-pleased females as I made my way through high school. My performance isn’t the concern. It’s the fact that the last thing I want to do is take something from Evangeline she can’t take back.

“I can’t. You at least deserve a proper date before a guy takes your virginity.”

“A date, huh? We had chips and salsa. That counts as a date.”

I’m not going to budge, no matter how much I want to. Evie is different. She’s more than a hook-up.

Her eyes alone.

“I mean it,” I tell her, leaning over her perfect body, kissing her softly.

“You are such a cunt-tease, Cassius. I’d never have guessed.” She wraps her arms around me.

“What had you guessed?”

“I guessed wrong.”

“But you want to be right?” I whisper into her ear, letting my tongue trail over her neck.

“Mhmm.”

I taste her smile as I press my lips against her mouth. It tastes like a promise hinged on hope.

She wants me and I want her, but I want to do the right thing. Maybe for the first time in my motherfucking life.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Let me take you on a proper date.”

“And then you’ll sleep with me?” she asks, bringing me back to where we began.

“You’re so singularly focused.”

“I go to Julliard. I’m basically brilliant.”

“Modest, too.” I plant kisses on her neck. My cock is solid between us, and damn, I deserve a medal for my self-control.

“I’m so hot for you, Cassius,” she groans under me. “Are you really going to make me wait?”

“I don’t even have a condom, girl.”

“You aren’t a player than?”

“I’m not a player. I just crush a lot.”

She laughs again. “You really aren’t, if you’re using my lines.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” She sighs, resigned to the fact that I’m really not going to fuck her right now. “But just so you know, Cassius, I’m not going to wear panties tonight. And if you refuse my cunt a second time, I’ll take it personally.”

“Oh, the refusal is plenty personal this time, too,” I tell her.

“Oh yeah?” She squints her left eye, as if trying to read me more thoroughly.

“Yeah, I personally want to take you to bed—but first, I’ll take you to dinner.” I stand, reaching for my shirt. I’m glad I didn’t discard my pants, because I swear to God it would be a challenge to stuff my wood back in.

“Who are you, Cassius?” she asks, sitting up, her naked tits perky and sweet, and in need of much more sucking before the night is through.

“I’m your dinner date.” I pull out my phone and tap on the Uber app, ordering a ride back to the apartment.

We exchange numbers, and my phone pings, telling me my car is here.

“I’ll be back here in a few hours—say, five o’clock?” I tell her, leaning over her naked body and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

“A little early for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Honey, if we wait to start eating until eight, we’ll only be hurting ourselves. This way, we can be back here by ten.”

“With condoms.”

“Plenty.”

* * *

Chapter 10

Cassius

Back at the apartment I check in with Mom. The nurse has left for the day, and Mom is sound asleep in her bed. I sit next to her, and see a drawer in her nightstand open. Inside, there’s a bottle of cheap vodka—God knows, I’ve cleaned the alcohol out of her room enough times to know that she always gets another bottle somehow.

I’m guessing Gina got it for her; she’s the easiest around here to manipulate.

Trying not to stress, I realize I also need to make a plan for what I’m going to do about Chad and Gina, before I see them again.

I pour the bottle out in the kitchen sink, and instead of focusing on those problems, I look over some of the songs that KMG has sent over. The music is what it’s really about right now. While I have control over a few of the songs on the first album, I only get to use half of my original stuff.

They want an LP produced before Elle’s tour starts in three weeks, which means I’m going to be in the studio for fourteen days straight, starting tomorrow.

When I first found out about this two weeks ago, I was pissed, but at least I knew before I came down to LA today and signed the contact. These are the terms KMG is willing to offer, and the truth is, I have zero leverage.

Mom’s health was shitty before the accident, but now it’s only going downhill. She needs my help, and those fucking court fines are piling up. She damaged property at a city park when her car crashed—thank God it was just a city-owned lawnmower, park benches, and a retaining wall. It could have been a person.

But, fuck, it all costs money.

So, I’ll play this shitty pseudo-rap shit, with lyrics that play up my prison time a hell of a lot more than I’d like. It isn’t the worst thing, and I need to buck up and remember the point of this. Maybe one day I’ll be like Jack Harris, able to call my own motherfucking shots.

Until then, I’ll go on stage and deliver. I always deliver.

In the meantime, I’ll keep working on my own shit. I have a notepad and pen in hand as I lay sprawled on my bed, thinking about Gentle Evangeline, jotting down everything about our time together.

It looks like I found myself a muse in the least expected place. KMG headquarters is a breeding ground for wannabes—musicians and groupies alike. But Evangeline isn’t like those fame-obsessed people hanging around in slinky clothes, draped on leather couches, hoping to be chosen.

Evangeline is unlike any girl I’ve ever met.

Probably because there were no girls like her in East Heights—privileged girls who never worried about things like lunch money and having shoes that fit, and keeping their younger siblings safe from an alcoholic mother or an abusive father.

The girls I grew up with had to fight for survival. Evangeline avoided all that because she happened to be born in a home where money meant nothing, because there was so much of it. She doesn’t know the sort of heartbreak that jaded girls like Gina were raised on.

And that makes me want to protect Evangeline from anything that might hurt her. That makes me want to wrap her in my arms and carry her somewhere safe, because she has no fucking clue how lucky she is to have lived twenty-one years without any scars. In this world, it’s a gift to have wide eyes and believe in possibility.

I don’t know if it’s her innocence that draws me to her like a moth to a flame, but I can’t deny that I’m counting down the minutes until I can see her again.

Taste her again.

Fill her up for the first time.

The front door opens, and brings me back to reality. Gina and Chad are back with a six-pack of Coke and a bottle of cheap rum. Fantastic.

“Hey, motherfucker,” Chad says. “Wanna drink?”

I shrug. I was all spun up after the morning photo shoot, and it took nearly fucking a virgin to clear my head. I want to keep it on straight.

Gina struts in, then plops on the couch, picking at her long shellacked nails, nails I know she fucking loves. No matter how tight the money is, she always has enough to sit and get her nails done.

Not that I care. Gina grew up in the school of hard knocks. If shiny red nail polish dulls some of her pain, good.

I just wish I had something I could use to coat over the places she cut into my heart. To seal the wounds. Seeing her makes my skin tighten and my jaw tense. She and I still haven’t dealt with any of our shit. She left my bed one night and went to my brother’s the next.

Does that make me a weak-ass motherfucker? I don’t know. I want to believe it makes me strong—because, dammit I don’t want to push her, when I know how far she’s come to the edge, and how many times I’ve had to pull her back up to the land of the living.

I don’t want to destroy her just so I can say my piece. That isn’t what it means to be a man.

At some point, what she and I had was love. Maybe it was childish, love borne from desperate fools clinging to whatever they could find, but we found one another.

That counts for something.

* * *

Chad’s pouring rum and Cokes. Gina’s pursing her lips.

The air is thick and I want out.

Gina’s next to me on the couch, in stilettos and skintight pants. Her blazer from this morning is gone, and she’s left with a sheer top with a black bra, hair knotted and tight. Nothing left to the imagination.

I can’t help but compare her to Evie, who wore a dress and flats, who had loose hair and an open heart.

“So what do you guys want?” I ask them, cutting to the chase. Chad hands me a drink, and I know it isn’t a peace offering—but it’s liquor, and that counts for something.

“Gina and I are having drinks tonight with the KMG people, but we have a few hours so we thought the three of us should have a business conversation, bro. Before we meet with the big guy. Make sure we’re all on the same page.”

I scowl. “Who are you meeting with, exactly?”

“Actually, we’re having drinks with the head fucking honcho: Marshal Kendrick himself, at his pad. We were invited, personally.” He looks over at Gina, smiling like they have big plans for tonight.

I fucking want them out of my business.

“He’s the CEO. What do you have to do with him?”

“I’m considering finding more talent. Becoming a scout. Meeting with Marshal Kendrick is a step in the process. I want his endorsement.”

“You want to be a talent scout?” I scoff, shaking my head. Sure, Chad was able to mold me into something profitable, but that doesn’t mean he can replicate it.

Or is that my gut instinct, to cut him down, because of the shit I’m holding against him?

“He’d be good at it,” Gina says, scooting closer to me. Too close for comfort. She smells like my childhood, like memories I want to lay to rest.

Maybe now is my chance to break ties with Chad. Maybe he’s looking for a way to let me go without hurting my fucking feelings.

Though he’s never seemed to consider them before.

Two can play that game.

I look at Gina. “This what you want, Gina? To be with fucking Chad?”

I don’t know why I say it like that. It’s not like I want to be with her, not at all. It just kills me that she’d pick a fucker like him over me. Like, what does that shithead have that I don’t?

She sighs, like she knew this was coming. “You really wanna do this now, Cash?” she asks.

“How do you wanna do it?” I look at both of them, my voice even—but I’m not calm. Not at all. Inside, my blood is boiling because the three of us have been tiptoeing around things that matter way too much.

It’s like we’ve been holding it all together long enough for me to sign the fucking contract—but now it’s signed, and our hearts have space to finally explode.

And, right now, I could burst. I hold a lot of shit against the two of them. They turned on me when I needed them most. Maybe I’m holding it against them because people have been turning their backs on me for a long time before that.

Chad never went to prison. I did. I took the fucking fall for all of us.

And, sure, I got out after thirteen months, but being incarcerated changed my life. I’m not the man I was, and I lost more than a year of my life. I lost my boys, my hood. My identity.

And I’m no closer to finding it, two years later.

“Cash, this can’t be a surprise,” Gina says.

“Not a surprise?” I give a sharp laugh. “I promised you everything.”

“And what was that?” she asks, plainly.

And, God damn it, that slays me. Because, sure, I never had much to offer, but I was willing to give her all I had.

It’s so fucking clear. Why Chad, and why not me.

I don’t know who is the bigger fool.

“You think Chad will end up with more than me in the end, is that it? That he’ll rise in ways I won’t? That he’ll give you a life I can’t.” I down my drink. “Gina, I’m the talent he’s scouting. I’m the product. I’m the reason we have money in the bank.”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s not convinced.

“I made you what you’re going to be, little bro,” Chad says, walking toward Gina, and pulling her to stand. “And I am going to make a dozen more just like you. You may have the chops, but I have the vision. Visionaries always win in the end.”

“Fuck you.” I walk to the front door, throw it open. I want to fire him right here, on the spot, but I don’t trust my gut anymore.

I can’t fuck this up—ruin my chance—because Mom needs me. And I have no clue how Chad might react to getting the boot.

I can’t give in to the heat of the moment, because that would only confirm my fear: that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

The only thing that has felt real, true—good and honest—in a long fucking time is Evangeline.

I need to see her. Maybe I can look in her gray eyes and see the truth I seek.

Maybe my muse will set me free.

* * *

Chapter 11

Evangeline

Is it totally lame of me to admit that I spent the afternoon getting ready for my date? Because I did. I so did. Now that I know I’m going to lose my virginity tonight, I’m determined to make it as perfect as possible.

I shave. Twice. I put on thick black eyeliner, then wash it off and start again with soft silver shadow. I root around my closet in indecision, and eventually put on a strapless maxi and sandals. I braid my hair and pin it around my head, then unfurl the whole thing and let my dark locks fan over my shoulders.

I’m nervous in the best sort of way.

I google Cash Flow. I click a link, then two. Then three. I feel wrong for doing this, but learn that he’s from a neighborhood filled with crime and went to prison for beating a man, and he started posting his rap-offs on YouTube a year ago.

His music is insane. Insanely beautiful. I was expecting something grim, or a song about bitches and hos, but Cash isn’t that kind of rapper.

He’s a genius.

I understand why my dad signed him. I’d sign him. I watch every clip, mesmerized, because with a mic in his hand he’s powerful. He’s electric.

He’s fucking hot as hell.

He has hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers. He tweets every hour.

But I swear, not one of them is his own words.

I’ve heard him speak, heard him whisper in my ear—and none of his inflections would lead me to believe that he could translate his heart and soul into one hundred and forty characters.

Also, he went to prison for beating a man.

Should that scare me?

I shut my computer.

I take off my panties, because, after all, I promised Cassius I wouldn’t wear any and I can make good on my promise. Then I discard my maxi dress, tie my hair in a bun, and put on a fitted dress and stilettos. I haven’t worn heels in two years. They’re out of style, but I need tight clothes and sleek shoes, because I want to appear more than I am. I want to look like the sort of woman Cash Flow would sleep with, because all I want right now is to shed my skin and become something braver than I was when I woke up this morning begging my dad for a job.

I can reclaim what I have forfeited.

And I will.

He’s here. I see an Uber drop him off. I told him I would drive, but we both know he’s going to take the wheel tonight.

I will give him complete control.

I grab my purse, lock the guest house, and meet him out front.

“Hey,” I tell him. “You came back.”

He looks me over, closely. Maybe too closely. Close enough that I’m second-guessing the shoes, the dress, the ruby-red lips.

“You look different,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

Okay, not exactly Romeo with his entrance, but I’ll take it. He’s still here. I’m no fool; if I know how much he’s not my type, I can tell that I’m not his either.

“You don’t like my outfit?” I ask, looking down, insecure in ways I hate. I don’t want to be that girl. Not tonight. Not anymore.

“Just looks more….”

“I was going for celebratory.”

“It looks very celebratory.”

“You’re a bad liar, Cassius.”

“I didn’t beg you for heels and tight skirts, is all.” He shrugs. “But like we discussed before, this is why we’re on a first date, to get to know one another. Maybe I read you all wrong. Maybe your anxiety attack hid parts of you that I’ll see now.”

“It wasn’t a panic attack. You said so yourself. It was a meltdown.”

Our eyes lock. I feel seen. I feel stupid in this dress that’s not me; I don’t even know why I own it. The tags were still attached when I found it in my closet.

He may have gone to prison, but that isn’t why my heart is pounding, why my breath is hot, or why my pussy seems to clench in desire.

I don’t need a dress to make me feel more than. Standing beside Cassius makes me feel like enough.

“I’m gonna change. Give me a sec.”

* * *

When I come back out I’m in the flowing maxi dress and the sandals. My hair is loose on my shoulders. I’m myself.

And Cassius gives me a full-on grin, the dimpled one that makes me suck in air, fast, because he seriously leaves me breathless.

“You look divine, Evangeline.”

I feel my cheeks redden, but I don’t look away. I only have eyes for him.

“You look pretty good yourself.” And he does. He’s in dark jeans and a collared shirt, buttoned all the way up. His medallion is looped around his neck and he’s got rings on his fingers. His hair is slicked back. His pale eyes are like the sea: blue speckled with green, washing away any of my worries about his hardened past.

“Wanna drive?” I ask, holding up my keys.

He shakes his head. “I can’t drive.”

When my eyes ask the question, he lets out a breath I didn’t know he was holding.

“Lost my license.”

“They can send you replacement, dork,” I tell him, tossing him the keys.

When he tosses the keys back, I get it.

“It was revoked.” His jaw tenses. “You sure you wanna go out with me? I’m guessing you Googled me or some shit.”

“Did you Google me?”

His eyes narrow. “Should I have?”

“No,” I tell him, walking to the driver’s seat. If he knew who my dad is, he might back away from me.

I can’t have him do that. Not before tonight ends.

I want tonight. I need tonight. It feels like the precipice for the rest of my life.

“Hop in, Cash Flow, and let me show you my part of LA.”

“My part, too,” he says as he sits beside me in my Mini.

We cruise down the freeway toward a simple restaurant on the water’s edge in Malibu. Not too swanky, not too chill—perfect for a first date. At least, I always thought that when I was a teenager and living here, wishing some guy would take me on a first date.

Strike that. Wishing a guy who wasn’t someone whose father worked with my father would take me on a date. Those were the only dates I ever had.

“You’re relocating to Malibu?” I ask.

“Yeah, just decided on my drive over. After the tour with Elle, I need to start somewhere new. The cab driver convinced me this is where I should buy a house. I’ve lived in LA my whole life, but hardly ever come to the ocean. That’s fucked up.”

“You’re letting your Uber driver decide your destiny?” I give him a sidelong glance, swallowing hard for reasons I don’t understand.

He laces my fingers through his and my body tenses and melts at the same time. He’s a sensation overload. I don’t let go.

“You believe in destiny?” he asks.

I shrug. “A little heavy for a first date, isn’t it?”

“Evangeline, I hate to break it to you, but Cash Flow is fucking deep.”

I laugh. “Don’t dismiss yourself. You’re really talented.”

“Says the girl from Julliard.”

“You are talented,” I tell him as I park at the restaurant. “I watched your YouTube videos, and the truth is, you’re amazing. You’re so—”

“Full of hot air? Fake? A product? A show?”

“I was going to say sincere.”

He shakes his head, jumping out of the car, and opening my door. “I am many things on stage, but I don’t think I would have said sincere. I’d describe myself as desperate.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask as he places his hand on the small of my back, leads me inside.

“Hope and fear are both borne from desperation.”

“Who said that?” I ask.

He smiles softly. “Me.”

* * *

It only takes one foot in the restaurant before I know I picked all wrong. As a seventeen-year-old girl I thought this place was romantic, but now I see it’s all fake lighting and bland food, and it’s totally empty.

I’m not even hungry.

“Wanna walk on the beach?” I ask, turning to Cassius, who, in his smooth clothes, is as out of place here as I am.

“I’m game for anything.”

“It’s only ten after five. This place is dead. That’s on you,” I tell him, smiling, grabbing his hand and pulling him back outside.

He leans down, his soft lips against my ear. “I said five because you made plans for later.”

“So you didn’t forget a condom, that’s what you’re saying?” I ask, shocked at my unbridled flirtation. This is not the regular Evangeline. Regular Evangeline is so obedient.

So boring.

“I did not forget a condom.”

“Good.” I smile. “Let’s walk to the pier and get ice cream.”

“You’re really precious, Evie, you know that?”

“Is being precious a good thing?

“It’s a very good thing.”

Cassius grabs my hand, and we start walking.

* * *

Chapter 12

Cassius

We eat ice cream and hold hands, and the whole time I can’t keep my hands off her. And when I lean close, kiss her sweet ice cream lips, I know I have it bad for this girl.

“So, you live in LA,” she says, “but who do you live with? Give me some details.”

We step off the pier and slip off our shoes. I roll up my cuffs and she picks up her hem. We’re going to walk along the shore, because that’s what you do when you’re in California, and young, and ready to give into the unexpected.

“Yeah, so I live with my brother—he’s my manager—and Gina.”

“Who’s she?” Evangeline asks. The sun is floating over her shoulders, and when she stands with the water behind her she looks like a mermaid. An apparition. A dream.

I must have a funny look on my face, because she stops and grabs my arm. “Please tell me you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t. Gina and I broke up a few weeks ago.”

“But you live with her?”

“She hooked up with my brother before she and I broke up.”

“What the heck? Cassius, that’s ….”

“Fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“I know.”

“But you guys are cool now?” she asks.

We’ve made it to the edge of the strip of shore, and there’s no one here—nothing here but lazy trees and thick bushes, far from the edge of anything.

I take a seat on a piece of driftwood in the secluded cove, and Evangeline sits beside me.

“Not cool, exactly. It’s complicated. How do you cut ties with the only people you have?”

She laughs, softly. Sadly. “If I knew … I already would have.”

“Your dad?”

“It’s like he wants me to be … less than I am and more than I am at the exact same time, and I just wonder if I can be neither. If, instead, I could just be myself.”

“Oh, baby, you speak my language.”

She shakes her head. “No, you may be a musician, but your language is words.”

“And yours?”

“Playing the piano is the only place I’ve ever really been able to be myself. I love it, I do, deep in my soul I do … but I started to play for my mom, and now it just feels like that’s the way my dad wants to control me.”

“Pretty heavy shit for a first date,” I tease, wrapping my arm around her. Her skin is so soft, and I cradle her face with my other hand.

I hold her, and then she’s holding me, and maybe it makes sense because it shouldn’t. Because she’s this fucking precious girl and I’m a fucking fool. But I want her. I need her.

I know I don’t deserve her.

“I want to hear you play,” I tell her.

“I want to quit Julliard,” she admits, her lips inches from mine. “I stopped playing after my mom died. I hate it there. It’s cold and depressing, and not my speed. I’m not ambitious like the other students. And I know I shouldn’t unload on you—you’re a stranger. But maybe that’s why you feel so safe?”

“I’m not safe. You know that, Evangeline. You Googled the shit out of me. I’m too messy for a girl like you.”

“I think you’re wrong. I think you’re exactly right for me.”

I kiss her then—no, more like I crash into her. I scoop her into my lap, and she’s straddling me, because she fits against me in ways she shouldn’t.

Her hands are in my hair, and my hands hold her ass, pulling her to me in a desperate, greedy way, in a way that says I’m taking you here, now. I am having my way with you.

“Cassius,” she moans into my mouth, her tongue circling mine, as we breathe in and out, both of us finally taking in all the air we’ve been looking for all day. We find it in one another.

No one’s here—we’re on a secluded beach—so I pick her up, with her legs twined around my waist, and I carry her around the cove, where no one can see us or find us. I drop to my knees before her, wrap my arms around her waist, inhale the sweet scent that she’s offering me.

She pulls down her strapless dress, uncovers her tits, revealing that her body is ready for mine. Her nipples are peaked, and I reach to pull her dress completely off.

She isn’t wearing any panties, just like she’d promised. She knew why we were going out tonight—and fuck, I love her for it.

With her naked before me, I run my hands over her, pressing my face to her perfect mound, leaving a trail of kisses against her. I’m completely turned on by her willingness to fuck me here, now. We’re in a remote spot, but the sun hasn’t set, and the truth is, this is reckless.

But I have a feeling that’s what she craves most of all: a chance to be completely undone. Untethered. Carefree.

I can help her with that.

“Cassius,” she moans. My arms wrap around her waist; her hands run over my shoulders, tugging off my shirt. “Please, don’t take too long. I want you against me, in my arms. I want you in me.”

I unbutton my shirt, unbuckle my pants. I stand, and she runs her hand over my chest, reading the words inked across my chest: And I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinking.

“What does this mean to you?” she asks, tracing the letters of the Bob Dylan lyrics.

“It means as long as my head is above water, my heart’s still beating. I haven’t drowned.”

“We’re standing on the shore right now,” she whispers, her mouth pressing against the words that mean so much to me. “We’re breathing.”

“Yes,” I tell her, sliding off my pants. “We are very much alive.”

* * *

Chapter 13

Evangeline

It might be a cliché, to say his cock is huge and hard and thick and ready … but it is. It so completely is. And Cassius is romantic and tender, and broken and lost. And maybe so am I. Maybe this day turned into something magical because he and I were both open and willing.

Desperate.

“Take me, take me now,” I whisper, my hand wrapping around his length, my pussy throbbing in desire, because this entire day has been a giant cunt-tease and I am ready.

He lowers me to the sand and balls his shirt behind my head so I’m more comfortable, but I was already comfortable. Nothing would make this moment uneasy. I feel more relaxed than I maybe ever have.

“You’re a dream, Evangeline. A mirage. I see you, feel you, but I don’t think you’re real.”

“I am real. This can be real.”

Am I saying words I need to cling to? Am I already scared of what might happen when this night ends? Am I just speaking what I want to be true?

He rolls on a condom. His fingers find my opening, and I’m so wet—I’m dripping before we’ve even begun, because his hard, lined chest and strong arms and light eyes are telling me the story I want so badly to hear.

That he wants me. That he craves me as badly as I crave him.

His fingers flutter against my folds, and my eyes close, and he kisses my mouth, softly, so very softly. And I sink onto the sand as he presses himself into me.

I wince; he whispers words I can’t hear, because all I know is what I feel, and what I feel is pure.

I whimper beneath him; my eyes sting with tears. He fills me, presses past my virginity and goes deeper inside me, to a place I saved for him without meaning to.

“Oh, girl, you feel so right.” He moves above me, his cock thrusting within me. I moan, taking him against my pussy walls, so tight and unforgiving.

“Cassius,” I sigh, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, clinging for dear life as he moves against me. My core is alive, my skin on fire, my heart beating a melody I have never made before. My fingers itch to play a song I’m just learning and I rock against him, finding a beat as our bodies collide.

An orgasm rushes over me. I want it to slow, so I can memorize each thrum, but I can’t catch it with my hands, with my heart. It’s a wave that passes through me.

He comes in me, hard. I feel a surge of warmth on the other side of the latex barrier between us … but I know that nothing is barring me from the sensation I feel right now.

When we come, we are one.

Tears fill my eyes.

And then tears are streaming down my cheeks. He’s shushing me, and I’m trying to speak, but I can’t because I’ve never felt so whole.

“You are perfect, Evangeline,” he whispers.

“No, you are, Cash. You absolutely are.”

He shakes his head, kisses my nose. We smile.

Laughter escapes my lips, laughter I did not expect.

* * *

When we’re driving back to my house, I can’t stop smiling. We grab a pizza to go, and a bottle of wine. This night is not going to end any time soon.

I want him to ask me back to his hotel, but he hasn’t. And I’m not going to push.

“So,” I ask. “You say the money from this contract is going to change your life?”

“Yeah, my mom needs my help, and I’ll give it to her. Give her anything.”

“You guys are close, then?” My own pain from missing my mother hits my chest.

“She isn’t exactly lucid at the moment. She was in a car crash a few months back, and had extensive brain trauma.”

“Oh, Cassius, I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” he says. “But it’s life, you know? I can sing this bullshit music if it means I can give her a second chance.”

“You’re a good man.”

He just shakes his head and looks at the road, looks to what’s ahead.

Maybe looking back won’t do him any good.

I park, and I’m surprised to see a few other cars in the driveway. I slow my Mini down as I pull in, suddenly realizing this was bad idea.

Dad’s here, with some other people I don’t recognize. They’ve literally just pulled up moments before us, are just getting out of their own car.

“Cassius, um—” I reach for his arm.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Cassius asks, not looking at my father, but the two people with him.

“That’s my dad. Marshal Kendrick.”

He turns his head ever so slowly. Our eyes meet, confusion written everywhere.

“Evangeline,” he breathes my name.

I can’t say any more, because the couple in the driveway are staring at us, speaking loudly, but I can’t hear them.

I only see Cash, crashing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man asks Cassius.

“I was with Evangeline.”

We both get out of the car, but I do it regretfully. I wish I’d never come back here.

The girl is staring at me—make that glaring at me—and I don’t know why I’m her problem. My problem is my father.

“Evangeline, what in the world were you doing with Cash?” Dad asks, arms crossed.

“Uh….” I pause. I think about Cash’s words in the car—about his mother, and money, and needing to get this one thing right. I can’t mess it up by throwing a tantrum. If I admit I was with Cash, then I know Dad will have a fit.

Cash doesn’t need a fit, because I can already see that the guy and girl standing here are laying it on him pretty thick.

“Evangeline, I’m speaking to you. What were you doing with Cash?”

I look at Cassius, and back to the other man, who has the same strong jaw and pale eyes. My stomach drops as I realize this is his brother Chad, his ex-girlfriend Gina. They were my father’s dinner meeting.

Cash steps forward. “Evangeline and I met earlier today, at KMG. She was just showing me around town.”

“With pizza and wine? Back at her place?” my dad scoffs. He’s no fool. “Cash, I thought I made it clear, no one I sign gets to sleep with my daughter. I know I said it as joke before, but I made it pretty damn clear.”

Cash looks at me. His eyes are so penetrating, so full of everything we’ve shared. He would lay down anything for me, after just a day. He’s loyal and good—and he may think he’s a bad boy with a rough past and a bruised heart, but I know he’s more than that.

And I also know my father is a complete asshole who will pull the rug out from anyone who wrongs him.

“You wouldn’t mess this up, would you, Cash?” his brother asks. He is glaring now. “Because Kendrick, Gina, and I were just discussing some ways we can collaborate.”

Cash snorts. “I bet you were, Chad.”

Gina’s arms are crossed, her lips pursed.

Cassius looks back at me. I can’t read his eyes anymore. How did that happen so fast? I swear, moments ago I could read his entire heart.

I don’t want to hurt Cassius—and standing here, at my father’s house, I know being with him with only hurt his career. He may think this rap music isn’t the music he was made to play … but I heard his tracks today. When he sings he makes magic. He is magic. And I can’t get in the way of that.

“My dad’s right,” I tell him. “This was a fun day, but it can’t be more than that.”

Cash shakes his head. “Can I have a word with you?” he asks, but it’s not a question.

We cross the driveway, his hand on my arm, his eyes locked on mine.

He’s pissed.

I know my dad, Chad, and Gina are watching us, but Cash doesn’t seem to care. And the way he’s grabbing hold of me, I know I can’t get in his way. He’s on a mission.

He practically drags me around the garage, pins me against the siding, searching my eyes.

“This was just another day of fun for you?’ he asks.

I can’t speak.

“Say it, Evangeline. Say I mean nothing more than a fuck. Say it.”

I can’t speak.

“I don’t care about this music. I care about the money, but I can find money another way.”

“You’d give it all up for me? A girl you’ve known one day?”

“I already told you, Evangeline—you are singular.”

I shake my head, squeeze shut my eyes.

“Say it,” he presses. “Say this means nothing.”

He’s a fool to consider throwing away the start of a future, for me.

I wouldn’t want him to.

And my father will hold this against him. My father will make it impossible for him. My father has ideas about me—about the girl I should be—and Cash Flow has no part in his plans.

And, yes, I am going to break from my dad’s ideals, but not by dragging Cash into the fray. He deserves a clean cut, a real chance.

Cassius deserves the world.

And this is the only way I can think of to hand it to him, this stranger who stole my heart in the space of a day.

“This means nothing,” I tell him, the cold words the kindest gift I can give him. But I know he doesn’t see it that way.

His hand raises, punches the garage behind me. Wood breaks, his knuckles bleed. His heart spills before me with a strength he can’t contain.

“I did not see that coming,” he tells me.

And then he walks away.

* * *

Chapter 14

Cassius

Fourteen straight days in the studio.

I don’t want to think. I don’t want to do anything besides sink my teeth into the lyrics—even the ones I hate—because that’s better than giving into my thoughts. They are all bitter. Cold. Hard.

Gentle Evangeline isn’t so gentle after all.

That girl played me.

And I’m still mind fucked over what went down in her driveway.

Now, the album is done. Getting remastered. And I’m going on tour with Elle Camino tomorrow.

I’m fucking ready to get out of LA, to disappear on stage night after night.

Elle and I are in the studio together; we just listened to my entire album. It was a dream come true to have this girl from my hometown, who has come farther than anyone I know, sit beside me. She has legit chops, and I want to hear her opinion.

But it was also torture. I see every one of my flaws, and I know she’ll see them too.

“Sweetheart, that was off the charts!” Elle Camino gives me a fist bump, her braided hair swinging as she jumps around the studio. Her overalls, mesh tank, and Reeboks are a throwback, but this girl is so current. I want to learn to ride her creative wave in the music I create.

“I think track eight is the weakest,” I admit, needing to say something. What I want to do is scream that this album is not what I envisioned, and I am not what I envisioned, and at this point I don’t even care how it sounds.

“You’re looking at it all wrong,” Elle says, plopping down on a stool and shaking her head.

I raise an eyebrow, not believing a word she says.

“I mean it, Cash. Track eight was one of my favorites on the entire album. It’s all so subjective. As an artist, you never know which thing is going to take off, which song will be your hit. That’s why you gotta try, take a risk, listen to the advice from KMG. They know what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it a lot longer than either of us.”

“Your latest album, you were sold on every track you laid?”

She snorts, picking up her iced latte. Her hundred bangle bracelets jangle as she moves. “Not even close. But I infused my heart and soul in it, just like you did, and that’s enough. We can’t have it every way; we can’t be given complete creative license by the label. Hell, if they gave that to me, I think my entire record would be me screaming about the girl who broke my heart. No one wants to listen to that shit.”

I laugh. Elle is straight up.

“I can’t imagine anyone breaking your heart,” I tell her.

“Yeah, well, now I have a new girlfriend, Sasha. She’ll be on tour with us, and she’s amazing, but—”

“But what?”

“But going on tour is hard enough. And I don’t want the stress of all of this to fuck up what she and I have.”

I nod.

“You have someone?” Elle asks. We’ve met a handful of times over the past few weeks, in meetings prepping us for the tour, and at a photo shoot, but we don’t know one another very well. “I mean, I know you used to be with Gina, back in the day. But she’s with Chad now?”

I forget that Elle knows about me from back home. I wonder how much she knows.

I nod again.

“Well, I know it isn’t my business,” she says, “but I’d rather have no one than two people who aren’t looking out for me. You sure they have your back?”

I give her a hard look, because I trust Elle with this shit. She’s walked this road, walked away from home, and she’s still standing.

“I know they don’t,” I tell her coolly.

“Then I think it’s time you broke free—before we leave on tour. This is your time, Cash. Yours.”

“You think it’s that easy?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Honey, nothing worth having is easy. But you need to get your head on straight, and those two aren’t gonna help you do that. You’re all messed up about the album, second-guessing your motives. Do you have anyone in your life you can actually talk this shit through with?”

Of course my mind goes straight to Evangeline. She’s the only person I’ve ever laid it all out for, and she didn’t seem to judge me once.

She saw me.

But that girl caved the moment her father came into the picture.

I can’t help but wonder, if she and I had had more than just one day, what we could have been … but that’s fucking stupid to think about. She goes to Julliard. She’s the princess of the KMG empire. She’s a piano prodigy.

And, fuck yeah, I know how talented she is. I’ve watched her play the piano from YouTube clips back from when she was twelve years old. I memorized the way her fingers glide across the keys—and shit, I know it’s crazy, but I couldn’t help it. That girl found a way into my heart, and the grip is fierce.

I’m not ready to let it go … even if she is.

I just need to get through this two-month tour, get a foothold in this business. Make a plan for myself, then I’ll come back for her.

“The thing is, Elle, cutting ties with them means I’m flying solo. I’ve never done that in my life.”

Elle looks wistful, her lips twisted just like my heart. “Maybe it’s time to see just how high you can fly on your own, Cash.”

I know she’s right. In my gut, I know.

But damn, it’s scary learning how to soar.

* * *

Chapter 15

Evangeline

If I call Cassius, I know I’ll break my resolve, and break his focus.

And right now he doesn’t need any extra stress. I’ve been keeping track of his movements via his Twitter account, which I’m guessing his brother is managing. Cash leaves for his tour tomorrow.

If I call him now, I know his priorities will shift. And his music is his one shot. You don’t get many chances like this in life. Ever.

And I don’t think he can see straight. When he pinned me against the garage, his eyes told me he would have dropped everything to be with me. And choosing me would mean losing everything.

Dad may not have my best interests at heart, but that isn’t going to stop him from ditching Cash Flow and finding new talent to take his spot.

When Cassius told me about his mom, how he needs to care for her, I knew then that I would never get in the way of his family.

Because if money could have saved my mom, I would have thrown all the money we had her way.

I didn’t get a chance to save her with blank checks, but Cassius can save his mom with them.

So I made a plan for myself that has nothing to do with Cash, that has nothing to do with my father. A plan that only has to do with me.

First, I need to hash things out with my dad.

We haven’t spoken for two weeks.

Radio silence.

When Cash left my driveway in his brother’s car, with his ex-girlfriend, I turned to face my dad, terrified of what he might say.

“You know he beat a man, left him for dead,” Dad said. “He spent a year in prison. Grew up on the streets, in gangs, a police record starting when he was fourteen years old.”

“Yet you signed him.”

“I signed him because he’s the perfect image I’m trying to sell. Nothing more, honey, nothing less. Cash Flow is a cash funnel.”

“You don’t think he’s more than that?”

Dad smirked. “This is why I won’t let you step foot at KMG. You think you can be an intern when you don’t know how the world works? Evangeline, everything is about the bottom line.”

I pushed back, wanting to somehow defend Cassius, even though it was a lost cause. My dad had already won that round. “You let Jack Harris make his own calls with his music,” I said.

“Jack Harris has a different image than Cash, especially now, after all the shit that went down with the media. He’s a songwriter—a serious musician—now.”

“It’s all about the image then?”

“Exactly. I’m a firm negotiator; you’re an innocent pianist, just like your mother wanted you to be. We all have our roles.”

“You’re the one who always pushed me to play,” I said, watching the sun set behind him. The deep pinks and purples painted the sky, and I wanted to brush heavy strokes across the night sky. Blues and blacks. I didn’t want to see something vibrant, when the canvas he depicted was so forcibly bleak.

“Evangeline, your mom was the one with the classical dreams for you. I just indulged her. If you hate it, quit. Go out with what’s-his-name tomorrow, and let’s move on.”

“Go out with Cash?”

Dad laughed, “Cash? No, never. I meant go out with Thomas Bracken tomorrow night, like we planned. Tell him you want a diamond ring, and that I’ll buy you a house anywhere you like.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“I want you to have someone, so I know you’re taken care of.”

“You don’t want to be responsible for me?”

Dad exhaled. “I want you happy, so you don’t end up like your mother.”

“Dad, don’t.” I shook my head, not wanting to hear anymore. I know why my mother died, but I didn’t want dad to rehash it right there, right then. Not like that. The day had been too big, too long, too deep, and too wide already. “I need some space.”

He called after me: “No seeing that Cash boy, or his deal with me is done. You understand?”

I understood.

My dad holds power over Cash. But he doesn’t hold any power over me.

Not any more.

* * *

I call my cousin Jude. We meet for drinks at a hipster spot I’d never go to on my own. Newspaper clippings cover the walls, reporting on horse races from sixty years ago; black-and-white films of old Kentucky Derby races play through a projector.

It’s the middle of the day, and the bar is nearly empty. I see Jude in the back, in an oak booth.

“Hey, little cousin, long time no see,” Jude says, as I slide into the booth. He’s drinking bourbon out of a mason jar, from what I can tell.

Jude is all brooding eyes, grit, and tattoo—but he has a heart of gold.

That’s why I called him.

He has a reputation for always looking out for the underdogs, and right now, that’s me. Dad doesn’t seem to think I can make something on my own—but more than that, I’m wondering if I can.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say. the waitress swings by, and I order an iced tea.

“Of course—though, I have to say I was surprised. Since when did you not have a life plan?”

“You know that plan was never my own.”

“My mom thinks you’re making a mistake.”

“You told your mom about this?” I ask, surprised. But as I lean back in my booth, looking at him, I remember that he and his mom were always close. Just like my mom and me—the only difference being, my mom wanted me to be a pianist, pushed for that, while my Aunt Katy never pushed Jude into a certain path. Jude carved his own, always.

Two very different sisters, who both had two very different children.

Still, Jude is the only cousin I’ve got.

“It’s not a mistake,” I tell him. “I just need a chance to figure it all out.”

“You’re so talented, Evie. You want to give that up to work as a gopher on my set?”

I look at him, hard. “Do you ever just want a redo, a second chance? An opportunity to make your life the one you want?”

He smiles, softly, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“How’s Rachel?” I ask.

Jude shakes his head. “Rachel is Rachel. Same as always.”

“You’ve been dating for like a year, though, right? And you’re living together?”

“Yeah. But enough about me.” He takes a drink. “You dating anyone?”

I lick my lips, won’t meet his eye.

“Guess neither of us want to talk relationships.” He runs his hand over his jaw. “Listen, I’ll get you a job. Of course I will. And my buddy Holden says you can stay at his guest house.”

“What?” I ask, indignant. “I thought I was crashing at your place?”

“Rachel doesn’t exactly want company.”

“Oh.” I roll my eyes, not quite understanding why a guy like Jude, who’s made a real name for himself, can’t seem to have a nice girlfriend. “Well, wouldn’t want to intrude on your love bubble.”

“Right,” Jude laughs sharply. “Love bubble.”

We’re quiet, and I don’t know how exactly to express my gratitude for him taking care of me.

“If my mom were alive, she’d make me stay at Julliard. Dad, though, he doesn’t care what I do.” I swallow, look up at Jude, knowing that right now he’s here, and willing to hear me. “It makes me wish everything were different.”

“You can’t wish your mom back, Evie.” Jude rolls the ice in his glass. “And we both know your relationship with her was fucked up in a lot of ways. It was built on you proving you were enough to make her happy.”

“I wasn’t enough to make her stay.”

“It’s not your fault she killed herself.” Jude’s voice is steady, and I don’t want to look at him. In the nine months since mom died, no one talks about what really happened.

All we know is she wanted something she didn’t have, something she didn’t think she could find anywhere on Earth.

“So you don’t want to play the fucking piano, that’s fine.” Jude says, a voice of reason. “In the end, you can’t live your life for anyone but yourself.”

“Life is easier, though, when you only make choices that you know will make other people happy.”

Jude shrugs. “Evie, I’m the patron saint of lost causes. You don’t need to tell me what I already know.”

I smile. “Yet you’re still living with Rachel.”

He smirks, knowing he needs to take his own medicine. “I can give you job, a place to live—but heaven knows I don’t have all the answers.”

“You’re giving me enough,” I tell him. “More than enough. Now, I need to stand on my own.”

* * *

Chapter 16

Cassius

Chad’s pissed.

Well, that isn’t even the word.

Livid. Furious. Ready to take me to the motherfucking grave.

I don’t give a shit. Elle was right; this is my time. Evangeline was right; it was a fucked up situation.

“You think you can do this without me?” Chad screams, pacing the living room. I’m leaving for the tour in an hour, but I need to cut ties before I go. I can’t start my life with his baggage dragging me down.

Gina fumes, ready to pounce. The girl’s claws are fucking out.

She can scratch all she wants. She’s not coming with me.

Maybe I’m a fucking pussy, to wait until the last minute, but better late than never.

“I don’t want your help anymore. I need to focus on the tour, on the thirty-six shows I’m performing before I come back to LA. I swear I haven’t even memorized all the new shit. I can’t do this while you guys are still part of my life. You’re fucking with my head.”

“We are the only ones who’ve stuck by you through everything.”

I laugh sharply. “You haven’t stuck by me, neither of you. Not even close. And you say you want to make a name for yourself as a manager or agent or some shit, Chad? Good. Then go do that. But leave me out of it.”

“You’re such a fucking dumbass. No wonder you were the one to take the fall and end up in prison, all alone.”

“Don’t fucking go there,” I shout, reaching for Chad’s collar, pushing him against the wall. “I got Mom out of this apartment, in a full-time care center while I’m on tour. I’m taking care of all her bills, trying to keep our fucking family together. You don’t get to make me feel like shit for being the only man around here.”

I slam his head against the wall, fury running over my skin.

Gina screams. I push Chad into the plaster wall. A picture falls, and the drywall crumbles as I press him deeper into the pain I keep trying to get past.

“You’ve always been a sucker, a fucking fool,” Chad sputters, gasping for breath as I pin him harder against the wall. He’s red-faced and yelling at me, but I refuse to let him go, even when Gina screams and pulls at my shoulders.

“Don’t tell me what I am,” I shout in his face. Rage courses through my veins. My knuckles are red; his face is going blue. “You’re the fucker, Chad—taking Gina, and trying to cash in on me. Go get your own goddamn life. I’m not sharing mine with you anymore.”

He gasps for breath. Gina begs me to let him go.

I don’t want his blood on my hands, and truly, I have nothing more to say, so I drop him to the ground. He reaches for his throat. Gina’s on her knees, crying, wrapping her arms around him—arms that used to wrap around me.

Good fucking riddance.

I grab my bags, open the front door.

Recovering from the chokehold, Chad calls out in a raspy voice for me to stop, but I don’t turn back.

I’m already long gone.

* * *

Chapter 17

Evangeline

I have enough money in savings that I hire a few guys to load my things into the back of a rented truck. My bed, a couch, a desk.

My baby grand.

I follow behind them, driving to Holden’s house in the Hills. When we arrive, a maid leads us to the empty guesthouse. Holden’s place is in a different part of LA than where I’m from, but the sweeping beachfront property reminds me of home.

“Is Holden going to be gone for awhile?” I ask the maid.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Holden is shooting a movie in Switzerland for a few weeks, but I was told to give you the keys.” She smiles, handing over a set of keys and a piece of paper printed with the security codes. “And there’s the pool, the hot tub, an exercise room—all things you can use. The beach is down this path, right here.”

The place is great. It’s not my style—but, honestly, I have no freaking clue what my style is. And I appreciate that Jude hooked me up. Not that I expected him to get me a place to live at the Hollywood Holden’s house. But Jude knows I grew up around the Hollywood elite, and an actor isn’t going to leave me star struck.

The movers leave, and I unpack. I have nowhere to be until tomorrow, when I’ll start working on Jude’s set.

And, for the first time in a really long time, I feel okay.

Sprawled out on my bed, I hold my phone, one tap from texting Cassius.

I drop my phone.

I can’t go there.

Instead, I pull out my laptop, wanting to watch clips of his recent performances.

I pull up his Twitter, my eyes narrowing when I realize nothing has been tweeted all day. Huh. His brother usually keeps a running commentary on every move Cash makes.

Still, I find a link advertising his show tonight. I drag the computer onto my lap and go to YouTube to watch his old performances, pressing repeat, watching him on stage.

He looks so happy. So alive.

He looks like magic, and I can’t mess with that.

I won’t mess with that.

Instead, I tell myself to be happy for him.

My entire body tingles as I watch him strutting across the stage. His arms are raised, his body chiseled. I’m entranced as he holds the microphone to his full lips, filling the club with his powerful lyrics, songs I’ve never heard.

But also, songs I feel like I’ve memorized—because they’re the songs written on his heart, the songs that are his essence.

I look over at my piano, wondering what my essence is.

Then I look back at the computer, and listen to him, realizing I don’t care about essence so much at this moment, because my body is on fire, thinking about him.

Remembering him. His touch.

Missing that, craving that. Knowing one time with him was not even close to being enough.

I take a cold shower, feeling like a boy in junior high with an unwanted woody. Except I don’t have any shame; I press my hand inside myself, giving in to the release I need. Giving in to the memories of the way he made me feel on the beach.

It ended before it even began.

I don’t know how to forget him, but I hope he can forget me. He needs this time to shine. I knew him for a day, and that was long enough to know that what Cassius needs is a chance to fly.

He’s been behind bars for far too long.

* * *

Chapter 18

Cassius

Opening night.

My heart pounds in fear. It’s nothing like the performances back home. I have five songs to perform before Elle comes out, five songs to give it all I got.

I lay it on the line.

When the heart-pounding-in-fear stops, it’s replaced with an adrenaline rush. With a grin I haven’t worn in years, I’m on stage and I’m alive.

Show Six

Sold out show. The line for autographs wraps around the building.

My record released on iTunes, and it shot up the charts, unexpectedly.

It’s weird, not having anyone to share that with.

Instead of looking toward a bright future, I’m haunted by my past.

I’ve gotta let that shit go.

I try. My fingers ache because I stay up all night writing, writing the words I’ve kept pent up inside that I thought I’d already let out. Words about my mother. My father. My brother. Myself.

Chad called six times before I went onstage.

I never answered once.

Show Twelve

Us Weekly comes backstage and interviews Elle and me. A cover photo of us claims that we’re the next “sure thing” in music.

Elle, her girl Sasha, and I celebrate with shots. Lots of them.

I drunkenly confess my feelings for Evangeline.

“Oh, poor Cash Flow, he needs a woman,” Sasha teases. “But he can’t have mine.”

I look at Elle; her eyes are on Sasha. They’re lucky, and I’m fucking jealous. I want something I’ve never had: a woman who only has eyes for me.

Show Nineteen

More calls from Chad.

More voicemails I delete.

In the span of two weeks, I became a break-out hit. It may be Elle’s first national tour, with her as the headliner, but the response for my music is insanely good.

Looks like Kendrick knew what he was doing when he created my image, compiled that record, gave me the songs to sing.

KMG is thrilled with me. They send fruit baskets, books us penthouse suites. Hookers are waiting at my door, and I send them away.

I have an assistant named Jared. He sets out “approved attire” and makes sure I go to the gym for three hours every morning. I drink kale shakes and eat protein bars.

Elle tells me to call Evangeline.

Instead I call Mom.

She’s at the facility. Around the clock care. She likes the nurse that is coming every day, and she sounds good. Still, I feel like a shitty son for not being with her, and I try to make up for it, telling her everything.

She tells me she’s proud, and until she says it, I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words. She’s the only thing I’ve got anymore.

Show Twenty-Four

After the show in Portland, where my blood’s been pumping for an amped up crowd, Chad is waiting out by the tour bus. He needs to talk, he says. His eyes are red, and Gina’s with him.

They look like shit, if I’m being completely honest.

“We need to talk, Cash,” Chad says. “You froze the accounts. I tried calling, but you froze my calls, too. It’s not cool. We drove all the way up here because we need you to fucking help us out.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I tell him—trying to play it even, cool. I look back at my security detail, because Chad and I have a past built with burned bridges and I’m not going up in smoke tonight.

“It’s not fucking cool, bro. You swore you’d always have our backs.”

I am over this shit. “You fucked my girlfriend, Chad. I owe you nothing.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Gina says, grabbing my hands. “You’re our only family, and you’ve left us with nothing.”

I know that’s not true. When I signed with KMG a month ago, I gave them each fifty thousand dollars. One month ago. There’s no way they blew through that so fast.

“It was fucking personal,” I tell her. “It was as personal as it gets.”

“You’ve always been such a fucking cunt,” Chad shouts in my face.

Security takes a step toward us, and Chad draws away immediately.

“No fucking way,” Chad says, laughing obnoxiously. “You need those boys to fight your battles? What happened to bad boy Cassius from the hood?”

“You need to go,” I tell them, not wanting this story to get out. I swore to KMG I’d buried my demons. I need them to stay the fuck away.

They leave without force, but as he walks away, Chad yells, “It’s not over, bro. You owe us more than the fucking middle finger.”

I can’t help but wonder if he’s right.

Show Twenty-Eight

The stadiums are huge. Elle is a big name, but as we move from city to city, night after night, I start to realize my name is getting pretty fucking huge, too.

Evangeline was right, I can do this. I can really fucking do this.

Elle was right, too. The songs KMG picked for me were spot on.

I’m on the radio.

On the Top 40.

I’m breaking sales records on iTunes everyday.

I want someone to share it with. I have no one.

I stay up all night reading the poem Evangeline. Hating myself for getting sucked into visions of her, but dreaming of her all the same.

I wake up with a hard-on, and jack off, knowing it’s the only option to keep my sanity.

We’ll be in NYC next week for the final show. When I get there, I’ll call Evangeline, find out what went wrong, ask for another chance.

Twenty-eight shows in, my name on billboards and in magazine spreads—but the only thing I can see when I close my eyes is her face.

Not the lights. Not the fans. Not the money.

Only Evangeline.

The girl who pushed me away, the girl I won’t let get away again.

* * *

Chapter 19

Evangeline

Day One

Jobs suck. Even ones where you work for your cousin. Being a coffee runner sucks, no matter where it’s at. Mochas and Americanos and steamed milk slosh across my hands all day as I run drinks around the set to whoever demands them.

And, speaking of sets, being on a movie set is not as glamorous at it sounds. It actually blows.

The movie Jude’s making is a dark comedy, with dysfunctional parents who mess up their kids by feeding them lies.

The irony is not lost on me.

Anyway, the set is just like a regular movie set, only with less money floating around, and longer workdays.

Which means everyone is cranky, and really needs their coffee.

But it’s a job.

It’s independence.

It’s a start.

Day Six

Dad calls. I don’t respond.

My feet ache, because I’ve never walked so much in my life. Not only did I do coffee runs today, but I also filled in as the prop assistant because the regular girl was sick.

Dad calls again. I press ignore.

I come home exhausted; I eat Thai take-out, and open a stack of old scrapbooks, and think about my mom. I think about how I wanted to be the person she wanted me to be so badly, and how I never really was. How she would hate that I quit Julliard.

She wanted me to be famous. Be a star.

I just want to be Evangeline.

Dad calls a third time. This time I power off my phone.

Day Twelve

Some girls from the set ask me to get drinks after work.

It’s eleven at night, but I agree.

I need to stop living in shadows. I need to grow the hell up.

We order tequila. Lindy pulls up her phone, scrolls through Twitter.

“Oh my God, this guy is so fucking hot.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Cash Flow?” Lindy says. “He, like, came out of nowhere and hit the world by storm.”

I swallow hard. He did come out of nowhere, when he walked into my life.

“I’d so do him,” Trina says, groaning. “Did you see that spread in Us Weekly? His abs are insane. And those eyes? God, I swear my panties are soaked just thinking about it.”

I smile tightly, not wanting to wear my heart on my sleeve.

But the truth is, my panties are just as soaked when I think about Cassius.

Day Nineteen

Jude pulls me aside.

“I gotta talk to you, Evie.” He looks pained, and for a second I think the worst—something happened to my Aunt Katy.

“Is everything okay?” My voice must sound terrified, because he immediately drapes an arm over my shoulder.

“Hey, yeah—it’s just, we have a problem.”

“Is Holden kicking me out?”

“Oh, no. He’ll be back in town this weekend, though. But no, come on, Evie. I’m guessing you’re the best houseguest in LA.”

“Then what is it?”

“Your dad called.”

My heart drops. I’ve avoided his calls for days. I didn’t even tell him where I was going. But this town isn’t as big as people might think.

“If you want people to think you’re an adult, you gotta call people back. You gotta give people a chance to tell their side of the story.”

“Ugh,” I moan, pushing him away from me. “Jude, stop being so put-together. God. Your movie is about dysfunctional families. Pretend we’re like them.”

“This movie is about a mom who deep fries the family parakeet. It’s not the same thing.”

“I’m not so sure. My mom was a neurotic alcoholic who couldn’t see beyond herself.”

“Give it a rest, Evangeline. You’re being too hard on a woman who always struggled.”

His words sting, even though they’re true.

My mom was rarely stable; nothing I could offer was enough. But maybe my dad feels the same way. Maybe that’s why he’s pulling so hard, because he’s scared of losing me too.

I remember the words Cassius spoke, the words he wrote: Hope and fear are both borne from desperation.

“Give your dad a call. Who the hell knows? Maybe he struggles, too.”

I give Jude a quick nod, not able to speak. The tears brimming in my eyes say enough.

* * *

Day Twenty-Four

Dad and I meet for coffee. A neutral location.

“You’re working for Jude? Giving up Julliard to be an assistant to the prop director?”

I shrug, pick up my nonfat two-sugar latte. I’ve gotten very particular about my own caffeine concoctions. “I’m really more of a coffee runner, actually.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, setting down his black drip coffee. “Is this payback for not letting you see Cash? Because you can, if you want. I’m done fighting you, Evangeline. I think he’s all wrong for you—but, dammit, I’ve been wrong about a lot in my life. I won’t stop you. Not if it means losing you.”

I want to press the issue, ask him exactly what he means about being okay with me seeing Cash, but I also know that if I give in to that line of reasoning, he’ll think Cash is the exact reason I decided to quit school, that payback is all I’m after.

And it’s so not.

“This isn’t about Cassius. It’s so much bigger than him. And that’s the problem, Dad. You don’t even understand that.”

“You’re such a talented pianist, Evangeline. You could keep playing until you decide what you want to do. Winter term doesn’t start for another eight weeks. I spoke with my brother; he says Julliard is willing to take you whenever you’re ready. Everyone understands that your mom’s dea—”

“It’s not about Mom dying. It’s about me living.”

His face is blank; he looks lost. “I want you to be happy.”

“Then let me mess up, on my own terms, Dad.” I wipe away the tears that are filling my eyes. “Don’t hold me so tight. Let me fail. Let me try. Let me—”

“Go?”

My shoulders drop. I shake my head. “I don’t want you to let me go, Dad. I just want to be set free.”

“Free? Sweetheart, what can freedom give you? You need security. You need stability.”

“Dad, keeping me in your box is not going to make me happy.”

“But it will keep you safe.” He looks so weary. Even in his red tie and power suit, I can tell that he’s scared of losing me like he lost Mom.

“Oh, Dad,” I say, softening. “Mom dying made me doubt everything I knew, caused me to withdraw more than I ever have before. Which is saying something; I’m a recluse by nature. I’ve never liked the limelight. But I don’t want to live in anyone’s shadow anymore. Especially not my own.”

Dad reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight.

“Evangeline, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just learning to stand on my own.”

“What if you fall?”

“Then I’ll get back up, Dad.”

“Will you let me help you get where you want to go, even if I don’t understand why?”

“I think that’s all I’ve ever wanted, Dad.”

And, for the first time in my life, I see him as more than an enemy, more than a person trying to vie for Mom’s attention.

Maybe he’s been an ally all along, in a war neither of us wanted to fight.

I just never knew he would want to be on my side.

Day Twenty-Eight

Dad’s words ring in my ears.

He won’t fight me on seeing Cash.

I pick up my phone. I want to call him. Apologize, or explain, or just hear his voice.

Maybe I should let him finish the tour before I mess with his head.

I drop the phone and look over at my baby grand.

My fingers itch. My heart swells.

I sit down on the piano bench, open the lid. I set my fingers down on the cold keys, and play until everything inside of me is warm.

I smile, realizing that as soon as Dad stopped pushing me, I wanted back in.

That’s okay. It isn’t a fight.

It’s the song I needed to let play out.

* * *

Chapter 20

Cassius

Show Thirty-Two

This time, Gina tries. She’s at my hotel room in Baltimore. I’m off the tour bus for the night, and the last thing I need is her showing up. She should be gone.

“I know things got complicated, Cash, but I was confused.”

“Confused?” I say.

“Give me another chance,” she pleads. “I need you, Cash. I never should have left you for Chad.”

“I wasn’t good enough for you when I didn’t have a record deal. And then you thought Chad was the one who was gonna go the farthest, so you latched onto him. You didn’t believe in me,” I tell her.

“You’d rather be alone than be with me?”

Security is down the hall, watching Gina and me. My assistant, Jared, is too. I’m never alone anymore.

“What, you think you can have some rich girl now that you’re so fancy?”

I don’t answer, but my face must say plenty, because Gina comes back with the truth. “What, like that producer’s daughter? Baby, you aren’t good enough for her. You went to prison for nearly killing a man. A girl like her could never understand you.”

“You need to leave, Gina,” I tell her, having known her long enough to know she doesn’t intend to drop this unless I walk away, shut a door in her face.

“It’s not over, Cash. Your brother, he’s pissed. He’s gonna come after you.”

“He can’t hurt me.”

She smirks, shrugs, then slinks away like the snake she is.

Show Thirty-Six

The tour bus is parked behind the venue, I’m in the parking lot, kicking gravel, and kicking around a whole lot more in my head. I filled my security detail in on the situation with my brother, and since then I haven’t seen him or Gina.

But that isn’t all I’m thinking about.

I’m in NYC, and if I’m ever gonna get Evangeline out of my head, I need to call her and figure out what the fuck happened.

“Cassius?” Her voice is a summer breeze, cool and slow, filled with apprehension.

“Yeah, it’s me, Evangeline.” I blink back what I think are tears. What the fuck?

“Is everything okay?” she asks, and that question alone tells me a whole fucking lot.

She doesn’t hate me.

“Can I see you, while I’m in town? I’m here in New York, just for the night. You can come to the show. Evangeline, I know you told me to go, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Cash, um, I’m sorry, but—”

My head drops, my eyes meet the sky. It’s so fucking big, and I feel so fucking small.

I knew a guy like me, a fucking ex-con, had no chance with a girl like her. The fucking heiress to KMG. Who was I kidding?

Only myself.

“It’s cool,” I say. “I never should have called.”

“Cash—” she says, but I don’t wait for an explanation.

Keeping my fucking cool has never been my strength, and falling for a girl I know I can’t have kills me.

I throw my phone; it smashes against the pavement.

I walk to the only thing I have left.

The only thing I ever really had.

The stage.

* * *

Chapter 21

Evangeline

My eyes are closed; my heart is open. My fingers run over keys furiously, rhythmically.

I should be pissed, broken, disappointed.

I’m none of those things. And why would I be? Cassius called days ago and then hung up before I could get a word in edgewise. I deserve more than that.

I deserve a man who’s willing to listen.

“Evangeline?” A voice breaks my labored concentration, a voice I don’t recognize.

Turning toward my door, I see Holden—the Hollywood Holden—leaning against the doorframe with all the swagger and sex appeal he’s known for.

“Holden?” I stand, greeting him. “Did you just get in from Switzerland?”

“Just got in. Terrible jet-lag though.”

“Did the shoot go well? Jude said you were filming.”

Holden smiles. “You know everything about me?” He walks toward me, not asking to come in.

“Not everything,” I say, closing my piano and smoothing the skirt of my dress. “But I’m grateful you trusted Jude enough to let me crash here. I was in a real bind.”

“No old friends in the neighborhood you could stay with?” Holden asks.

“No. I’m kind of a loner, to be honest. The opposite of you, I’m sure.”

“Eh,” Holden runs his hand through his hair. “I had one close friend, Bexley, but we don’t talk anymore. My whole life is what I’ve built in LA since I graduated high school.”

“I didn’t just graduate high school, but I am starting from scratch.”

“Well, you can make plenty of friends in this city if you can play like that.” He gives me a charming grin, all gleaming white teeth and perfectly proportioned cheekbones and nose. He’s easily the most traditionally handsome man I’ve ever been face-to-face with.

I laugh. “Uh, I don’t think playing the piano gets many people friends.”

Holden shrugs. “Maybe you’re hoping to make friends with the wrong crowd. Most people who are really into music, who live here, would be all over you—trying to get you to play for their albums, their shows. People are always looking for other people to play with.”

I cross my arms, appraising this man. “You know a lot about music, for being an actor.”

“I used to do musical theater. But keep that on the down low.”

“Starring in a high school performance of Oklahoma! doesn’t really go with your image?” I ask, smirking.

“It’s all about the image, baby,” he says, raising his eyebrows. I can’t tell if he’s joking, or flirting, or just so hot he can say whatever the heck he wants. “But, hey, if you don’t have any friends and are a sad loner, go out with me tonight.”

I must look semi-horrified—and, in all honestly, I am. I don’t want to date … at least not anyone that isn’t Cash. Even though he clearly doesn’t want to date me.

Which, to be fair, I understand. I was colder than cold in my father’s driveway.

“Wow, okay. I won’t take that personally.”

When I bite my bottom lip awkwardly, not answering, he shakes his head in mock-sorrow. “Or maybe I will take it personally. Ouch, woman. That uninterested in me? Must say, considering I was voted Sexiest Man Under Twenty-Five in the world, the fact that you aren’t even acting slightly interested is a shot to my fucking ego.”

I laugh. “Listen, it isn’t you. It’s me. I’m just … I’m not over someone else yet.”

Holden presses a hand to his heart in relief. “Thank God. Shit, I was a little concerned that Switzerland did something to fuck with my game.”

“Your game is just fine. In fact, I expected you to be much more douche-y than you appear.”

“Wow, not only can you play the ivories, but you’re charming too.”

I shrug, grateful he’s just teasing.

“Listen,” he says. “Let’s still go out for dinner tonight. My sleep schedule is all fucked up from the flight and I’m starving. My treat. The least I can do for this poor homeless girl living in my guest house.”

“I should be treating you,” I say. “Letting me stay here based on Jude’s recommendation. I’m so lucky.”

“Eh, I owe Jude about a hundred favors. That boy is a motherfucking saint.”

“Agreed. Now, let me get my purse, and you can show me how the cool kids make friends in LA.”

* * *

Chapter 22

Cassius

I’m sitting in a club. Loud electronica is playing, and hundreds of people are grinding on the dance floor. Sitting in a VIP section with the Los Angeles elite, I wonder when the fuck this became my actual life.

Elle is here with Sasha; we’re celebrating being home after our tour.

Home. Whatever the hell that means. I’m living out of a fucking suitcase, at a five-star hotel.

“Did you meet Jack?” Elle asks, dragging me by my arm over to the musician who brought home three Grammys last year for his solo album, RATPACK. The record paid homage to his best friends.

Lucky fucking bastard.

Seeing Jack approach me, with his wife on his arm, I’m reminded how much I really don’t have.

No family. No house. Not even a woman to call my own.

“It’s the infamous Cash Flow,” Jack says, clapping me on my back in greeting.

“Good to meet you, man,” I tell him, a little astounded that this idol knows my name. “I’m Cassius,” I say, offering my hand out to his wife.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says. “I’m Tess, and Jack is a huge fan. Huge. He literally hasn’t stopped playing your album since we downloaded it.”

“That means a lot, thanks,” I tell them, looking over at Elle, who is beaming. “Do you know Elle Camino? We just finished a tour together.”

“We haven’t met officially, but I’m in love with you, too,” Tess gushes. “I mean, mostly because you wear some seriously amazing pieces every time you’re photographed, but also because I’m all about the woman power.”

Jack laughs. “Tess started kickboxing after our friend JoJo showed her some workouts, and now she’s all about badass women.”

“I was a feminist before,” she says, smiling, her bubbly personality overflowing in the loud club, which is saying something. “But having one of my best friends become a pro MMA fighter took it to a whole new level.”

I nod, trying to keep up.

“Actually, JoJo and McQueen are here,” Jack says. “You guys should totally come over and have a drink.”

I look at Elle, who’s grinning a wholehearted yes please. She grabs Sasha and we head over to the roped-off table.

Sitting down on a velvet couch, I’m introduced to Jack’s friends, JoJo and McQueen, and try to absorb the amount of information thrown at me. Best friends. Vegas. Ace Royalle. Strippers. Mafia. Kidnapped. Diamond rings.

My head spins.

I reach for a vodka soda, needing help with not feeling completely out of my element. On tour I was face-to-face with more money and status than I’d ever encountered in my life, but we were touring so hard, there wasn’t much time to roll around in my fucking Scrooge McDuck money pit. I was mostly working on my lyrics, writing new songs for my next album, and thinking about Evangeline.

Always Evangeline.

“So how’s the limelight treating you?” McQueen asks. He seems like a good guy, all smiles, his arm tight around his woman like he knows how to protect her, even though she’s the one with a championship belt.

I saw her UFC fight; it was on Showtime last month. This crew is beyond legit.

“It’s cool, just a lot,” I tell them honestly. “I mean, people see me as this hardened criminal, but honestly that’s just my fucking past.”

“Seriously,” Sasha groans. “Cash is such a loner. In fact, I blackmailed him to come out tonight.”

“How’d you do that?” Jack asks.

“I read some of his latest songs,” she says, punching me, and I know she’s just teasing, “and threatened to share them all LiveJournal-style if he didn’t come out.”

“What kind of music is it?” Jack asks. “I’m always curious what people’s sophomore projects will be. Personally, I struggle with doing my own thing versus what I know will sell.”

His words hit home, and I find myself leaning in to listen.

“Oh, this stuff won’t sell,” Elle laughs. “It’s pretty emo for a rapper. All brokenhearted love songs.”

I shake my head, warning her with a smirk. “You better play it cool, woman,” I tell her.

“You know I got your back.”

“Hey,” McQueen nods behind us. “Is that Holden Harris? We met him at JoJo’s fight. A great guy.”

I know the name; it would be impossible not to know who this guy is. His face is on half the magazines at the checkout counter.

“That’s him all right,” Tess says. “Jack, is that your producer’s daughter with him? What’s her name again … Angel or something? I recognize her from his wife’s obituary.”

My heart stops. I swallow. Blink slowly.

I don’t even need to turn to know.

“It’s not Angel,” I say to Tess. “It’s Evangeline.”

* * *

Chapter 23

Evangeline

Holden took me to dinner. We got fish tacos at a food truck at a marina, which is exactly my speed. But he didn’t want to go home after, and somehow he dragged me out with him, saying I needed to be social.

I was having too good a time to say no.

“I’ll text Jude, tell him where we’re at, if he wants to meet up,” Holden says as we drive down the freeway in his convertible. My hair is blowing wildly and I’m trying to gather the ends to keep it from becoming a complete mess.

“That’s cool. I mean, I never hang out with Jude … socially.”

“Maybe because you use words like socially?” Holden laughs. “Seriously, though, I don’t doubt it. Evie, you look like you’ve never let go in your entire life. Not once.”

I press my lips together, let go of my hair. Let it catch in the wind.

“There was one time,” I tell him. “One time where I let go of all abandon.”

“How’d that go?” he says, pulling up to a valet outside a swanky club.

“It was a complete disaster,” I admit.

But it wasn’t a total disaster. In a lot of ways, it was what pushed me over the edge to move out, to move on.

My single day with Cash made me brave in ways I never had been before.

* * *

“I look like a legit scrub,” I whisper as we walk through the loud nightclub.

“You look perfect. Besides, it’s dark in here, no one will be able to see that you have salsa dripping down your shirt.”

I punch him in the shoulder, and let him take my hand and lead me through the crowded club.

“Hey, that’s JoJo and McQueen,” Holden says. He pulls me to the VIP area, where we’re quickly whisked past a security detail.

“Holden, my man,” McQueen says, jumping up from the couch and fist-bumping him, giving him a grin. “Good to see you, dude.”

I watch this exchange, smile as everyone is introduced—but then they sit back down, and I see the people they’re with.

More important: the person they’re with.

“Cassius?” I say, shocked. I knew the tour was over, but I didn’t know he was back in LA.

Looking around, I see Elle Camino, Jack Harris, Jack’s wife Tess. I try to breathe. Try to remain calm.

Try to shield my heart.

It’s too late.

One look at him, and I feel my knees go weak and my resolve soften, and every warning inside me whooshes by.

I just want him.

Even though I’ve spent his entire tour trying to tell myself I don’t, I do.

“Evangeline.” He stands, looks me in the eye. I’m unable to look away.

“You guys know one another?” Holden asks, reaching out to shake hands. “Didn’t know you were so connected, Evie,” he says.

“I’m not. I just. Cash and I are—”

“Old friends,” Cash says. “Long time no see.” He looks at me, his eyes reaching my heart. Then he looks away, his eyes landing on where Holden’s hand is still holding mine.

I pull my hand away, awkwardly. Awkward because Holden wasn’t being awkward in the least; he was being nice and sweet and sort of flirty, but not in an aggressive way. In a way a guy can be, when he’s the freaking sexiest man alive.

Cassius doesn’t say any more to me, and I take a seat on the couch, next to Elle Camino and her girlfriend Sasha. Everyone is loud, chatting with drinks in their hands. And I look around with wide eyes, out of my element and really, really needing a drink.

Next thing I know I have tequila in my hand, and a lime wedge.

It’s Cassius who hands it to me, silently. He remembered my drink.

“So,” Elle says dramatically, “you’re Evangeline Kendrick. We’ve heard so much about you.”

I see Sasha swat Elle’s knee, as if warning her, but Elle just smiles at me.

“You heard about me from where? My dad?” I ask, confused.

The girls roll their eyes.

“Um. No. From our boy,” Elle says, gesturing toward Cassius, who’s talking to Jack Harris two feet away.

He’s so close. I just want to reach out and grab his hand.

Never let go.

“Cash told you about me?”

Elle flicks her thick, dark hair over her shoulder. Her old school, hip-hop, high-rise jeans and crop top are so completely on point, I have a hard time believing Cash could think about me when he had such a gorgeous girl in his line of sight.

“You just about killed him back in New York. We didn’t think he’d be able to perform,” Sasha says.

I pull away. I thought these two were being nice, but I can see they’re in fighting mode. And I’m the one they plan to attack.

Holden has come up and taken a seat beside me, and Jude is with him. I feel calmer, having them with me. Even though I just met Holden, knowing Jude vouches for him makes him feel like an old friend. A real friend.

“Uh, he hung up on me,” I tell the girls, slightly annoyed.

“Because you didn’t want to see him,” Elle says quickly. “What are you even doing here, now?”

I watch Cassius turn toward the group and I know he’s hearing every word I say. Good. I want him to understand me.

Finally.

“First of all,” I say, feeling bold, “I don’t owe anyone an explanation of anything. But the reason I didn’t meet Cash in New York is because I moved to LA.”

“You moved back to LA?” Cash asks, looking into his glass of ice.

The DJ chooses this moment to stop spinning, and the lull in noise makes everyone at the table turn toward him and me.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I actually never went back to school. I quit.”

“Where are you living?” he asks. “Still at your dad’s?”

I shake my head. “I moved into Holden’s.”

Cash pulls away, as if the words are a force to be reckoned with. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” he asks coolly. He shakes his head, looking at me like he’s disgusted.

He doesn’t get to act this way. Not with me.

“Dude,” Holden says, raising his hands, not understanding the depth of any of this. I don’t know if I do either. “It’s all good here.”

“You shouldn’t have hung up on me in New York,” I say, tears suddenly in my eyes. I’m not holding back. I have a heck of lot of emotion rising to the surface. “It was a really dick move, Cassius.”

“Maybe you two should take this.…” Tess says, looking around.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Jude says, touching my shoulder. “Hey, Evie, let’s get you somewhere, sweetie.”

“No,” I say, pushing him away. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m perfectly cool. So freaking cool.” I smile at Holden, who seems to consider his next move, who seems to realize what’s going on between Cassius and me.

“We’re just gonna give you guys a sec,” JoJo says, grabbing McQueen. “If you need any backup, honey, I’ve got you covered.” She leans over and kisses my cheek.

Jack and Tess follow them, and so do Elle and Sasha.

I’m left with the most unlikely group of men: Cash, Holden, Jude.

A motley crew, if I’m being honest.

But, in some weird way, I feel like all three of them are in this with me, even if Cash currently hates my guts.

“She’s living in my guest house, bro,” Holden says, looking Cash in the eyes. “Jude and I go way back. Evie and Jude are cousins. I was just helping a brother out.”

Cash looks fierce, the same way he did outside my garage when he punched his fist against it, drawing blood. I want to soften his hard edges, like I’ve never wanted to do anything else in my life.

I’m drawn to this bad boy with a dark past, and I just want to crawl into his lap and kiss his lips, and let him rest his head against my chest.

“You’re not together?” Cash asks, and I know how hard asking that question must be. It reveals his desire—his desire for me.

Holden just claps his hands together, grins. “Shit, man, I asked this girl out. You know what she told me? That she still wasn’t over some other guy.”

Relief washes over Cassius’s face, and I feel the room expand with the realization that there doesn’t need to be a brawl tonight to lay claim to me.

Jude runs his hands over his jaw. “Shit, that was fucking tense.”

The four of us laugh nervously.

“You cool, Evie?” Jude asks, watching out for me.

I nod, then I look at Cash. “Will you please take me home?”

He stands, grabs my hand.

I have a feeling this time he won’t let it go.

* * *

Chapter 24

Cassius

I was ready to fight. Anyone. Everyone. Fuck. This girl causes me to lose my fucking mind, and I can’t let her out of my sight.

But I’m not throwing any punches, not tonight.

Instead, I’m taking this girl back to my hotel room, and I’ll show her why she never needs to look anywhere but into my eyes.

I swear, if she wants, I’ll show her my fucking soul. I’ll give her everything.

We get in a limo. I don’t stop to ask if it’s what she wants. I know it is. The only person who needs to speak right now is me, and those will be apologies.

The rush of running through the club and jumping in the car has us breathless. Now the car is moving, but the limo is silent. It’s just Evangeline and me, facing on one another on the bench seats. There’s too much quiet. Too much we need to say.

Too much I need to say.

She’s in light blue jeans and a plain white tee-shirt, her hair in a messy bun. She was completely out of place in that high-end nightclub.

Somehow, she’s effortless, and just as wholesome as she was when I left her—when she left me.

What happened back at her father’s house, when I knew what we had was real and she was willing to walk?

This time, I won’t let her go.

“Can it wait?” she asks, softly. “The conversation. The words we need to say?”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands off you, if that’s what you’re asking me to do.”

“I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?” I ask her, not understanding this gentle angel at all.

“I want to make love with you.”

I close my eyes; my head falls back. “Girl, you are so aggressive with the sex. Do you remember last time?”

“I remember. I asked you to sleep with me about an hour after we met.” She lets a small laugh escape her lips. “I’m never aggressive like this, not with anyone else. I swear.”

“I believe you.” And I do; I pull her into my lap. She fits so well.

“Later,” she says, “we’ll talk. But for now … let’s just be Cassius and Evangeline, the believers.”

“What do we believe in, baby?” I ask her, running my hands under her hair, my fingers wrapping around the base of her neck as her chin tilts toward me, her lips close enough to envelop.

“One another,” she says in nothing more than whisper. And the words are lost anyways, because we’re lost in one another.

Her tongue presses against mine, as we take hold of what we both want. She sinks into me, her arms wrapping around my neck, and all the desire I stored up for her while I was on tour is unleashed.

I pull her face to mine, tugging on her bottom lip, letting her know what is to come.

All of me.

My hands reach her ass as the limo pulls to a stop. We pull apart, knowing we need to get out of the car and make our way to my room.

We get out of the car, our fingers laced together, and walk through the lobby. My eyes are on Evangeline.

As we walk into the elevator, I feel like I see a familiar face out of the corner of my eye, reflected in the mirrored walls.

But the doors close, and Evangeline wastes not a moment, pressing her body against mine in a way that gets me so fucking hard, so fucking ready. Her tits are against my chest, her hips hitting against mine, taunting me with the future.

If my past is haunting me, I can’t see it. I only have eyes for her.

* * *

Chapter 25

Evangeline

In his room, Cash closes the door and begins to strip me from head to toe. He starts by lifting my shirt over my head and dropping it to the floor. He unbuttons my pants, his body so close to mine, and I can’t help but reach toward him, run my hands over his chest. I’m moaning as he unsnaps my jeans, as they slide over my butt and drop to the floor.

His hands run over my tits, tugging down the lacy cups of my white bra to roll his tongue over my nipples. A shiver runs over me as he sucks my tits. His hand reaches back, unclasps the hook, and he runs both hands over my breasts, his face buried in them as if he can’t get enough.

Every second he spends nuzzled against them causes my pussy to clench in desire and my core to expand, as I remember being filled with Cash’s massive cock.

I’ve been dreaming of it for weeks. And now … I can have it, no questions asked.

“Cash,” I groan. “I need all of you.”

He smiles down at me. “And this time there won’t be sand getting in your cunt.”

I laugh, blushing at the memory of the beach.

“What will be getting in my cunt this time?” I tease.

“Me. Only me, baby.” He pulls off his shirt and his jeans. His cock is hard under his briefs, and I can’t help but slide my hand under the waistband.

I need to feel his hardness, need to know that it’s real and it’s mine for the taking.

His thick cock is in my hand, and he pushes down his briefs so I can have better access. I move my hand up and down his shaft, my pussy dripping with excitement.

“Let me suck you, Cash. I know you’re going in my cunt, but I need you in my mouth first. Let me taste you, please.”

He pulls me up, kisses me hard, cradling my face in his hand. “Oh, girl, you never need to ask permission for that.”

I follow him to the bed, where he lays down. He tells me to take off my panties, and I stand before him. His massive cock is at attention—and, my God, it’s so fucking big. The lights are low, and everything in the room seems to glow.

And everything in me just aches, wanting him now.

But first, I do as he says. I take off my panties, stand before him completely bare.

“Evangeline,” he says, looking at me head-to-toe with hooded eyes. “You are a fucking goddess.”

I blush, lowering my face.

When I raise my eyes, the mood has shifted between us. There’s nothing here besides deep desire and open souls. There are so many things we need to say. But right now, with us both naked before one another, there’s no space for anything but slow exhales and slick skin and hands running across the complicated spaces of our hearts.

I fall on top of Cassius, kiss his lips tenderly before he guides me around, so my mouth is on his cock.

Exactly where I wanted to be.

I can’t be self-conscious or insecure about the fact that my ass is in his face, my pussy right on his mouth. I’ve never been in such a vulnerable position in my life.

But with Cash … I just feel safe. Which is wrong, logically. I didn’t fight for him, he hung up on me. He has a past full of fights, and my heart is bruised. Both of us are broken, but both of us are on the path of healing.

The path of being whole.

Being here, with my mouth widening around his pulsing cock, seems to fill an unmet need I’ve been craving for so long, unknowingly.

When I’m with Cash, I feel like myself. This is the second day I’ve seen him, in my entire life, and within the hour, we’re once again undressed, shedding down to our skin—because when we’re together, there isn’t room for clothes and pretenses and small talk.

He and I, we cut straight to the chase.

I move my mouth up and down over his cock, my hands running lower to his tight balls. Just touching them turns me on, causes my sucking to slow so I can savor every single thing about this night.

His mouth is on me, and oh my God, I knew logically what was coming, but when he starts sucking my folds, his tongue circling my clit, I can’t help but release a deep moan.

“Don’t stop, Cash,” I beg. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.

He doesn’t. He licks up and down my slit, over and over again, and I know I’m just dripping all over his face, but he doesn’t stop. It makes me suck harder, stroking his hard shaft as his mouth fucks me.

He smacks my ass, causing another low moan to escape my mouth, and he must like the reaction, because he raises my ass again, smacking it again, before pressing a finger into my dripping gap.

In and out, over and over, he flutters his finger inside me, loosening my tight pussy. I keep sucking, knowing he’s getting closer. His cock is throbbing in my mouth, and I press my face against him, so I can take him as deep as possible, until my throat burns. It takes the edge off, because my cunt is so close to climax that I can’t think straight or see straight.

I feel another finger inside me, going in and out, and my pussy is just gushing with release. I never knew I could come so much, but fuck, Cash knows how to work my pussy over.

I can’t suck anymore, because I’m losing my mind, delirious with this overwhelming sensation of his fingers fucking me so hard.

Cash nudges my ass, and I roll over, onto my back. He spreads my legs, pressing his hand over my wet pussy, his eyes so full of desire, like he wants to devour me whole.

I would let him. I want him to take any piece of me he wants. There is nothing I would deny this man. Ever.

He presses his cock into my pussy, and my back arches, because he doesn’t move gently. He fills me hard and fast and it takes a moment to get my bearings, but soon enough I’m gripping the sheets with tight fists, and he thrusts deep into me.

I scream out as the orgasm crashes over me. There’s no gentle wave of pleasure. No, this is hard and fast, and everything.

“I want to taste you, though, baby. Let me taste you,” I beg him. My tits bounce as he thrusts again and again, pounding my pussy in a way I never thought I would like, but that I love.

“You want to taste my come?” he growls.

I whimper a yes, and he pulls out of me, his hard cock in his hand.

I sit up, wanting to take his come in my mouth. He pumps his cock, and ropes of his creamy come rush out, covering my mouth, my tits. Watching him come turns me on, and I need more.

I press my mouth against his cock, letting his release fill my mouth, so I can taste his salty manhood, so I can swallow his seed.

So I can be filled with him, completely.

* * *

Chapter 26

Cassius

Evangeline is nestled in my arms, both of us exhausted. The lights are low, and the night sky is dark.

“We should talk,” I tell her. Holding her like this feels so intimate, and I can’t imagine anything either of us could say that would break this spell.

“I know.” She runs her hand over my chest, tracing the tattoos on my skin. She sighs, then sits herself up, and surprises me by straddling me.

I smile, shake my head. “How are we supposed to talk if your tits are in my face?”

“I thought it might keep things light … less intense.” She takes my hand and presses it on her left breast. “See? Happy.”

I roll her breast in my hand. “Girl, are you a dream? Is that why you disappeared from my life? Did I just wake up?”

“I’m not a dream,” she tells me. “I was scared my dad would hold me against you, take away your contract. I couldn’t let that happen. So I pushed you away.”

My fingers run down the length of her ribcage, settling on her hips. “You could have told me that, Evie. This whole time, I thought I was a fucking joke to you. A game.”

She arches her back, looking down at me. “You really thought that, deep down? That I was playing you?”

“I’m used to people turning away from me.”

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel unwanted.” She takes my cock in her hand, strokes me softly as her body sits above me.

I nod my head, nearly imperceptibly. “I know that now.”

“How, how do you know?”

“No one who wanted to hurt me could make me feel so damn good.”

“You hung up on me, Cash. And I know that sounds petty, but if this is real, whatever you and I are … I need you to hear me out. Always.”

“I hear you now. And I won’t let you go so easily, ever again.”

She nods, leaning over and kissing me softly.

“You think you and I could be something?” She asks me. “I mean, sure, my dad got over his threats, and I quit school and I’m living here now, but you’re just starting your career. You hardly know me. And I don’t want to get in the way of your life.”

“In the way of what? Concerts? Fuck, Elle had Sasha with her the whole time we were on the road. A relationship can work, if we want it to.”

She kisses me again. Her lips are so soft and send shivers over my skin. “I want it to,” she tells me.

“Me too. I’ve missed you like crazy. A kind of crazy I’ve never experienced before.”

We both smile, staring at one another in the low light of the hotel. We laugh, shaking our heads at this weird turn of events. I never expected to have Evangeline in my arms again.

“You were amazing on tour, Cash.”

“Not now,” I tell her. “I hate talking about my music. Elle always tries, too, and … I don’t know. It feels weird. It’s like, my music isn’t anything I do. It’s just who I am. I don’t need a pat on the back just for being myself.”

“But you’re really special. And I don’t know what the guys you grew up with did to you, to get you in jail—”

“Prison.”

“Okay, prison. I don’t know what they did to put you there, but I’m glad it happened—because, Cash, now you have this raw emotion, this heart. The ability to tell a story with your lyrics that is powerful.”

I don’t think Evangeline is ready to go here with me. I’m not sure I’m ready to go here with her, either. “Girl, I think this territory isn’t anything you should be walking into. At least right now. It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Evangeline, your life has been this sheltered, peaceful—”

“No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t know me, either,” she says.

I feel her retreating, pulling away from me. We’re both vulnerable, naked and open, both wondering if maybe we can’t really see one another.

“Then tell me.” I grab her wrists, not letting her off the bed, away from me. I keep her in place.

She sinks back into my body. It’s a relief that she wants to stay close.

“Tell me what I don’t know, Evangeline.”

* * *

Chapter 27

Evangeline

I bite my lip, falling on the bed beside him. His arms wrap around me, and our gazes meet.

“My mom was a mess. I know I said my issues were with my dad, but my mom … she was an alcoholic, a controlling one. And so, so insistent. I believed what she wanted for me was what I wanted for myself. And so, yeah, I didn’t go to prison. Or grow up in East Heights. But, Cash, my life wasn’t some sheltered thing because we had money. It was messy. And more than anything, it was lonely. So lonely.”

He kisses my cheek, his lips brushing away my fears.

“She went on a binge, took a bunch of pills, ended it all by shooting herself with a gun no one even knew she had,” I tell him, realizing I’ve never uttered that truth to anyone.

“Oh, girl,” he says, his eyes full of tears—and oh, my heart, seeing him cry over my story is just too much. He seems to know the intensity of what I’ve been through. He must understand loss, too.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He pulls me closer to him, and I sink in his arms, grateful to be held. He promised not to let me go.

“You know what is to lose people, too,” I whisper, letting him cradle me in his arms.

He kisses my forehead, sighs. “You wanna do this?”

“I want to understand you, Cassius. That’s all I want.”

His chest expands under me, and I can tell he’s preparing himself for the story.

“You know I was poor, right? Well, I was the kind of poor that gets free lunches and no breakfasts. Fuck, I was stealing milk from the grocery store before I was ten. It never got better. Dad left, but mom did, too. She was never really there after that.”

“You and Chad, you were close back then?”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head at the memory. “Things got better when we started in with the Grimes in high school. Yeah, they’re a gang, but those boys were my crew. They were solid, and we had each others’ back. I’d have done anything for them. I did everything for them.”

“That’s how you ended up in prison?” I ask.

“You read about that, too?”

“Parts of it,” I admit.

“There was a gang from East LA that started fucking with some of the Grimes’ girls. Gina, especially. She was with Tommy Roller back then.”

“I know that name. Tommy was the leader of your gang?”

“Yeah. And they came after her hard one night.” He exhales, eyes closed, and I can see how hard this all is for him. “Fuck, this shit is heavy, Evie.”

“It’s okay, baby.” I lace my fingers with his, pulling myself closer to him.

“It’s not okay. It’s fucking messed up. Those fuckers went after Tommy—I guess he owed them twenty Gs for cocaine. Tommy didn’t have the money, and they shot him. Of course there weren’t any witnesses.

“A week goes by, and they wanted payment, in the form of Gina. So there we are, in a fucking parking lot, people all around. These fuckers knew we wouldn’t put up a fight there in public. One of those boys went for Gina, and I just knew if they took her, we’d never get her back. This is a girl who grew up on my block, right? A girl who had been my friend for years.”

“You saved her.”

“I don’t know what I really saved that night.” Cassius shakes his head. “Everyone went fucking ballistic, wanting vengeance for Tommy’s death. But one of the other guys got the brunt of our rage. We took it all out on him. The cops came. People scattered. I was so worried about Gina getting away safe, that I didn’t watch my own back. Next thing I know, I’m the only one left at the scene of the crime, with his blood on my hands.”

“Shit, Cassius.”

“I don’t know what was worse, going to prison, or coming out to find that the crew no longer had my back.”

“Why’d they turn on you?”

“I asked questions no one wanted to answer. Like what Tommy was really doing with the those guys. Where the money went. Why they were coming after our girls so hard. There was fucking shady shit going on, and no one wanted me to dig it up. They wanted to keep it buried with Tommy.”

“Chad walked away, too?”

“Well, he says so. But fuck, I can’t trust that bastard. Gina either. She was there waiting the moment I got out of prison, but it’s like, this whole time I wonder if I’ve been played a fool.”

“You’re not a fool. Maybe loyal to a fault, but there are worse things than that.”

“That’s why your dad wanted to keep you from me. And I get it, Evangeline. You may have a messy story, but it’s a different kind of mess. You were broken, but I’m fucking beat down.”

“You were beat down. But not anymore, Cash. You’re free from that.”

He lowers himself on top of me. His thick cock presses against me as I wrap my legs around him, needing him to fill me completely.

“When I’m with you,” he tells me. “I believe that.”

“When I’m with you, I believe in us.”

His pale eyes take on a cloudy hue. Desire is so clearly written on his face, as if he’s consumed with a storm only I can calm.

“Take me again, Cassius,” I moan.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He flips me over so I’m on all fours; he spanks my bottom. I cry out in surprise, my face pressed against the pillow as he runs his palm over my ass.

“Oh, honey.” His voice rumbles low. “I’m going to take you all night.”

He presses his cock into my opening, and I moan as he fills me fast, without hesitation. He knows what he wants.

He wants me.

My pussy tightens around him, and my fingers grip tight to the rumpled sheets as he plows into me from behind. His hands cup my breasts as he moves deeper inside me, reaching to my core.

“Oh God, baby, oh God,” I moan. His thickness fills every inch of me, and the walls of my pussy tighten. I reach a hand to my opening, rubbing my clit hard as he takes me from behind.

I roll my fingers in a tight circle, nearing climax as Cassius does too. I feel his cock throbbing within me.

I fall against the bed, unable to hold myself up any longer as an orgasm is unleased over me, reaching my toes. My pussy is sopping wet with release, as Cash completely washes away any ideas I had about making love.

When we come together, it’s bigger than sex, or making love, or getting off. When we come together, it feels like anything is possible.

He pulls his hard cock from me, and I feel his milky come coating my ass as he marks me. He runs his hand over my wanting slit as his come shoots over my bare skin.

He presses three fingers in my dripping gap, flickering his fingers against me as tears fill my eyes. I can’t breath. My body is on fire. I’ve transcended.

My pussy is begging for more. I want Cash to spread my legs forever, and he seems to read my mind, because he flips me over, lowers his face to my cunt, and starts sucking my worn pussy, as if thanking it for giving him the best fuck of his life.

“Girl, you taste so fucking good,” he growls.

I feel a smile spread over my face, and my eyes close as I run my fingers through his hair. His tongue licks me up and down, until I’m gushing my juice all over his face.

I never want him to stop staking his claim on me.

And he doesn’t. He takes me all night long, until the sun comes up.

* * *

Chapter 28

Cassius

I feel like the fucking king of the goddamn world when I wake in the morning, with Evangeline in my arms. I fucked her all night, until we were raw and worn, and whole. We fell asleep, satiated and slick with the emotional and physical release we both needed.

“Baby,” she says, her sleepy eyes meeting mine. “Last night was everything.”

She’s right. It was. I can’t imagine anything getting in the way of what we have.

She tells me that her job is important to her, and that she needs to be on set by nine a.m. I call a car to come get her, to take her home so she can change.

And when I open the hotel room door to walk her out, we’re accosted by five guys I haven’t seen in a long fucking time.

Trey Roller—Tommy’s brother—says, “Look at you, Cash Flow. I haven’t seen you in a long time, but looks like you’re doing pretty fucking good for yourself.”

“Hey,” I say, wrapping an arm around Evangeline, who looks completely caught off guard. Just like me. “We don’t want any problems. There are cameras all over here, and I don’t want any trouble.”

Trey smiles, looking behind him at the other ghosts from my past.

“There were cameras. My boys, they took care of ’em.” Trey raises his eyebrows, jutting his chin at me, telling me to step back into the room.

The only thing I can see is the gun tucked into the waistband of Trey’s jeans. And the only thing I can think is that I need to get Evie out of here. Now.

But I have no fucking backup. Because I have no one but her.

My security doesn’t cover me unless I’m at a show—I mean hell, I’m a musician, but I’m not fucking Bono. But hell, right now I need those guys.

“Chad put you up to this?”

“Up to what, bro?” Trey says. “We’re just here for a friendly conversation. Haven’t spoke since you left the slammer. And I thought we should probably clear the fucking air, now that things have changed.”

“Nothing’s changed, Trey. You didn’t want to answer my questions when I got out, and I’m not gonna help you now.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna play nice?” Trey shrugs. “That’s cool. I don’t need to play nice, either.”

“I don’t want to play at all. Just get the fuck out.” I feel Evangeline tense beside me, and I take a deep breath, trying to keep steady. My mode of motherfucking operation is to fight when anyone gets close to the ones I love, the ones I promised to protect.

They aren’t touching Evangeline.

“Oh, we’re not leaving until you make a few promises to us. Promises you will keep.”

“I’m not giving you anything, Trey.”

He nods to his boys, and they walk toward me, reaching for Evie.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” I yell. But it’s too late; one of them already has his hand on her, taking her from me.

I return to the place I’ve been before, go into an animalistic place where I will fight to the death to protect her.

I push him away from her, shoving him against the wall, punching his face until it is bloody.

Another guy pushes Evangeline behind him, and she fights back, trying to get away from him. I punch another guy in the face as I reach for her.

Trey slams a fist in my jaw.

“Fuck you, Trey. Get the fuck out of here.”

Trey pulls back. “We aren’t here to fight.”

Evangeline screams as a man holds her still.

“Not here to fight?” I yell. “Then what the fuck are you here for?”

“For money.”

“What kind of money do you want?” I scream. “You can have any of it. I don’t fucking care. Just go.”

Just then, Evangeline kicks the glass coffee table in front of her, breaking it into a hundred pieces. She reaches for a shard of glass and presses it against the man holding her, digging it into his forearm. His blood gushes out as he screams.

Trey jerks around, realizing that Evangeline is putting up an unexpected fight, for such a little thing. He starts for Evie, just as I wrap my arm around his neck. He pushes away, falling into Evangeline. Shards of glass are scattered everywhere, and slicing both of them as they tumble to the ground.

She screams, her eyes searching for mine, and I reach for her as she falls, blood covering her chest as the glass stabs her.

It may not be a shot to the heart, but it’s a cut that can kill.

Chapter 29

Evangeline

I see Cassius reach for me. Punches are thrown as he moves toward me. He falls to my side as the other guy pulls out a gun.

This can’t be happening.

This is what he warned me about, what Dad feared: that I’d kick down the box of my life and be left hurt.

Left for dead.

My eyelids flutter. Black covers my vision. And then I see Cash’s pale blue eyes, looking into mine.

The contrast hurts. Light and dark. Good and bad. Hope and fear.

Desperation.

“Hold on, Evangeline.” Cash’s voice covers me. I cling to him—his words, his hope—until the fear wins. His desperate pleas are the last thing I hear.

Chapter 30

Cassius

Trey runs out a back exit with his boys, as I call 911.

I don’t care if they want to pull a motherfucking gun on me. Right now, all I can think about is saving Evangeline.

Blood covers her shirt, pools on the floor.

But they didn’t pull a gun. They must have realized that this shit got real, way faster than they were prepared for.

They just made a break for it.

The ambulance screams into the parking lot below, sirens blaring.

Hotel security is after the men who came here today, but all I see are gentle Evangeline’s eyes closing, her body still. My arms are around her.

“Baby, don’t go,” I cry, my face streaked with tears. “Hold on, Evangeline. Hold on.”

The medics are in the room, lifting her onto a stretcher as the police run after Trey.

I don’t watch them go; I just pray they run fast and get those fuckers.

My eyes, they’re on her.

I refuse to let go of her hand, and ride with her to the ER.

And then I wait as she’s rushed behind a white curtain, as doctors race for her body. I pray that they can stitch her back together. I pray that they can make her whole.

Because it’s my motherfucking fault she broke, when I swore I would protect her.

She was too good for me.

And I’ve never felt that truth like I do right now.

The nurse asked for her name, told me she would make some calls. And I’m glad.

I can’t call her fucking father and tell him that his little girl may have just died under my watch.

No. It can’t be the truth.

She will survive.

She must.

But she also needs a better man than me.

A man with a story that doesn’t end with blood on the floor and broken hearts and broken dreams.

She deserves a man who can give her something more. Something safe, something whole.

* * *

Outside of the hospital, I place a call. I can’t bear to face Evangeline’s father, and I know he’ll be here any minute. I need some fucking words of wisdom before I can look him in the eye.

Maybe it’s crazy to hope Mom can offer that to me, but I’m desperate. So fucking desperate.

“Can she talk?” I ask the nurse at the home.

“Oh, Cassius, I’m sorry. I spoke with your brother. We thought you were still out of town,” the nurse explains.

“I just got back yesterday,” I tell her.

“And Chad didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry, but she was moved to LA General two days ago. I thought you knew. We left a message at the home number on our paperwork, and Chad is listed as the emergency contact until you got home.”

I put Chad as the contact, thinking that, yeah, he may be a fucking asshole about a lot of things, but I trusted that he could keep his shit together when it comes to Mom.

“Why is she at LA General?” I ask, looking up at the signage on the hospital where Evangeline has just been admitted: LA General.

“She paid off a janitor to get her liquor. She was drinking, took a bad fall. She broke her hip. She had surgery yesterday. She’s in recovery now.”

“Holy shit.”

“I’m so sorry, but if you go to the hospital, the doctor can give you a better update on her progress. Unfortunately, she won’t be able to return here. Our rules are pretty strict. The best thing for her at this point would be a rehab center for substance abuse.”

I snort. This entire day has just blown up in my motherfucking face.

Last night I was in a cocoon, the world so small, under the covers with Evangeline.

And now she’s bleeding, and my mom is broken, and I know in my gut that Chad put Trey up to this.

“After her accident, the judge sentenced her to a thirty-day program,” I tell the nurse. “She could have used a much longer one, obviously. But back then I didn’t have the money. Once I had the funds, she was already back home and refused to go.”

“Well, most of those places won’t take someone who needs as much support as she does, anyway. Her liver is wrecked and her brain injuries, though not debilitating, have caused her to lose so much of her mobility.”

“And now a broken hip. Shit.” I shake my head, thanking the nurse for her help.

My shoulders shake.

I fall to the ground, my knees hitting the pavement as everything around me just collapses.

“Motherfucker!” I scream, knowing there’s no one left to listen.

“Hey, bro,” a voice calls. “Man, you okay?”

I lift my head. It’s Jude and Holden, Evangeline’s cousin and roommate.

I can’t deal with this now, with these guys who are fucking Los Angeles royalty.

And me? A fuckup from the other side of the tracks.

“Hey,” Jude says, reaching for my hand. “You’re losing it, you know that, right?”

I run my hands over my face. “Evangeline. You know about her?”

“Yeah, man, we know,” Holden says, clapping me on the back. “She’s in surgery right now.”

“It’s all my motherfucking fault.”

“No,” Jude shakes his head. “It was the fucking men who stormed in on you both— who are currently behind bars, by the way.”

“The cops found them?” I shake my head.

“They didn’t get far,” Holden says. “And no one is blaming you.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I can’t set foot in that hospital. I can’t look Evangeline’s father in the face.”

“Right now, you can’t worry about that. Right now you need to just hope that Evangeline gets out of surgery okay.”

“You know the most fucked-up thing, besides knowing my brother is behind all this shit? Finding out my mom is in this same hospital right now. Had surgery yesterday. And my fucking brother was keeping that from me.” I hold up my phone. “I just found out.”

“Shit, man.” Holden shakes his head. “Listen, go see your mom. We’ll keep you posted on Evangeline.”

We exchange numbers, and I take a long look at these two guys. If my life’s taught me anything, it’s to be leery of anyone willing to step out on limb for you.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’ve known Evie my entire life,” Jude says. “Last night, at the club, I’ve never seen the girl so fucking sure. Like she knew exactly what she wanted. That girl may have lived a sheltered life, but she’s no fool. She trusts you, so I trust you.”

Holden shrugs. “I just do what he says.” He points to Jude.

“Why do you trust Jude so much?” I ask Holden, remembering what it was like not to question the boys whose backs I had.

I haven’t had that in a long fucking time.

“Jude can get you drugs, girls, clean piss, or a job, with a moments notice.”

I narrow my eyes. “Aren’t you some Hollywood movie producer?”

Holden laughs. “Jude may make movies, but they’re all low-budget, weird-ass shit. He wishes I’d star in his films. But that’s just his hobby. What he’s really known for is taking care of anyone he lets in his inner circle.”

Jude listens to Holden, but I notice he doesn’t disagree. He looks at me, as if considering me carefully. I feel fucking exposed, but at this point, my face is against the fucking ground. The only people I have left are in this building, fighting for their lives.

“We’ll call you, Cash, when we have word,” Jude says. “If I know Evangeline, and I think I do, she’d want you with your mother right now.”

* * *

Chapter 31

Evangeline

I wake up with a start. My hands try to reach my abdomen, but the IVs keep me perfectly still.

“Evangeline,” Dad says, standing from the chair by my bed. “Oh, thank God.”

A nurse comes in, relief seeming to wash over her face, too.

“Look at you, sweet thing. Now just lay back and let me check your pain meds then I’ll call the doctor.”

I look around the room. No one else is here. “Where’s Cassius?” I ask, my mind only on him. “Where is he?”

Dad’s face creases. “He hasn’t come,” he tells me.

Confusion flashes over me, but before I can ask anything else the pain meds kick in. And then I’m asleep.

Chapter 32

Cassius

Mom looks horrible, propped in a hospital bed, a worn-out expression covering her face.

But when I walk into the room, she isn’t the one I focus on.

Chad and Gina are fucking here.

You have got to be kidding me.

“What the fuck are you here for?” I ask, storming over to him, ready to make him pay for getting Evangeline messed up with his shit.

“Woah, bro, cool it,” he says, feigning innocence as he raises his hands.

Gina’s standing, in defense mode.

“You don’t fucking call me about Mom? You send Trey after my woman? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Boys,” Mom whimpers. “Don’t fight. Please.”

“It isn’t a fight. It’s finishing the business Chad wants to bring here,” I yell, pushing back on my brother.

A nurse walks in, then backs out of the room.

“We thought you were on tour, Cash. Right, Gina?” Chad asks, so fucking nonchalant.

“Mm-hmm. And besides, we don’t have any money, so our phones were shut off. We couldn’t call.”

“Do you know where your boy Trey is right now?”

I know he doesn’t, because the self-assured look on his face is filled with a smugness he couldn’t possess if he knew how close he might be to being held responsible. He better hope Trey will take the fall the same way I did. Keep his mouth shut.

But Trey is a fucking bastard, and I wouldn’t trust him. He isn’t loyal.

He isn’t me.

“You seen Trey lately?” Chad asks, his lips curling into a smile. “Good. We told that fucker where he could find you. You don’t want to give us money, fine. But we thought maybe Trey could get you to stop being so fucking greedy.”

I could kill this bastard. “Thought you didn’t know I was back in town?”

I’m tired of throwing punches, and I don’t have to, because as soon as I have Chad’s back against the wall, Mom is screaming at us to stop and Gina’s wailing about us always causing trouble.

By then the hospital security is here.

And I’m being led outside.

They say I’m not allowed back in without a police escort.

I shove off them the moment we’re outside.

It’s time I figure out my next fucking move.

* * *

I jump in a cab and head to my hotel, needing to get my shit, change my clothes, figure out a way to get back into the hospital so I can see Evangeline.

“Hey,” I tell the driver. “I need to stop at the police precinct.”

My head pounds. I have some fucking demons about police officers, about handcuffs and cop cars and Miranda rights. I have PTSD from walking in an orange jumpsuit and getting searched and getting stripped of any fucking dignity.

But right now, it isn’t about me. Walking in here is about keeping other people safe.

Keeping Evangeline safe.

The truth is, Trey may have been caught, but my brother wasn’t.

And I don’t trust that man to keep his hands off her if he thinks it might get him closer to what he wants.

At the check-in desk, I tell the receptionist, “I need to make a statement.”

I sit and wait to give my testimony about what my brother said in the hospital.

Do I want to rat him out?

Fuck no.

But loyalty isn’t about family.

It’s about right and wrong; it’s about honor.

It’s about love.

A text comes through right as I’m getting taken back by a police officer.

Jude: Evie’s out of surgery. She did great. Breathe. Hope things are ok w your mom.

Me: Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there asap.

Jude: No worries, she’s asleep now. I’ll take care of her dad when you show.

Relief floods my chest. I know I’m not good enough for her, but the idea of her being gone is too much to bear.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I walk back. Tears threaten to escape. All I want is to pull Evangeline into my arms and never let her go.

* * *

Later, after I’ve said my piece to the officers, I head to the hotel. When I get to the front desk, I find that my room’s been cleared due to the criminal activity that took place there this morning, and all my shit is here.

My head is a wreck, and when Jack Harris stops me as I’m walking away from the front desk, it takes me a minute to register that he’s talking to me and that I met him last night.

“Cash Flow,” he says, nodding to me. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, uh, just, fuck,” I can’t speak in complete sentences, because my emotions are all fucked up.

“Bro, you look like shit.” Jack puts a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “Come have a drink with me. You need to chill before you walk through those doors.”

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Worse, man.”

We go to the hotel bar, and they seat us in a private booth in the very back.

“What are you in town for?” I ask Jack, not feeling comfortable just spilling my guts.

“I’m doing a show with Zac Turner tonight. Of course, we planned this show before he started dating Ashley Fast.”

I smirk, remembering the headlines. “That’s your old girl, right?”

“Very old. Like, I’d rather keep that shit buried.”

A waitress brings us two whiskies on the rocks.

“I know all about wanting to keep bones buried,” I tell him.

“I’ve gathered that. I think the entire industry has, actually, considering you’re an ex-con, come from East Heights, and have a debut album that outsold mine. You’ve got a story, man.”

When I don’t say anything, Jack raises an eye.

“You know, when Elle mentioned your new stuff last night, I had to force myself not to beg you to show it to me.”

“You wanna hear my shit?” I ask.

“Hell, yeah. I love to collaborate; that’s why Zac and I are teaming up tonight. Cool shit happens when you put it all out there, you know, on the stage. But the real magic happens when you collaborate.”

“I don’t know; it’s pretty intense stuff I’ve been working on.”

“Listen, I’m game for anything. I like to fuck with people’s ideas about what good music is—and hell, you and I can do anything we want right now.”

I shake my head, not feeling that powerful, not even a little. “Maybe you can, Jack—but me? I’m a pawn.”

Jack snorts. “Dude, you read the newspaper today?”

“What?” I shake my head.

“No calls from KMG, from your people?”

I know my assistant Jared has left me messages, but I haven’t listened to them. Kinda been consumed with my girl getting her fucking heart almost literally cut out.

“You were nominated for a Grammy, man. Album of the year.”

My head falls back against the booth. My chest tightens, because this is everything … and nothing.

Evangeline is in a hospital and I’m here. She’s mine, but I don’t know if I can have her.

And this. This is nothing I wanted, and maybe everything I dreamed about. The flood of emotions washes over me.

“Dude, you’re killing it,” Jack says. “You got this. You do.”

“I never wanted to lay half of the tracks on that album,” I tell him. “I feel like an ungrateful ass.”

“This business is hard. You have to balance who you are as a creator with who you are to your fans. Hell, Zac Turner? His fans are fucking pissed with him because of who he’s dating. Should he lose Ashley to make a bunch of obsessed teenage girls happy?”

Poor bastard. I shake my head. If my fans—if I have any—wanted me to get rid of Evangeline, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves.

“And you, your fans—me included—love your music. But do you stop playing what makes fans happy, what makes you tons of cash and gets you fucking Grammy nominations, because you’d rather sing about something else?”

“You’re telling me I should be okay with being a sellout?” I ask, more than a little surprised at Jack’s take on things.

“Nah, man.” Jack shakes his head. “But when you make music for other people, you need to think about them as much as you think about yourself. It’s the same with love, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Jack shrugs. “With love, you can’t play it safe all the time. Sometimes you have to take a risk. But sometimes, maybe even most of the time, you need to think about the other person. What they need. What they want. Even if it’s scary or fucking hard.”

He raises his tumbler of whiskey. “To music.”

I raise my glass to his. “To love.”

* * *

Chapter 33

Evangeline

The next time I wake, Cassius is still not here.

“Where is he?” I ask Jude. He’s been here with my dad all day. And Jude’s mom, Aunt Katy, is here, too.

Before Jude can answer, Dad speaks. “If you hadn’t been with him, this would never have happened. You nearly died.”

“If I hadn’t been with him, I would never know what true love is, Dad. And what kind of life is that?”

Dad sighs, not understanding. I don’t hold it against him. Before I met Cash, I never would have believed love at first sight was real.

But it is.

“You’ve spent two days with him, Evangeline.”

“I know, Dad,” I tell him softly. “And in only two days, I’ve known the purest love there is.”

“You believe in love?” Cassius is in the doorway, a police officer standing behind him.

It hurts to take a deep breath, but as soon as Cassius enters the room, it’s like my lungs expand, like my life expands. He makes room for me.

“I believe in us,” I tell him. “I believe in you and me.”

Dad looks pained at my words, and I think it’s because he knows Cassius is here to stay.

But I’m wrong. He isn’t pained at all. He’s accepting. He walks to Cash, wraps his arms around him. Gives him the warmest hug I’ve ever seen my father give.

“Oh, hell, is this like family therapy or some shit?” Jude asks. “If so, then I need to get the hell out of here.”

Aunt Katy gives him a sour look, and I’m not surprised. Jude’s always making choices that push her limits.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Son,” Dad tells Cash. Then, looking behind Cash at the officer, he asks, “Is there a problem here?”

“I got thrown out of the hospital earlier.”

“What happened?” I ask, wanting to reach out my arms out to Cash. Wanting him next to me.

“There was a problem with my brother upstairs.”

“Your brother was here?”

Jude and Cash give one another nods.

“My mom’s here, too.”

“What happened?” my dad asks.

Cash explains what’s going on with his mom.

“I had no idea,” I tell him, my heart reaching out to him.

“She’ll be okay, if I can convince her to go to rehab. But now that Chad and Gina are in police custody, I have more leverage to get Mom the help she needs.”

“Your mom’s lucky to have you, Cash,” Dad tells him.

“On that note,” Jude says, “I’m heading out. Gonna meet Holden tonight. We’ll have a celebratory shot for you Cash. Congratulations man.”

“Congrats for what?” I ask, confused.

Dad smiles; Cash shrugs.

Jude grins. “Your boy here has a Grammy nomination.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, tears in my eyes. “Oh, Cassius, that’s incredible.” I laugh, “And to think, you hated that album.”

“Wait, you hate the album?” Dad asks.

“I think I have a lot to learn, is all. About what making music is all about.”

Dad, Jude, and Aunt Katy leave, giving me kisses and promising to return the next day.

Then it’s just Cassius and me.

“I meant what I said,” I tell him, as he sits on the bed, taking my hand in his. “About loving you.”

He’s quiet, and his jaw is tense, as if he’s scared to speak.

“I almost didn’t come back here for you,” he says. “This morning, after they brought you here, I thought, Fuck, I’m not good enough for this girl. I never will be. I’m always gonna be the boy from East Heights who has scars on his heart and blood on his hands.” He looks at me, his eyes pools of water. He blinks, and the tears spill across his cheeks. “The thought of you, Evangeline, in the cross fire of my past, is too fucking much. And I thought, I can’t fucking put you through that.”

Tears streak my face, too. I squeeze his hand, my chest aching at his pain.

“What changed your mind?” I ask in a whisper.

“I saw Jack Harris today, and he told me something that cut straight to my heart.”

Cassius leans closer to me, kissing my lips softly. I whimper beneath him. My body is wrapped in gauze—stitched together, but whole. I whimper because him being here, with me, is all I want in the entire world.

“He said that, with love, you need to think about what the other person wants. Even if it’s scary or fucking hard.”

“And you know what I want?” I ask him.

“I know what we both want,” he tells me.

“What’s that, Cassius?” I whisper.

“One another,” he tells me. “Even if it’s scary or fucking hard, I can give you that. God knows I can’t offer you much else. But my heart, girl—it’s yours. It’s been yours since the day we met.”

“I love you, Cassius.”

“And I love you, gentle Evangeline.”

* * *

Epilogue

Cash Flow

Being at the Grammys is fucking surreal.

Evangeline is by my side. She’s always by side—well, except for when she’s on my cock.

But that’s for later. For now, she’s holding my hand.

“You ready?” she asks. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, her face bright under the lights, and the entire hall before us is filled with LA’s finest.

We’re performing tonight—together.

It’s our first time performing for an audience. Which, yeah, I suppose we could have started small, but Jack Harris was right: I can do whatever the fuck I want right now.

And, after Evangeline was discharged from the hospital, I showed her the stuff I’d been working on.

At first she was hesitant.

I’d written her into every song. Well, as my muse she was there, of course; my love for her was woven into every lyric, every beat.

But there were also piano scores in every track, sections that only she could play.

“I can’t do this,” she said, when I first asked.

“You can,” I urged. “Because I can’t do it without you.”

I’m glad she reconsidered.

Because when we played our music for Elle last month, she was in tears. Evie’s dad was speechless.

I may be here at the Grammys for my debut album—which won Album of the Year earlier tonight, by the way—but my sophomore album is going to be off the fucking chains when it drops next week.

Evie sits down at the grand piano, a spotlight on her. She looks over at me, where I hold a mic, ready to tell the story I call Gentle Evangeline.

Once she let go of the chains her mother had shackled to her wrists, the ones that led to the piano, she learned that playing doesn’t have to be about her mom at all.

It can be about her. Her alone. The place she finds her strength. Her voice.

The same way my music can be the place I’m set free.

Her fingers press against the ivory keys; the hall is filled with her amplified music.

And then I start singing the song of my heart, looking at her the entire time.

❤❤❤❤❤

Want the rest of the LA Bad Boys?

Holden and Jude’s books are out now!

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HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN

By Frankie Love

Chapter 1

Holden

I knew I'd be a star. It wasn't even a matter of time; it was a matter of graduating high school and getting out of Tolling, the dead-end farming town ninety minutes east of LA where I'd spent my entire childhood.

Four years ago I did just that—and my rise to fame was fast. I'm one of those guys who has always had life handed to them on a silver platter. I showed up at auditions and got the part. Within six months I had a top-notch agent and a lead in a television pilot which was quickly trumped by a role in a blockbuster movie that became a franchise.

Now the entire city is eating out of the palm of my hand ... and I'm eating plenty, too. Pussy, that is.

Because damn, one good thing about being a celebrity is the constant stream of women begging you to fuck them.

I'd say it isn't easy being this rich, this famous, but I'd be lying. It's the easiest fucking thing in the world. I show up, smile, and flex—and it's like women all over the world need to change their panties.

But I just tell them panties are not required when it comes to me. In fact, I made a no-panty rule at my mansion. They're just an unnecessary barrier between their wet cunts and my rock-hard cock.

I like to fuck. And I tell the haters they can fuck off. I get a lot of heat for being the way I am.

Have I been called a man-whore? Sure. Womanizer? Certainly. Player? Of course.

But those names mean nothing, and they're nothing new.

I like pussy. Pussy likes me.

It's a symbiotic relationship, and I don't need anyone hating on me for having good taste.

But my agent, Trenton, thinks my reputation is a problem—most recently because of the front page article in LA Weekly about a fight that broke out at TropiCALI, our favorite bar in the city. Jude and Cassius were there as backup, but the pictures don't exactly shine the best light on me.

My fist is raised, and some asshole is fronting, pissed that he caught me with his woman.

I don't even know either of their names.

"Just consider cooling it," Trenton says, dropping the magazine on my patio table. He showed up here this morning to give me a pep-talk—or a scolding. I can't really tell. "And this ribbon-cutting ceremony tonight is the perfect opportunity for you to play nice. Show up, let the reporters get a few nice shots of you back in your hometown, without a supermodel on you arm."

"The ride home is over an hour. What am I supposed to do that whole time if I don't have a woman with me?"

Trenton raises an eyebrow. "Read a book. Take a nap. Call your mom."

I set down my cappuccino, looking out at the Pacific Ocean. God, I've got it good here in LA. I can't believe I spent so much of my life in a townhouse in Tolling when this was waiting for me. "Actually, I'll be seeing my mom tonight. I'm staying with her."

"Good. Then you don't need some girl sharing your childhood bed."

"I'm paying you to land me jobs, not give me dating advice."

"Dating? That's what you're calling what you do?" Trenton laughs. "A car will get you at three. The ceremony is at six. Wear a suit, say something nice. I emailed you a few speech options. Just make sure you mention that this was your idea, as a way to give back."

"Right. Give back." I give him an easy smile, not wanting him to guess any of the reasons I wish I were going anywhere else today but my old high school.

Tolling High was the place I made all my best memories—memories way better than I've made here, even with my topless pool parties with champagne fountains. Better than my no-strings attached weekends in Barbados with my girl of the week. Better than winning a People's Choice award for each of the last three movies I stared in as action hero Johnny Jumper, firefighter extraordinaire.

But Tolling High is also the place I lost my best friend Bex.

I haven't seen her since the parking lot at graduation—and that's probably a good thing. She let me down, and I let her go.

Some things are better left alone, and Bex was everything.

She's the reason I have the confidence I do today. She pressed me to be the best version of myself, though God knows I never listened. Even the movies I'm doing now, she'd fucking hate. She'd say I’m a better actor than a character like Johnny Jumper will ever allow me to be. She'd tell me to look for scripts that have heart, soul, meaning ... because she thought I was more than a pretty face.

But she also ruined me for relationships.

She burned me. Hard.

And damn, I've never let her go.

But hell if I'm going to say all that to Trenton.

"And I need you to make some decisions," he tells me. "We have two scripts on the table."

"Okay, I'll read them, let you know what I think."

"Hey, here's an idea: you could read them in the limo on the way to Tolling."

"Okay, boss," I tell him, waving him off as my hook-up from last night comes out to the patio in nothing but a towel.

He looks her up and down before shaking his head and leaving.

"What's his problem?" I ask her, not remembering her name.

"I have no idea, baby," she purrs, "but there's someone at the door—"

Just then Jude and Cash walk out to where I'm trying to enjoy my coffee.

"What the fuck, man? We were supposed to meet for breakfast," Jude says, smacking me on the back of my head.

I look over at what's-her-name. "Hey, you can see yourself out, okay, doll?"

She knows the drill. She smiles, not at all fazed by my lack of interest in keeping her around. "Call me?" she asks.

"Sure thing, honey."

She blows me a kiss and heads inside.

"Are you for reals with that?" Cash asks, sitting down and grabbing a croissant from the tray. My on-call cook hooks me up.

"What?" I scowl. "She was nice."

"What’s her name?" Without waiting for an answer—he knows I won’t have one—Jude laughs and pours himself coffee, then piles a plate with bacon and eggs.

"Help yourselves, chumps."

"You're the one who stood us up," Jude shoots back.

But I'm not having it. Instead, I grin. "You would have, too, if you had that sweet piece of ass in your face this morning."

Cash snorts. "I can attest that Evangeline is much sweeter to wake up to than that girl you don't even know."

Jude shrugs. "Well, I'd rather have had that than Rachel bitching at me all night."

"What now?" I ask, knowing Jude's girlfriend is 1) pregnant, and 2) a complete train wreck. And not in a manic-pixie-dream-girl way, but in a straight-up, crazy-town way.

"She flipped out, threatened to go stay with her mom for a few months. Of course, her mom’s less stable than she is."

Cash and I exchange a look. We feel for our friend, but it's like, how can you even help him? The best we can do is stick by him while Rachel figures her shit out.

"You okay with her leaving?" I ask.

"It's not the first time she's left. It's just … fuck, I want the baby to be okay."

Cash nods. "I'll ask Evangeline to give her a call. Maybe they could get lunch or something? That might help?"

"Yeah, that'd be cool. She needs stability, and God knows Evie won't let her get into trouble under her watch."

It's good of Cash to think of that. Evie and Jude are cousins, and now that Cash is basically family, he does a good job of looking out for his people.

"So what are you fuckers up to today?" I ask them.

"I've got some studio time lined up with Jack again. Our album is going to be pretty tight."

I shake my head in disbelief. Cash came out of nowhere and started killing it as fast as I did in this town. Now he’s making an album with Jack fucking Harris.

"And you?" I ask Jude. "Besides worrying about your girl?"

"I've gotta try and get some investors for my movie."

"I told you, bro, I got your back." I've offered him money so many times. It's the least I can do for the guy who’s always there for everyone else.

He refuses again. "Nah. I appreciate it, but some things you gotta do on your own."

"Damn straight." I nod. "Like returning to your hometown for a fucking ribbon cutting ceremony all in the name of some good PR."

"Ribbon cutting of what?" Cash asks.

"A new theater, at my old high school."

"You gonna see an old crew?"

I shake my head, thinking only of Bex, and how she left for Northern California University at the same time I left for Hollywood. She's probably still there, finishing up her four-year degree right about now.

Probably? Of course she is, because Bex never quits anything.

Well, except for me ... and our plans.

"No. I didn't have many friends in school, to be honest."

"Really?" Jude raises his eyebrows. "I can't picture you anywhere not playing the field."

"Oh, I played the field all right. But that wasn't the question. Friends are different than hook-ups."

"So you were a player back then, too?" Cash asks.

I nod. Getting girls was never the problem.

The problem was always getting Bex.

* * *

Chapter 2

Bexley

Being a student teacher should be the pinnacle of my college career—and it was going to be, especially since I landed a student teacher gig as the drama teacher at my old high school. It’s basically everything I've worked towards the past four years.

I'm back home, at the same school my parents teach at, and totally nervous. The issue isn’t the student teaching—I'm already more than halfway through with that gig, and it’s going great.

The issue is Holden.

But, to be fair ... when has it not been?

Still, I didn't think coming to my hometown would mean seeing Holden again so soon. I knew through the grapevine that he only comes back here for the major holidays when his mom requires his presence ... but this is May. Easter is over. Nothing is happening until the Fourth of July. I mean, possibly Memorial Day weekend, but as far as holiday appearances go, no one is gonna be mad if their kid doesn't show up for a BBQ.

I figured I was safe.

I don't trust myself around Holden. I never have.

And according to the Google Alerts I receive on him (because no, I can't let him go, no matter how hard I try), nothing has changed with him in all this time. In fact, it seems like he's only gotten worse—more reckless, more dangerous.

More ridiculously hot.

And today he's coming back here to cut the ribbon on the new theater he built.

I hope like hell he doesn't show up with a supermodel on his arm … though I'm sure he will. That would be so Holden. So typical.

Charming, sexy, never-lifted-a-finger Holden.

I turn on all the lights in the school theater as my first-period students file in. It's gonna be a long day, and I know the butterflies will never fly away. The new theater dedication happens tonight at six p.m.

I'm finally getting the hang of teaching, and I’m now flying solo from first period to third period every day. But today, as I take attendance, I can't focus. Because I'm doing that obnoxious thing where I'm constantly second-guessing every life decision I've made in my twenty-two years.

Holden is seriously messing with my head.

But hasn't he always?

"Okay, everyone, let's start by doing vocal warm-ups." I lead the class of twenty-three students in a series of rhymes and facial stretches to get them ready for an improv lesson.

While one part of me is telling the kids to repeat Guh ten times, I'm thinking that it's dumb to look over my shoulder, at the past. But it's also pretty impossible not to, when I'm standing in my old high school, confronted with my past every single day.

Even these vocal warm-ups are a vortex to my past. Memories flash through my mind of Holden and I here, every day, doing this exact same thing.

Him smiling at me as we face one another in a circle, getting ready for class. Him telling me I’m so cute when I contort my face in these stretches. Me shaking my head, embarrassed by the heat rising in my cheeks when he compliments me.

Wanting him to compliment me more. Longer.

Forever.

But also knowing that I was firmly known as the goody two-shoes, a kid with two parents employed as teachers at this very building, and he was firmly known as the man-whore who didn't take anyone or anything seriously.

Definitely not the person I should have been so completely in love with.

But back then, I thought I was. Shameful as it felt, Holden had my heart—but neither of us knew what to do with information.

Today I'll be confronted with the person who made high school both bearable and unbearable.

I know saying that could come off as dramatic, but I am a drama teacher, so it's pretty much in my DNA.

Holden is coming back.

I let out a groan, then blink rapidly, shaking out my hands and feet, pretending it's all a part of my warm-up. As I karate chop the air for no reason other than it feels good, I remind myself that I can do this.

Of course I can. I'm Bex. I can handle seeing the one guy who pretty much ruined all men for me. I can handle coming face-to-face with the one man I've always regretted not getting skin-on-skin with.

I can handle confronting the one person I wish I could have a do-over with. At least, or at least most importantly, a do-over good-bye with.

I can handle Holden.

I tell the class to sit in a row, then ask for two volunteers for a round of improv.

Trina's hand shoots in the air. Of course it does. Trina is short, curvy, and the opposite of my high-school self. She's all confidence and conviction.

"Okay, Trina," I tell her. "Thanks for volunteering. Anyone else want to start?"

Luke, the smoldering dark-haired junior, raises a hand. I smile warmly, grateful that I didn't have to pick someone on my own.

Luke and Trina take center stage, and I tell them to pretend they're making lasagna until someone in class wants to take one of their places. It's going well until Kady taps out Trina and immediately blurts out that, in this scene, she and Luke are on a first date.

And then she goes in for a kiss.

"Kady, not cool," I tell her, trying not to roll my eyes at her over-the-top appeal for Luke's attention.

Of course, a classic drama class move: go for the kill shot. And I feel bad for Luke, who pulls away awkwardly to avoid the kiss. I help him out by calling for Jill to take his spot.

I mean, Kady didn't invent that move. I remember plenty of people using it on Holden back in high school. They’d sign up for drama just so they could get close to him, so they could look for a chance to kiss him in the name of acting.

But the thing is, those girls could never get Holden to make a move on stage, because the theater was the space that he and I shared.

Even if I wasn't giving him kisses, the unspoken agreement between us was that the cheerleaders who went down on him in the locker room, or the girls who gave him hand-jobs under the desk as they tutored him in library, would never be my competition.

Not when we were in the theater.

And Holden made good on that unspoken agreement, even though I never once followed through on the other spoken and unspoken things between us.

Spoken: move to LA after high school, together.

Unspoken: give him my virginity.

Spoken: take over Hollywood, one movie at a time.

Unspoken: be a couple, a real couple, once we left Tolling.

And while some things never change—girls like Kady will always be looking for a way to hook up with the drama-class hottie—I’m not the Bex of four years ago.

I'm no longer just the girl who denied Holden everything he wanted. The girl who denied herself everything she wanted.

That insecure, scaredy-cat girl is gone, because I am a grown up. I have my life totally figured out. And sure, maybe I'm still a virgin, but I'm certainly glad I went to college instead of trying to do something as ridiculous as be an actress.

The world only has space for one Hollywood Holden.

And tonight? It's going to be fine. Holden probably won't even notice me, now that he has a different Victoria’s Secret model every night of the week.

Even though I do want him to see me.

If he did, I'd ask him to take what I chickened out of giving him so long ago. And I'd like to offer him an apology, hoping like hell that he would accept it even though I'm the one who ruined every good thing between us.

For four years I've imagined what our good-bye should have been, what he deserved. He and I saying farewell, but not with a screaming match, which is what actually happened. We should have said good-bye in one another's arms, with me giving him my virginity, and with him understanding why I had to back out of our other plans.

I've just got to get through this day at school, then walk over to the new theater and be, like, totally chill. Totally cool and calm Bex.

"Ms. Maddon?" Luke asks. "Are you okay? You stopped talking ... err, teaching?"

"Right." I laugh, and lie through my teeth. "I'm totally okay. In fact, I was just thinking how excited I am to be opening the doors of the new theater tonight." I smile brightly.

Who am I kidding?

I'm the Bex I've basically always been. Denying myself my true emotions. Pretending because that's a hell of a lot easier than admitting the truth: that I'm still in love with a man who scares me. A man who’s bigger than me, bigger than life. A man who saw me in a way I couldn't see myself.

A man I really, really disappointed. A man who can never forgive me.

A man I owe an apology ... even if it is four years too late.

* * *

Chapter 3

Holden

We stop and pick up my mom on our way through town, and I'm immediately reminded why I stay away from this place.

"Looks like you had a fun party last week," Mom says, pursing her lips, looking at me the way only a mother can. "You know, Holden … when you throw these crazy, extravagant parties, you could invite me."

I raise an eyebrow. My assistant Lindy smiles, though she tries to hide it as she taps on her phone.

"What?" Mom exclaims. In heels, with her blond hair done and her nails polished, she really is out of place here in this podunk town. "It's boring here in Tolling. I need a man. Lindy, can you set me up with a nice man? Surely you know someone, I bet you know all the bachelors in LA."

"I'll look into it, Ms. Hatfield," Lindy says, looking up at my mother.

"It's Trisha. Not Ms. I am only forty-five years old. Not old enough to be a Ms."

"You'd really move to LA?" I ask. She's been in Tolling her entire life. A single mom and a fighter—at least, she fought for me. Always had my back, stuck up for me even though I gave her plenty of reason to doubt me. She worked her ass off to give me a childhood that was charmed.

And now, I'll give her anything she wants.

"I think so, actually. With Catalina at college, it's lonely. Berkeley is far away. You, though—you're not so far away."

"I leave for months at a time for filming."

"Well, let's talk later. First you have your big night." Mom's shoulders raise in excitement, and she claps. "Oh, Holdie, everyone has been talking about it."

"Oh, yeah?" I pull put my phone, looking at the speech Trenton wrote for me. It's pretty canned, but I don't know how many good things I can say about a place I spent my life wanting to leave.

I look out the window as the limo pulls through the main drag, passing a Wal-Mart and a Sherrie's Diner. "I fucking hate this town."

"I know, it never changes. But there are some good things here, too. Honestly, I'd think you would be in a better mood, considering you get to see Bexley after all these years."

"Bexley? Here? What are you talking about?" My reaction must be ... less than concealed, because both Lindy and Mom exchange a look that says WTF.

"She's student-teaching at the high school." Mom's forehead creases. "Honestly, don't you ever look at Facebook?"

"No, Mom, I don't." I run my hand through my hair. "She's seriously here?"

Mom nods, lips pursed.

"What aren't you saying?" I ask.

"I just assumed that was part of the reason you were going to the trouble of coming out here at all."

"I came out here for the theater."

Mom shrugs, turns to look out the window. "I know for a fact that she's single," she says, never one to tiptoe. "But you know how Bexley's always been. I don't think she’s ever dated a man in her life, since whatever … sexually wrought thing the two of you shared went sideways. She's always been a little repressed—which is why I, for one, always thought you were good for her."

"Mom," I snort. "I was never a good idea for Bexley. I spent high school smoking pot, sleeping around, and cutting class. Bex was straight-A—"

"And straight-laced," Mom laughs cutting in. When I give her a scowl, she pats my knee. "I'm teasing, Holden. Gosh. I just know you two have unfinished business. And the timing is perfect, with her back in town. Which is why I assumed...."

"You assumed wrong. My agent wanted me to do something nice for my hometown. This seemed like a good fit. But it doesn't have anything to do with Bex."

I don't tell Mom that of course it has to do with Bexley. Even though I had no idea she'd be here ... for me, the theater is completely tied up with Bex. The only reason I had the balls to move to LA in the first place was because Bex spent four years telling me I could do anything.

And it all began on the high school stage.

"Look," I say, exhaling. "Can we focus on something besides Bex?"

"I know she broke your heart, Holden—"

"Please." I raise my hands, ending the conversation.

Mom and Lindy accept my request, and begin discussing the single men that Lindy could possible hook Mom up with.

I look back at my phone, at the words Trenton wrote for me, wondering how I’m supposed to give a speech to all these people when I know Bex is in the crowd.

The girl who wrote the initials for Hollywood Holden on my chest, prompting me to tattoo them on my heart. Giving me the courage to chase my dreams.

The girl who walked away—but the girl I never wanted to lose.

* * *

Chapter 4

Bexley

I'm pretty much a mess.

After work, I go back to my parents’ house, where I'm living this semester. I take a shower, and change my clothes three times. Then I FaceTime my best friend Sami and beg her to tell me what looks best.

She's sitting on her bed in a tiny apartment, walking distance to Northern California University, where she and I both attended college. She’s wearing acid-washed jeans and bangle bracelets, and she’s rocking blue eyeliner as if this is a cheesy 80's movie. Our fashion sense is about as far apart as you could possibly get.

Still, Sami is also undeniably honest, and I need that right now.

"They all look the same," she tells me, before snapping her gum. "I think you need to go bold. This is Holden we're talking about."

"Exactly. It's Holden. Holden who probably hates me. Holden who deserves my very best."

I frown, assessing my options. I call my style classic. Black cigarette pants, white blouses knotted at the waist, black flats. My thick brown hair in a high bun, and red lipstick. Yes, my style icon is Audrey Hepburn, but it honestly never fails me.

"I have that dress,” I say. “With the patent leather belt?"

"No. It's too sweet."

"I am sweet."

Sami laughs. "You're not sweet; you're just repressed."

"Haha."

"Seriously though, if you think you owe this guy an apology, go big with it. Give him what you denied him all those years ago. It's your one shot."

Sami knows everything about Holden. As my freshman roommate, she heard all the details as I hashed out my history with the rising star.

"I'm not going to sleep with him. I'm going to apologize."

"Well," she says, propping her phone up on her desk as she reapplies lip-gloss. "You're never gonna move on until you fuck that boy’s brains out. You've never moved on, and you won't until you offer him what you were too scared to give him four years ago."

"Sami, don't. I can't sleep with Holden. That's beyond insane." I blow air out of my cheeks, still looking at my wardrobe. It's full of the exact same things I've worn forever. With a pang, I realize I've been using the same lines forever, too.

I can't.

"Maybe you're right," I admit.

Sami's eyes bug out and she pulls her phone to her face. "I know I'm right. Oh my god. Would you really do this? Do him?"

I laugh-slash-groan. "I don't know. I mean, four years later and I'm still saving my virginity for a relationship that ended a long time ago. I've been thinking about it a lot lately ... and I think I need to do this if I want a chance to move on. I've always said I wanted a do-over good-bye with him, and an opportunity to apologize for the way I treated him back then. Maybe this is my chance."

"This is so hot. Back at the old school, in a theater. You should fuck him on stage. That would be so sexy."

"Sami, he might not be interested. I mean, I really hurt him. And he sleeps with someone new every week. Or more. He's a certified man-whore, just like he's always been. The odds aren't in my favor. I'm guessing he'll be fielding plenty of other offers tonight.”

"That didn't stop you from falling for him once before."

"No, no, no. I said sleep with him, not fall for him. I may be considering the most reckless thing of my life, but I am not an idiot."

"Whatever. You need to hurry and get ready. I bet you're a mess down there."

"Sami," I scowl. "For your information, virgins still know how to groom themselves." I look at my clothes. "You know, I think I'm going to stick to a classic Bex outfit. One new thing is plenty. And this is pretty big thing."

"Well, you certainly don't need a push-up bra with your knockers," Sami says, laughing. "But do you at least have a thong?"

"I may never have seen an actual dick in my life, but I can handle covering my lady parts."

"Geesh, okay, woman." She laughs, shaking her head. "And listen, Bex," she says, her tone sincere, "don't overthink it. If the timing is right, you'll know it."

"I love you."

"Love you more." She grins. "Hey, next time we talk you might have had your cherry popped. By the sexiest man in America."

"Oh my god, I'm hanging up now."

"Love you, Sexy-Bexy!"

I give her an air kiss and hang up, smiling despite myself.

This might be the most insane thing I have ever attempted, but it’s actually the only way I can apologize to Holden and make him believe that I mean it.

He deserves the best, and God knows I gave him the worst.

I slip on a pair of bright white panties and a lacy bra. Looking at my body, I run my hands over my skin as I rub lotion on my legs and arms. I watch myself in the mirror, taking inventory of my dark eyes and dark hair, my defined cheekbones and slender neck. My body hasn't changed much since I last saw Holden, but goodness knows I've spent more time exploring my pussy than I ever did in high school.

I may be a virgin, but I bought myself a vibrator the moment I graduated high school.

And right now, remembering Holden ... I think about pulling it out.

One more look at myself in the mirror. I see my nipples hardening through my lacy bra. I run a hand over them, turning myself on at the idea of Holden's fingers grazing them later tonight.

Impulsively, I stand, lock my bedroom door, and turn on some music. Loudly. Then I open my underwear drawer, pulling out my trusty pink vibrator.

I slip off my panties and slide under my duvet cover on my bed. It doesn't take much for my body to warm up to the idea of a quick orgasm. Getting myself off is the only way I’ve ever experienced release.

But maybe tonight that will change.

As I turn my vibrator on, parting my legs, I think about Holden's body over mine, his mouth on my breasts, sucking them softly. His fingers grazing my pussy, circling my clit, the same way I roll the head of my vibrator over myself now, in slow circles, hovering over my hood, grinding deeper into my folds. Without any prodding, I think about the man I've wanted for so long. Forever.

My body loves this fantasy, and with my eyes closed, I let my knees fall apart, and let my mechanical cock pulse deeper inside me. I move it in and out of my pussy, over my g-spot, as it purrs in delight.

I'm purring, too. With my other hand, I finger myself, letting the simultaneous sensations—circling fingers and the pulsing vibrator—inch me toward ecstasy.

I remember the times Holden and I stood so close that our breath mingled, our mouths parted, our lips nearing one another. In real life, every time we would get this close, this intimate, I would pull away ... but not in my fantasy.

In the fantasy I give in. I let his clothes fall away and his hands force my legs to spread. He pushes his pulsing cock in my untainted entrance, pumping me over and over again as I come all over him.

My thighs shake now, trembling as I move the speed higher on my vibrator, my come drenching my pussy and my hand as I circle myself. I muffle my moans with a pillow, and my body goes slack as I orgasm.

I moan, imagining—for the millionth time in my life—Holden taking over my body. Lying in the bed, with damp sheets and slick thighs, I tell myself that the next time I orgasm it will be with Holden. Maybe if I focus on this fantasy, it will come to life.

After, I shower again and dress quickly, knowing that my self-indulgence means I'm cutting it awfully close to being late. I expertly pin my hair up and head to the kitchen to say good-bye to my parents.

"I might be out late. There will probably be a lot of old classmates at the unveiling of the theater."

"Okay, sweetie. I feel a little guilty that we aren't going," Mom says, setting two steaming green bean casseroles on the kitchen counter.

As always she makes double of everything. Dad will drop off the extras off at the homeless shelter tomorrow on his way to school, where he's a shop teacher. Mom teaches Home-Ec. They both say teaching practical skills to young people is the best job in the world—rewarding, too. When they aren’t teaching, they volunteer.

My parents are the most selfless people I know. Always have been.

"Don't feel bad. It’s going to be a mad house anyway," I tell her, not wanting her there anyway, when I see Holden for the first time in four years.

"I'm sure you're right, as always," she says. "Be safe," she adds, giving me a side hug.

"Of course." Then I lean over and give Dad a kiss on the cheek. He's reading the paper at the kitchen table.

"I see your old friend Holden will be there, with all his fanfare," Dad says, pointing to an article on the front page of our local paper. He's always hated Holden—he and Mom both. It didn't help that they worked at the school in which he displayed plenty of attention-seeking antics. "Did you see that the theater is going to be named after him? For heaven's sake."

"Well." I shrug. "It is his theater."

"Humph. Doesn't seem like he's changed at all."

"I didn't think they even announced the name? I thought that was saved for tonight?"

"You're right," Dad says. "But this reporter claims to have the inside scoop. Not to mention half the faculty have been asking about it."

I try not to roll my eyes. "Dad, I know you've always hated Holden. You and Mom have made that blatantly clear, since … well, since forever. But I seriously haven't spoken to him in four years. So."

I have no idea who or what I'm defending.

"Nobody hates anyone, sweetie," Mom says, trying to smooth things over. "We trust your judgment implicitly. Always have."

I leave the house confident, but once I’m in my car alone my face drops to a frown. I've spent forever making my parents proud.

Maybe my hastily hatched planned to sleep with Holden is ridiculous.

Maybe it's a shitty thing to do, to try and make things right by offering someone my body.

But it isn't just anyone.

It's Holden.

I turn on the car, and drive back to the school, not knowing if we’ll be able to pick up where we left off. Or even if he'll want to.

But I know what I want.

* * *

Chapter 5

Holden

Of course I see her the moment I step onto the platform outside the theater.

You couldn't not see someone like Bexley.

She's always been poised, definitive. Set apart. It's no different now. Her back is straight, shoulders square; her hair is in a high bun and her lips are ruby red. She's a classic beauty, though I don't think she's ever thought of herself that way.

She was raised by parents who valued selflessness above all else. And to that end ... well, Bex never wanted to be an actress as a way to be famous. Her motives were pure. She loved the idea of bringing something to life, loved the craft.

Bexley was always better than me.

And that made me love her in ways I was never old enough to understand. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized how special our connection was.

But the whole time we were best friends, I also had my fair share of high school one-night stands and flings. And I know every sexual encounter I had pushed Bexley further from my grasp.

I was just way too fucking immature to realize it at the time.

But damn—seeing her now, I realize what a fucking fool I was to never tell her how I felt.

She's only gotten hotter in the four years we've been apart. Her tits have always been perfect, but now I see them strain against the buttons of her white button-up blouse, teasing me with the idea of ripping it off her, seeing for the first time what I've always wanted. Her red lips are pouty, and she isn't smiling ... but damn, I can imagine those lips on mine.

Something that has never happened. Not even once.

Fuck, now is not the time to get a hard-on, not when I'm front and center at my old high school with a thousand people here for the photo-op and the press all around. And damn, there are a lot of women here hoping to get my attention.

In fact, I recognize a hell of a lot of the people I grew up with. All of the girls, those cheerleaders I fucked in the locker room, the girls who pretended to be strippers at Friday night parties so I would tuck dollar bills in their g-strings, the girls who gave me blow jobs while I watched porn on the laptop.

I was a fucking asshole to most of these girls.

I look away. Shit, I don't really wanna face that part of my past.

Right now, I only want to see Bexley. But my desire for her makes me feel like a weak-ass motherfucker. She's the one who walked away, rejected what I offered. I shouldn't want her, not after all this time.

But hell, not seeing her for so long allowed me to pretend that she never had a hold of my fucking heart.

And with one look, I know the truth: I need her as badly right now as I always have.

She isn't smiling back at me. Instead, she's clapping politely along with the rest of the crowd. They’re all standing and watching me as the principal of Tolling High shakes my hand in front of the entrance to the new theater.

"We're so pleased to be welcoming back our own hometown star, Holden Hatfield. This beautiful theater is a gift from him. And, to that end, let's thank him with another round of applause."

As I adjust the mic, I grin, flashing the cameras my most stunning smile, deciding that Bexley may not have wanted me before, but damn if I'm not going after her now. Fuck letting her go. One look at her, and the wave of memories crashes down.

This theater is for her, and I'm fucking lying to myself if I pretend it isn't. I don't need Trenton's canned speech. I've always killed it at improv; I can wing it now.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight," I address the audience. "I know that I wasn't exactly a star student back in the day. I remember spending half of my time here in in-school suspension." I smile, shake my head in a self-deprecating way as a small laugh rolls over the crowd. "But the other half was spent on stage. The drama department at Tolling High gave me a place to shine. And I want every student at Tolling to find their place, too."

The audience claps and I smile. I dreaded coming here tonight, facing my past, but shit, it’s actually pretty damn nice to be received so well by the people who thought I was a joke before I left town.

But as I look around, I'm once again reminded that not everyone thought I was a joke.

Bexley sure as hell never did.

"I'd like to dedicate this new theater to every aspiring actor in Tolling. I hope this theater can give you a place to stretch your wings and soar." I pause, wanting Bexley's attention as I finish my speech. "And I'd also like to dedicate it to our own Bexley Maddon. She’s the reason I’m where I am today. She was my biggest fan, and believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. So, without further ado, Principal Pratt, will you do the honors?"

Principal Pratt tugs on the cord concealing the signage to the theater. After the unveiling, the audience will be invited inside for a talent show put on by students, but I won't need to stay for that.

This is the moment I came all this way for.

The canvas falls, revealing the name: Belden Theater at Tolling High School.

No one else is going to understand the name—they might think it's a blatant typo—but I don't care.

It's my theater, and I can name it anything I want.

I watch for Bexley's reaction. She knows, remembers. She understands. She bites her lip, containing a smile.

But not me. I beam, and clap as Principal Pratt returns to the stage to thank me again and welcome everyone to the Talent Show and reception.

I stand, wave, and then allow Lindy to whisk me to the sidelines as the crowd moves toward the entrance. It takes about thirty minutes to get through the throng of former classmates who are apparently dying to see me again. A cluster of Lisas-Kaylees-Jens try to get my attention, but I wave them off, trying to keep these interactions brief so that my focus is reserved for the only person I actually want to see.

The person I'm shocked is here at all.

She made it pretty damn clear what I meant to her four years ago.

Eventually, Lindy takes my arm and leads me from the crowd toward the limo.

"That went well," Lindy laughs, looking back at the women who came tonight with a single motivation: getting the famous Hollywood Holden in bed, knowing my reputation. "Now," she presses. "Are you gonna tell me what the name is about? For the theater? You kept it on the down-low for months."

I shake my head. Some inside jokes are best kept under wraps.

"Okay, your call," Lindy says, knowing I'm not one to be easily swayed. "I think this went really well. A perfect Op-Ed piece for the reporters who came out. Everyone loved you. I mean, the ladies at least."

I press my hand on her back, guiding her toward the limo now that the crowd has dissipated.

"Listen, Lindy, I'm gonna stay here for a bit, you mind getting my mom home?"

"Uh, no problem—she's already in the limo, anyway—but are you sure? This crowd could get rowdy."

"I'm cool. I just want to check out the old stomping grounds is all.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bexley watching me from the distance. I instinctively remove my hand from Lindy's back, and hate the swift way I did so. By the time I look back toward Bex, I see she's already headed toward the parking lot.

She isn't even staying to talk to me.

Still doesn't want to walk back, look me in the eye. Explain.

"All right," Lindy says. "I promised your mom drinks anyhow."

"You're going out on the town with my mom? You know you're only, like, thirty and don't need to hang out with her, right?"

"Your mom is more fun than mine. And I never get to go out. I'm always babysitting your ass." She laughs and keeps talking. "Text me if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you later. A car will be here at noon tomorrow to get you."

"Fantastic. Thanks again for everything. Let Trenton know it went well, will you?" I can't end this dialogue fast enough. Lindy is a great assistant, but she’s no Bexley.

She nods, then walks away. I turn back to where I last saw the tall brunette with the narrow waist and round ass.

I sprint over to her. Call out her name.

"Bex, wait up."

It's not beneath me to chase her.

In fact, looking at her now, I'm reminded that I should have started sprinting a long-ass time go.

* * *

Chapter 6

Bexley

He touches her in a way that screams intimacy. And yeah, all it took was that quick flash of hand-on-back to be reminded of why I could never compete with girls like her.

I mean, there were like twenty women up in Holden’s grill the moment he got off stage, practically begging him to take them home and fuck them.

I remember him telling me that he lost his virginity at fourteen, to the next-door neighbor. She was a seventeen-year-old senior who straddled him on her mother's couch.

I remember feeling so jealous at the time—of all of it.

Of the girl who was able to take what she wanted.

Of Holden, who recounted the story with a boyish grin.

Of the sex in general, because even then I knew that all I wanted was to lose my virginity to him, but I was terrified of what that said about me.

Holden was the guy who never outgrew blow jobs in the school parking lot, never outgrew getting high before math class. Never outgrew detention for cutting class.

And the fact that he was the one I wanted? I could never make sense of it.

So I drew a line in the sand, and decided he was off limits.

But looking at those women tonight who fawned all over him, I'm reminded of those pangs I felt when we were at school together. How I wished I were braver, more reckless. Less Bex, more sex.

Cheesy, but freaking true.

And I can't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the woman who’s standing with him now, after everyone else has left, the woman who’s laughing with Holden as they linger at the limo.

Probably his new girlfriend. New fuck buddy. New lover.

New whatever.

I can't believe I thought I could actually hook up with him tonight. Who am I kidding?

Moving toward the parking lot, I'm shocked at the tears in my eyes, blinding me.

Why am I crying over a boy I pushed away?

Only because deep down, I want him so badly.

I always have.

"Bex, wait up," he calls.

Holden is here. His hand on my shoulder. Pulling me around.

"Bex," he says again. He's out of breath. He ran after me. "We're in the parking lot."

I look around, at the cars, the football field in the distance, the ground. Anywhere but Holden's face. Because I can't.

"Kinda funny, right?" he asks. "To meet back at the very place we said good-bye."

I can't help it. I lift my chin, raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Said good-bye?" I ask, my heart catching—because one look at him and it's like no time has passed. Like we didn't just spend four years apart. Like I never cut him off.

He laughs, that effortless Holden laugh. The laugh that causes shivers to cover my skin and my breath to catch. The laugh that reminds me of everything we shared. The laugh that makes my longing for what we almost had palpable.

His bright eyes squint, remembering me at my worst. "It was more of a yelling, screaming, all-out brawl, wasn't it?" He presses his lips together before adding more softly, "And, to be fair, it was more of a curtain call, wasn't it, Bex?"

I nod, blinking fast, knowing the tears are going to spill no matter what. And they do; running in rivers down my cheeks.

In a flood, just like my tears, my words rush out. "I'm sorry for never calling. For never ... for never explaining ... for never giving you—"

Before I can finish—and who am I kidding, I clearly am not going to be able to finish that sentence—Holden folds his arms around me.

I breathe him in. His arms wrapped around me feel the same, like a night sky full of stars. Majestic and luminous and so very far from my grasp. It's like … he's right here, I'm literally in his arms, but there has always, always been something between us as thick as the atmosphere.

My fear. His recklessness. Our spoken and unspoken desires.

But four years is a long time. Stars don't burn that long, do they?

"I can't believe you named the theater Belden," I tell him, my face against his shirt, inhaling him. I know in an instant that my deepest fantasy could come to life tonight. I know, with his arms wrapped tight around me, that it will.

"You remembered," he says.

"When it comes to you, there isn't much I've forgotten," I admit.

"I personally always thought our take on Brangelina was remarkable."

I look up at him and step away, knowing that I owe him more than brushing all of this under the carpet. Laughing at the past and skirting our "curtain call" isn't fair. Not to him.

"I was a crappy friend," I tell him.

Holden laughs uneasily. "Friends? That's what we were?"

"I was scared."

"And now?" He tilts his head, watching me closely.

"Oh, I'm pretty much terrified."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared you won't accept my apology, Holden. And I'd deserve that. Four years is a long time."

"Done," he says quickly. "Apology accepted."

"Don't." I shake my head. "Don't just say done. I haven't even properly told you what I'm sorry for."

"Then tell me. If you need to, tell me what you want forgiveness for, Bexley. But the truth is, I could come up with a long list of things I need your forgiveness for, too."

"That's not true. You didn't quit on me. I quit on you."

"I've missed you, Bex."

I shake my head, scared that I'm going to cry again. Damn, seeing Holden makes me regret so much. Everything.

"Let's not do this tonight," he says. "I don't want to make you cry."

"What do you want, Holden?"

He draws in a deep breath, then smiles softly, shaking his head. "Girl, you've always known what I wanted."

I don't push back and say You may have wanted me, but not enough to give up all the other girls you slept with. You wanted me, but not enough to stop smoking pot even though you knew I hated it. You wanted me, but not enough to claim me as yours.

I don't say that. Because four years of silent treatment is more than enough.

And in this moment I don't want anything to ruin what might come next.

"Then take what you've always wanted, Holden. I know it's insane, but I've been saving myself for you."

His jaw tenses. His eyes narrow. He's caught off guard. "Just like that, after all this time?"

I smile, wondering if it will be this easy. This simple. Tell him to take all of me, and let him. "Yes. It's my peace offering."

"Bex," he says softly. "I can't accept that."

"Please." My chin quivers. "Please. Sleep with me. It's all I want."

He shakes his head. "I've never even kissed you, Bexley."

I don't want to walk away the same girl I was. I want Holden to make me a woman.

Tonight.

I step closer to him, lowering my chin, looking into his eyes. "I’ve read enough magazine articles to know you have no problem taking things fast."

"Bex," he says, his breath heavy, his lids hooded. I know he wants this. Has always wanted this.

Wanted me.

"Please, Holden. Don't make me beg."

He cups my face with his hands, lowers his face to mine. "I forgive you, Bexley."

And then his mouth presses against mine. I moan immediately, because I met Holden when I was a freshman in high school and it’s been eight years of waiting. Eight years of imagining kissing him. Eight years of fantasies that involved his hands on my face and his lips on mine.

So I can't help but melt a little now. I lean in to him and his tongue slips into my mouth, our kiss deepening as his hand moves to the base of my neck. I sink into his hold, into his mouth and body … and oh, he tastes as good as I imagined.

My body is alive, ignited with this desire that I've always kept firmly behind the line. Ignited with the longing that I’ve held for too long.

My knees are weak, but my conviction is strong.

I'm finally going to have the night I've been waiting my entire life for.

* * *

Chapter 7

Holden

She wants me. I can feel it in the kiss. The kiss that I’ve quite possibly been waiting eight years for.

We pull apart, gasping for breath.

"Let's go somewhere," I tell her. I pause, thinking. The last thing I want to do is drag Bex to the local motel and create fodder for the tabloids. She's not just one of my hook-ups. "My mom's house? I know, not very Hollywood movie-star-like ... but Bex, I can't wait. Not after that kiss."

Her eyes are filled with desire, her lips swollen, her back arched as she looks up at me and nods.

"I can't believe we made out in the high school parking lot," she says. "I mean, at least it's Friday night—but still, I work here now, you know."

"I heard." I take her hand. "Uh, I don't actually have a car. Can you drive?"

She leads me to the small beat-up Volvo she drove in high school, and unlocks the door. Sitting in the passenger seat, I look over at her and shake my head.

"Memory lane, right?" she says, putting the car in reverse. I'm guessing she's also remembering the times she would answer her phone late on a Friday night, and come pick me up from whatever party I had gotten sloppy drunk at. Or maybe she's remembering the party we got sloppy drunk at together and slept in this car.

The night of our second-worst fight.

"Have you ever drank from a beer bong since that night?" I ask her.

"Nope." She shakes her head. "And I never will."

"I remember being shocked that you went all-in that night."

"I was in a bad mood if I remember correctly." She raises her eyebrows, keeps her eyes on the road.

I don't say any more about that night. I remember why she was mad. Because I asked Kiera to prom instead of her.

But that was only after I heard her backstage, before our final performance of Oklahoma!, telling a girl that no, she did not want to go to prom with Holden. That Holden was a player, and would only try to get in her pants.

"I don't want to live in the past, not tonight," I tell her, running a hand through my hair.

"Good," she says, rounding the corner and pulling up to my house. "Because I don't want to either."

I unlock the front door, and pull her upstairs. Even though I've offered to buy my mom a new place, she's still living in the townhouse where I grew up. I push open my bedroom door, and smile. I like that nothing has changed.

The room is dark; I turn on a lamp, letting a soft glow cover the room.

"I haven't been in your room for ages," Bexley says. "Oh my gosh, look." She points to a bulletin board filled with pictures from high school. Programs from every play Bex and I were in together are taped to the wall. "I'm back at my parents’ house for this semester while I student teach, but they re-did the room the moment I left for college. My childhood is in a plastic bin in the garage."

"I thought we weren't talking about the past," I tell her, taking her hand and pulling her to face me.

"You're larger than life now, Holden—a huge movie star," she says, taking pins out of her hair and letting the brown locks fall past her shoulders. "But when I'm standing here in this room, all I see is the boy I knew. The boy I knew could do anything."

"Bex," I whisper, "You're so beautiful."

"Shush. You're just saying that to get me naked."

It's strange to see Bexley like this, so willing to give in to the sexual frustration that’s boiled between us for so long.

"Did you come to the school tonight planning on having your way with me?" I ask her, my fingers undoing the buttons of her blouse until a slice of her skin is revealed.

"Yes, Holden, I did."

She lets her top fall to the floor, then takes my hands and leads them to the buttons on her pants. Her skin is warm, and it feels like I'm undressing something precious and delicate—and much too tender for an asshole like me. Like I'm being given a gift I don't deserve. Bexley walked away from me … but I gave her plenty of reasons to go.

Her pants drop, and she stands before me in tiny pure-white panties and a lacy bra. She looks like a goddess, like a nymph from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She is a dream, a woman more magical than I've ever had standing before me.

"You're perfect, Bex," I tell her, pulling off my shirt and stepping toward her. I kiss her again, harder this time, with more force. Because I’m no longer merely infatuated with the idea of Bexley; I’m consumed with the knowledge that I am going to have her, tonight.

I run my hands over her back, up and down her spine, settling a palm on her curvy ass. I squeeze her softly, and my cock is instantly hard because I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long, damn time.

"Once I start touching you, I won't be able to stop," I promise.

"Good." Her lips part, and I run my hand over her full breasts, tugging down the lace cup of her bra and pressing my mouth to her hard nipple, sucking her perfect tit as her hands run though my hair. "I've saved myself for this moment, Holden."

I pull my mouth from her tit, using my other hand to unclasp her bra—because fuck, I just need to see her bare before me. "Saved all of yourself?" I ask as her breasts fall from her bra, so full and made to be titty-fucked, crass as it may sound. I want to push my cock between them until I come all over her face.

I know I should imagine more gentle things with Bexley, but I’ve fantasized fucking her for so many years.

I'd be a liar to say I hadn't imagined taking her every single possible way.

"I've saved every inch of my skin. My mouth has only been kissed by other actors. Never a boyfriend. Never a lover. I've waited for you. I always wanted you to be my first."

I'll also be her last, but I don't say it out loud, not wanting to scare her with my desire. Still, I can't hold back anymore. My cock is so stiff and needy.

I pick her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her to my bed where I plan on pulling off her panties and admiring her pious pussy, a pussy saved for me.

Setting her on the bed, I tell her to lie back. Her head rests against the pillow of the twin-sized bed, and I unbutton my slacks. They fall to the floor and I step out of them.

"Have you ever seen a cock before, Bex?"

She shakes her head, a smile spread across her lips, as if knowing she's in for a fucking treat. You don't have as much pussy as I do without a cock that porn stars dream of. She must have heard rumors.

I take off my briefs, and my thick cock springs to life. I stroke it, letting her know it doesn't bite, and watch as innocence is wiped from her face.

She sits up, as if the idea of lying back is ludicrous. She wants to see my cock up close; she wants to get real personal. She sits on the edge of the bed, her perfect tits full and perky.

Her mouth is at my waist, and if I pressed her face a few inches closer she could be licking my length in a matter of moments.

"Holden, show me how to touch you."

If there’s one thing I remember about Bex, it's that when she wants to learn something, she goes all-in. I remember her staying behind at the theater, refusing to leave until she nailed every one of her cues, every one of her lines, until she could deliver every inflection with precision.

That’s what made her such an amazing actress.

And that’s what is going to make her such an amazing lover.

My lover.

* * *

Chapter 8

Bexley

His cock is huge. Which is something I prepared myself for ... in theory. But in reality? Oh, holy hotness.

Everything inside me is screaming to get closer. All I want is him. In me. Anywhere in me. My mouth. My pussy. My ... well, I haven't ever considered it, but yeah, my ass is just fine. If it means his long, thick, throbbing cock is all up in my grill, I will take it any way it is offered.

Also, maybe I judged those girls too harshly back in high school, those girls who were willing to jack him off in the library or meet him for a quickie after sixth period. I'm beginning to understand it now. They’d seen him naked, had him inside of them, and knew what he was capable of.

I want to know what he’s capable of.

"Holden, show me," I ask again, wanting to get it perfectly right, if this is our one and only shot at being together. Not wanting to mess up or do it wrong. I know I won't have more chances to sleep with the biggest movie star in Hollywood.

Holden just smiles, "Girl, you can't do it wrong. It's instinct. It's human nature. It's biology. You do what feels good, what feels right. The rest takes care of itself."

"Says the person in the room who is decidedly not the virgin."

"Listen, trust yourself. Trust this moment," he says. His abs are rock-hard, chiseled and tan. He strokes his cock, and I'm at eye level. If I'm supposed to listen to my instincts—follow human nature—then right now I need to wrap my lips around his length and suck.

Which … when exactly did I become so comfortable with the idea of Holden and me?

Maybe because I’ve been imagining it for so long.

I lick my lips, spread my legs, and grab his ass, drawing him closer to me. He drops his hands, watching me. I feel his gaze as I gingerly reach for him, and stroke his shaft.

I listen to my body and lick the palm of my hand, before bringing it back to his cock, moving up and down with ease. His tip is soft and his length is veiny, hard, and throbbing. My other hand reaches lower, rolling his two tight balls in my fingers.

"Oh, fuck, Bex," he groans. "That’s...."

"Good?" I smile, looking at him as he runs his hand through his hair, shakes his head. And I know he likes it. A lot.

I lick the tip of his cock, wanting to taste him, and as I bring him in my mouth my pussy seems to awaken. I clench myself together—a pointless effort, because I am soaking my silky panties through, seeping with excitement because his cock is in my mouth.

I wrap my mouth tight around him and begin bobbing up and down, keeping my mouth tight as I suck hard. He's so big, but I like it, my mouth being filled with him like this. Entirely.

I keep sucking, feeling his dick harden in a way I didn't know was possible.

Then his hands find my breasts, and he plucks my nipples. In an instant my panties are soaked clean through, and that's just fine. I want them off anyway.

I want to be completely bare before Holden, and I want to let him do to my body what he likes.

I want him to take me and lick me and fuck me.

And then I want to fall asleep in his arms for just one night.

He comes in my mouth, hard, his cock hitting the back of my throat as his release fills my mouth. It's creamy and salty and him. I swallow, still sucking because it feels like that's what he needs. I run my hands over his firm ass, pulling him as close to me as possible.

When he finishes, he pulls out, looking down at me, shaking his head. "Bex, who the hell have you become?"

I resist the urge to say yours. He and I made no promises, not since the day I broke them. And I won't ask him to make any now.

"I need you in me, Holden. It's what I've wanted for so long."

He seems to growl, not able to say a sentence, not even a single word. Instead he just eases me back on the bed, and pulls my panties off. His hands run over my thighs, spreading my legs; his head lowers to my skin and he kisses my tender inner thighs. I bite my lip, because Holden is actually inches from my pussy, his fingers fluttering over my mound.

The heat of his breath blows against my entrance, and I whimper in anticipation.

His tongue moves over my slit, running up and down, causing me to close my eyes, drop my shoulders. Any apprehension I had about doing this, with Holden, has dissipated. I know this is for just one night, and my life is so far from his ... but I’m finally making right the wrongs of my past.

Forgiveness has never felt so good.

His fingers roll over my clit, moving in circles, over and over again, teasing me with a touch that’s all new to me, and forcing me into submission. I have zero body control at this point. All I have is the way he makes me feel.

The way he’s always made me feel: vulnerable and over my head and out of control, in a way that I always knew would be dangerous.

Because I always knew that I need the line in the sand, because I knew that if I crossed it I would never return to solid ground.

"Girl, you're so ready," he groans, rising closer to me, his finger still buried in my pussy, come-hithering against my folds as my release soaks his hand. My thighs are slick, but he keeps his finger inside me, easing me farther and farther out, to the point of no return.

My eyes flutter open; his chest hovers over me. He reaches into the bedside table and grabs a condom, slipping it on as I catch my breath. My body is so warm, so completely spun up.

I run my hand over his bronzed chest, over the tattoo he got on his eighteenth birthday. "Do you regret it?" I ask, tracing the double H emblazoned on his skin.

I drew them in Sharpie, the letters HH, representing his dream and my belief that he would become Hollywood Holden. I marked him with those letters in the green room before the opening-night performance of Our Town ... when he second guessed his ability to deliver the lines. He thought for sure he was going to eff it up.

I remember holding my tongue, wanting to tell him to stop coming to rehearsal high if he wanted to do better … but I never wanted to be that person to him. To be his mother.

Instead, I got the Sharpie and wrote the letters on his chest. I wasn't nervous to be so close to his bare skin. Holden and I poured out our hearts on the stage every day; this was nothing more than a pep talk.

"You're Hollywood Holden. You're bigger than Our Town, and bigger than this town. You can do this, Holden. You can." I looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand.

"Thanks, Bex," he'd said, looking at his ink in the mirror. "You're the only person I can count on to make me feel better."

I remember wishing that his words were true. Because he could have had me if he'd stopped the partying and the girls, and quit being so blasé about school. If he would have taken something seriously. Taken us seriously.

But I would never have asked him to change for me.

If I was going to be with him, he'd have to change on his own.

"Hey," Holden says now, looking down at me. "There’s so much I regret, Bex. But that tattoo? Never."

I nod, remembering sitting with him at the tattoo shop. His knuckles were white, even though he so wanted to be a badass who could take it. I kept laughing at him, because it was funny to see him freaking out as the needle neared him.

But I also remember being amazed by him. Because by that point I already knew I wasn't going to follow him to LA, and I had no clue how to tell him, but he sat there tattooing his destiny on his skin, sealing his fate. There was no going back.

Maybe I should have gotten words inked on my skin that day, too.

I wonder what it would have changed.

And now, Holden's eyes are on me, and while in reality nothing has changed, a lot has. He eases his cock into my opening, the tip of it pressing in me, and I close my eyes again. The relief of finally getting this moment with him, throwing all caution to the wind, is overwhelming.

"You okay, Bex?" Holden asks, his arm cradled under me as his other hand guides his cock into my tight pussy, widening me. It hurts. But also ... it feels so right.

"It's okay, just push through," I tell him, then laugh at my own indelicate phrasing. "It's okay."

His cock is so big, and my body stretches to hold him. When he’s in me, filling me, I open my eyes; my mouth drops open into an O, because oh, holy shit, this is bliss.

He starts moving in me, deepening our connection. My pussy throbs with pleasure as his cock presses tight against my pussy walls, every ridge of him hard and alive and pulsing within me. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he snakes an arm around my back, holding me to him.

He rocks against me as I near climax, looking down into my eyes, and I know he sees me the way I see him.

What could have been.

I moan in pleasure, tears in my eyes, as an orgasm floods over me. It breaks down every barrier I’ve built to keep myself from feeling so much goodness, all at once. My trusty vibrator is a joke in comparison. His cock presses deep in me as he holds still, coming in my pussy, and I wish for a stupid moment that there was no condom on his cock. I want all of him in me, no barriers on his end either.

Our bodies are sweaty, and we can't speak, so instead he kisses my lips, my forehead, my neck and my nose. He rolls to my side, not letting me go, and all I can think is finally.

Finally.

Finally.

* * *

Chapter 9

Holden

When we wake in the middle of the night, Bexley looks more beautiful than ever. She's glowing, her skin drenched with sweat and her long brown hair covering her full tits. Nestled in my arms, she’s the perfect fit. Even though the twin-sized bed requires her to be smooshed up against me, I don't mind. Not in the least.

Maybe she and I could be everything we haven't had the chance to be before.

"Oh, crap," she says, sitting up. "What time is it?"

I look at my phone. "It's after three," I tell her.

"I've got to go. My parents will be worried."

I raise an eyebrow. "Still got a curfew?"

"Not a curfew, but I know they'll expect me to be home. I don't want to worry them."

Instantly, I'm reminded of dozens of similar conversations with Bexley. What she can't do, or can't be, or can't try, because her parents will be disappointed, angry, sad, scared.

Never anything about what she actually wants. Who she wants to be.

"Them. Right." I nod, getting up from bed and slipping on my boxers, even though what I really want to do is lift her ass up and test out her pussy from another angle. She has no fucking clue how hot she is in bed. "You okay to drive?"

"We didn't get wasted, we slept together," she says, pulling on her black pants. White blouse. Ballet flats. Still the quintessential Bex uniform, even after all this time.

Damn it looks good on her.

"Maybe not wasted, but I sure as hell ruined you."

"Ha," she deadpans. "Sorry, to leave like this, but...."

"It's cool. I'll walk you out."

At her car, I open her door, not wanting her to get inside. Not knowing exactly what I do want.

Her. Me. Everything?

"Can I call you?" I ask.

"Call me?" She furrows her brow. "Like, to get coffee or something?"

I shrug, feeling a tinge of rejection. "Or, like, something more."

"Uh. Sure," she says, with little enthusiasm. She hands me her phone, has me send myself a text so I have her number.

"Right. Well, then." I pause. Why did this just get so fucking awkward?

Maybe because I literally never get myself into a situation where I ask a girl out for a second time. Hell, even a first time. I do hook-ups and threesomes, and giving out my number isn't something that comes with that territory. My assistant, Lindy, fields my calls. I don't make dates.

"Thank you Holden, for accepting my apology. For giving me a chance to finish what we started—what we should have done all those years ago," she says.

Before I can answer, or even fucking process her words, she practically jumps into her Volvo and drives away. The streetlights pour over the dark street as her headlights fade into the distance.

* * *

The next morning, Mom and I go for a long jog. It's my suggestion; I’m hoping it will allow us to avoid talking to one another about the fact that Bexley's car was in the driveway last night.

Mom, though, is never subtle. With our Nikes laced and the pavement dry, we head for a five-mile run, where she apparently plans on discussing everything about last night with me.

"Lindy is so fun. I had no idea. We went to a bar, had a blast. Did karaoke. When’s the last time I did karaoke?"

"I have no idea," I say, impressed with her ability to talk while jogging at such a good clip.

"She says I'm free to come to LA and she'll hook me up with more livin' la vida loca."

"Did she actually use those words?" I ask, re-indexing the Lindy I've known for the last year.

Mom matches me stride for stride, and slaps my arm. "Oh shush. Now," she says, an extra bounce in her step—which is remarkable, in my opinion, considering we're on mile three. "What happened with Bexley?"

"We caught up."

"Did you make up from your fight?"

"Mom, you remember that? It was four years ago?"

"I think everyone remembers."

My jaw tenses. "We made up." When I don't add any more details, Mom takes the hint and drops it altogether, instead using the final two miles to catch me up on my sister Catalina and her summer plans.

Apparently Catalina wants to come out to LA, too.

* * *

The town car comes at noon, as promised by Lindy. She's already texted me three articles documenting my successful theater reveal—though apparently inquiring minds want to know the deal with the theater's name.

I pocket my phone, and tell the driver to head toward Central Ave. I need to see Bex one last time before I go.

The driver stops at her house, and I walk up and knock on her front door.

"Mr. Maddon, good to see you," I say, offering Bex’s father—my former shop teacher—my hand. He looks at it for a solid three seconds before reaching out and shaking it.

Some things never motherfucking change.

"Bex here?" I ask.

He nods curtly before swinging the door open wider, letting me step inside the foyer.

It’s the exact same: same framed Tolling Volunteer of the Year certificates on the wall, same row of shoes by the closet, same table holding a vase of fake sunflowers. Even though Bexley and I spent countless hours at the school theater, I never got further in her house than this front entrance.

"Bexley, Holden's here." Mr. Maddon calls. Turning back to me, he smiles tightly and asks, "Are you just in town for last night's unveiling? Going back to Los Angeles today?"

"Yes," I tell him. "Yes, sir. Uh, I come back a few times a year, but mostly my mom and sister come out and see me."

"I bet."

I narrow my eyes. "What does that mean?"

Mr. Maddon, shrugs, smiling in a way that feels hella condescending. "Isn't that the way it's always been with you, Holden? Always what you want, not considering what other people need?"

This comment really pisses me off. My mom and sister love coming to LA. I hook them up with spa treatments at the Four-fucking-Seasons and get them tickets to any premier I can. To hell with Mr. Maddon and his sweater vest and his family of the year.

But I don't need to justify shit with him.

Instead I smirk, which I'm sure really irritates him. "I'm sure you're right, sir."

Bex walks into the room. Her lips are painted red again, but I know they’re still swollen from last night. Because they were wrapped around my cock for plenty of time.

"Holden," she says, looking confused. "I thought you were headed back to LA?"

"I am, I just wanted to stop and say good-bye."

"Oh," she says, looking at her dad. "Uh, Dad, I'm going out front with Holden."

Once outside, with the door closed, she crosses her arms. "You know my parents hate you."

"Ouch."

"What? Holden, your reputation is the same as it's always been."

"Okay," I say uneasily, not exactly sure what her beef is. "It didn't seem to bother you last night."

She presses her index finger to her lip. "I don't want them to know."

I lean in, whispering, "Don't want them to know what? That you like sucking my cock as much as I like licking your pussy?"

Her face turns beet red, but her eyes cross. "I don't like that kind of talk, Holden. I'm not like your other girls."

I pull away, raise my hands. "Okay. This is not what I fucking expected."

"What did you expect, Holden?" She shakes her head, speaking softly, "Look, last night was amazing, and something I know we’ve both wanted for a really long time. And I thought it was the best way to ask for your forgiveness."

"Seriously? It was a forgiveness fuck?"

"Is that even a thing?" she asks.

"I think you made it one, girl." I step farther away, so fucking pissed. For four years she pushed me away, and now it's like she’s doing it all over again.

"Don't, Holden. Don't walk away mad. I thought we settled things last night."

"Nothing is settled, Bexley." I lift my eyes to the sky, wishing we could be on the same page.

"What do you want from me?" she asks. "I have my life here. I'm student teaching, and I’m about to start my career. Meanwhile, you're starring in action movies where you have maybe twelve lines in an entire ninety-minute film, and you’re on the cover of every magazine with a different Hollywood hottie every week."

"Wow. So that's what you think of me?"

"Is there more?"

"Fuck, Bex. Really? You're going to judge my movie choices now?"

"You're better than that. You could be a real actor."

"And you could be less judgmental."

"I'm not judging you. I'm sorry. That wasn't nice. You are making an amazing career for yourself—not exactly the one I thought you were after, but you're on the cover of every magazine. You’ve made a name for yourself, that's for sure."

"And meanwhile you’re back at Tolling High. But I'm the sell-out."

Of course I moved to LA hoping I'd star in a film that valued me beyond my ripped body and bright smile. But Johnny Jumper was a sure bet, a guaranteed paycheck ... even if I know the movies aren't exactly adding value to the culture.

Changing my career path now is terrifying. What if I'm a hack? What if I'm nothing more than Johnny?

Staring at Bex now, I realize that of course she's the only one who would call me out about my movie roles. She's the one who always believed I was more than a pretty face.

"Last night was incredible," I say, hating that I'm trying to convince her of something we both know is the goddamn truth. "Don't pretend it wasn't."

"Last night wasn't real life. It was something that was a long time coming. It was you and I finally finishing what we started when we were kids."

"So it's finished?" I ask, my voice growing loud. "That's what you're trying to tell me? Last night was your good-bye?"

"I think so, Holden. As long as you're the man you're choosing to be, and I'm the woman I'm choosing to be, I don't think those two people can mesh."

"And you don't want to try?"

"Try what exactly, Holden?" She shakes her head and a tendril of hair falls from her bun. She tucks it behind her ear, licks her lips, not meeting my eyes. But I see a tear fall from her eye. "I think we already made our choices."

"That's fucking bullshit. You haven't changed, Bexley. Not one bit." I ball my hand into a fist, pound it against my other palm. I’m so fucking pissed.

Tears stream down her cheeks and I hate that she doesn't want me to wipe them away.

Fuck that, I know she wants me to. She wants me. But Bexley never gives in to what she really wants. Except last night—that was the single time she's ever followed her heart.

I breathe, meet her gaze, tell her the truth: "You’re still the same scared girl, following orders and ignoring your heart. You're the world-class actor here. Not me."

"I think you should go," she says, wiping her tears.

I turn and walk away.

* * *

Chapter 10

Bexley

As Holden walks away I feel like a legitimate bitch.

But, come on, who am I kidding?

He shows up here in his town car, headed back to LA and a world I know nothing about.

And besides, we said we made up for the past ... but did we really? Did a forgiveness fuck erase anything besides my curiosity about what-if?

Now I have the answer. Holden was amazing in bed. He blew my mind. There’s no denying that.

But when I woke up at three AM, naked in his arms, all I could imagine were the other girls who have ended up in that exact same place in the middle of the night. Pussy aching and lips swollen and nipples still erect.

Am I an insecure girl?

Absolutely. I have never once hid that from anyone, least of all from myself.

And so I tell him to go, because the truth is, we haven't spoken in four years. The truth says an awful lot. If we were really meant for more ... meant to be Beldon, then I doubt either of us could have walked away.

Twice.

But we did.

I call Sami. "So," I tell her. "I did it."

"No fucking way!" Her shriek is deafening and I hold the phone from away to save my eardrums. "Precious little Bexley lost her V-Card. To the hottest man in America. Tell me everything. Was the interview he did for Cosmo true? Does he really like to fuck for hours and then call in room service?"

"I don't know about that. We had sex in his childhood bedroom."

"OMG, that's even better. It's nostalgic. I mean, didn't you two almost kiss there one time?"

"Almost." I regret telling her about the night we stayed up memorizing lines on his carpeted floor. He was Romeo and I was not Juliet. I was playing the part of Juliet's nanny. But I was there to help Holden, reading Juliet’s lines ... and I nearly kissed him as we played our parts.

But, shocker: I pulled back.

Now, on the phone with Sami, I wonder what would have happened if I had leaned in.

"Well," she says. "Tell me ... how was it?"

"It felt like it was supposed to happen. Like it was inevitable."

"A good inevitable though, right?"

"Like perfect inevitable. Everything about it felt so safe and natural, and like ... we fit."

"Soooo," she says, drawing out and exaggerating the word. "When is the wedding?"

"He went home. We aren't a thing. And honestly … I mean, we never will be."

"Okay, back up."

"No, I just—I told him we had made our choices, and I had a good time, and I'm glad he forgave me."

"Wow. I knew you were repressed, but I had no idea my bestie was such a cold, hard bitch."

"Don't be like that. It's complicated."

"Did he want more, Bex?"

"I don't know. He wasn't exactly getting down on one knee."

"And if he had, Bex, what would you have said?"

"It doesn't matter. He wasn't. He wasn't offering me anything."

"But if he was."

"If he was?" I sigh, wondering why I’m giving into Sami's line of questioning, remembering this girl can get me to do anything once she’s planted the seed of an idea into my brain. I should hang up right now. Still, she's my best friend and she deserves an answer. "If he was ... I probably would have still said no."

"Because?"

"Because I'm going to be a teacher. And he's a movie star." I pause, not knowing if I should say more and just be done with it. Done with him.

"And?" Sami presses. Damn, this girl is relentless.

"And I don't trust him, Sami. I never have. He's what bad boy romance novels are made of. Lots of girls. Lots of money. No commitments."

"Right," Sami snorts. "Because you're so comfortable with commitment."

"Okay, I love you, but I'm done with this."

"You're the one who called me, Bex. It's not fair to be pissy with me because you're more comfortable living in your own shadow."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means of course you pushed Holden away. The idea of him and you means you have to figure out why you're back in Tolling, and face the reason you never went to LA in the first place."

The line is silent. Sami and Holden have swallowed a little too much truth serum, because I feel blasted with the reality of how they both think of me.

"Listen, Bex, maybe I crossed a line," Sami says, taking on a softer tone she must know I need. "Maybe you don't want to hear this from me. And that's okay. I love you, and I’m here for you. Why don't you call when you’re ready to talk?"

"Love you, too," I say, not able to muster anything more.

* * *

Monday morning, I go back to teaching, ready to throw my heart and soul into the job like I never have before. I talk with my advising teacher, Rita Childs, asking if I could take anything else off her plate.

Her eyes get wide with excitement. "Honestly, helping get this office cleared out would be amazing." She looks around the full office, the one that she's still using until she can get her stuff moved into the new theater.

"Okay," I say, assessing the space. "I can totally help."

"Really?" Rita asks.

"I'd love to. I'm not exactly a professional organizer, but sometimes making the decisions is the hardest part of decluttering."

"Well, that would be wonderful. I know it goes above and beyond what’s required of your student teaching, but it would help. I'm swamped."

"Oh, really?" I ask, a little surprised. Not to be dismissive, but I don't get the impression the Rita is exactly overworked.

"Well, my mother's in San Diego, and had knee surgery last month. She's recovering slowly, and I'm going out to see her most weekends—but of course there isn’t time for everything."

"Except now you have me," I tell her, smiling.

"I guess I do." She winks. "You know, I was wondering if Holden showing back up was going to make you regret being here at Tolling High. The old drama teacher told me you two were his shining students."

"Right." I raise my eyebrows. "Mr. Pepper was always generous with the compliments."

"Well, I've been hearing about you from more than your old teacher. I've heard your parents gushing about you in the teachers’ lounge since I started teaching here two years ago."

"Kind of awkward," I mumble, wondering what exactly my parents have been saying.

"Not awkward," Rita says, patting my shoulder. "Proud. Proud that you chose to be a teacher, follow in their footsteps. "

"Right. Well, it's nice to know they're proud of me." I smile tightly. "Working together ... just like I always dreamed."

"Well, I'm glad to have you right here, Bexley. The students are too."

I nod, telling myself that the best thing I can do right now is throw myself all-in to this job. This life that I have.

The one I chose. The one I want.

And the mantra works—until Holden calls me late on Monday night.

* * *

Chapter 11

Holden

On the ride home, I don't want to think. I'm so fucking pissed at Bexley.

And the best cure for a mind-fuck is a classic Holden pool party.

I text Jude and Cash.

Me: Party. My place. Tonight. I wanna get lit.

Jude: Rachel says she's in.

Me: And you?

Jude: You know I can't deny my girl and my boy what they want.

Me: Cash?

Cash: Sounds good. But Evie wants to know why you never threw any parties when she lived with you!

Me: She lived with me for like three weeks. Tell her there will be tequila. Lots.

Cash: We're in.

* * *

Several hours later, I've got a DJ on the patio, caterers with trays of food, and plenty of bartenders to mix drinks. I've got this whole last-minute party thing pretty much covered. I know who to call, and when I'm in a bind Jude always seems to have a hook-up.

By the time Cassius and Evie show up, there are people all over my place, topless girls swimming, a bonfire on the beach, and a hot tub filled with what looks like the beginnings of an orgy.

I grin. Bexley doesn't want me? Fine. I'll find someone else who isn't an uptight, critical beotch. Like that girl who's sauntering over to me as we speak, with a string bikini and nice, long legs, perfect for wrapping around my waist.

"Hey, Holden, great party," she purrs, cozying up under my arm. "You always have the best parties."

"Yeah?" I say. Cassius and Evie are walking toward me, drinks in hand. I look down at this girl, mostly only seeing her over-the-top fake tits, and ask, "How do you and I know one another again?"

She laughs. Okay, more of a cackle, and I instantly remember how we know one another. She was an extra on the set of Johnny Jumper 3, and we shared a few nights together. Nothing about them was memorable besides the fact that when she came she laughed like a fucking witch—and not in a sexy witch way. In a what the fuck sort of way.

"Who's your friend?" Evie asks, eyes wide, concealing a smile. She likes to give me a hard time about the women who show up here to ride me.

"Uh, this is...." I look at the girl on my arm, no fucking clue what her name is.

"Coco," she says, lowering her chin and gazing up at Cash, offering him her hand.

He shakes it awkwardly, but doesn't offer her anymore. He looks at Evie, sharing a look only two people head over heels in love can.

Good for them.

"Hey, I'll catch you later, Coco," I tell her, stepping away from her and toward my friends, mouthing Save me to them as we head inside to my living room. As we’re settling into couches with drinks in hand, Jude and Rachel join us.

Jude has his regular doing-my-best-to-keep-this-relationship-alive face on—tight smile and tired eyes. His hand is on Rachel's back.

Rachel is moaning about not being able to drink, and her baby bump is on display.

Jude has already warned us how much she hates the fact that she's having this baby, because it's messing with her ability to drink and because it's making her, apparently, “fat as fuck”—her words, not his. I know better than to mention that I think she looks fucking gorgeous with her round ass and tummy and full breasts.

"Quite the party, asshole," Jude says, greeting us.

Rachel has already decided she’s bored, and leaves for the patio. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, just had my heart broken by the same girl for the second fucking time in my life," I tell him.

"Ouch." Evie grimaces.

"I know. I thought a rager might dull the shot to my heart, but all it seems to be doing is reminding me that I've already fucked half the girls here and never called them back for a reason."

"Who’s this girl?" Cassius asks. "Because I know from motherfucking experience that not fighting for what you really want is a coward's move."

His girl grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles that have the word EVIE in all caps inked across them.

Cash pulls Evie toward him, and she kisses him full on the mouth. I know from hanging out with them every weekend that these two will be straddling one another in about ten minutes, and then excusing themselves to find a secluded spot on my private beach.

Shaking my head, I look at Jude. "She's Bexley. From high school. The girl who fucking got away."

"So what are you gonna do about it?" he asks.

Surprisingly, Evangeline pulls away from Cassius and exclaims, "Bexley? Your old BFF Bexley?" She punches me in the shoulder. "Holden you never told me you loved her."

"What is there to tell?" I shake my head. "We were supposed to move to LA after we graduated high school. She backed out. We hadn't talked in four years."

"Cold," Cassius says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. "You loved her and haven't spoken in four years?"

"Well, we spoke last night, at the theater dedication thing."

Jude laughs, grabbing a beer that a cocktail waitress hands him as she passes by. "Bro, I know what speaking with you means."

"Does it matter, if she still told me she wasn't interested?" I ask.

"Were those her exact words?" Evie asks.

I run my hand through my hair. Damn, these three have worked themselves into my life really damn quick. Cassius never had a crew in LA until he met Evie and me. And Jude, well he and I go way back, but never with real shit. It's always been about partying together, dogging on one another for the movies we worked on. When I first moved to LA we had the same agent. We started out in this town at the same time.

But after the shit went down with Cassius and almost losing Evangeline, we got hella tight. All four of us. Of course, Jude's with Rachel ... but that relationship is way over my fucking head and I stay clear.

I owe them; that's the God's honest truth.

"Fuck, she thinks I'm a player who hasn't changed since school, and I accused her of being the same repressed bitch she used to be."

"Wow, so besides being the movie star of the decade, you're also a complete douchebag," Evie says, laughing, and semi-choking on her margarita.

"You okay, girl?" I ask, smiling. "I mean, not that a douche like me would care."

"You know what I mean," she says, and wipes her mouth with a napkin. "I mean, what do you need to do to get this girl back?"

I groan, falling back against the couch cushions.

"Bex isn’t like other girls."

Cassius laughs. "Right, because Evie and Rachel are so fucking cookie cutter."

"That's not what I mean. I mean ... Bexley is scared silly of anything outside of her comfort zone."

Evie smirks, giving me a satisfied shrug. "Then give her a reason to believe your zone is one she can feel safe in."

"Easier said than done," Jude says. He looks around, probably to make sure his girl is okay—not somewhere doing something that will embarrass her, or him. Rachel has a past as complicated as Cassius's, as far as I can tell.

"Go get her, douchebag.” Cassius waves his hand toward the women strutting all around us. “Don't sit here with these girls, when you could be with the woman of your dreams."

He's right. They all are.

Still, it takes me until Monday night to get the fucking balls to call her.

When I do, she answers.

Maybe she's looking for a way into my "zone" as much as I want her there.

* * *

Chapter 12

Bexley

The last thing I expected was for Holden to call me on Monday. I still don't know what to think of it.

He invited me to a premier—not his, but one of his friend's films that he had tickets to. He said he thought maybe I'd want to “check it out.”

He said it just like that. Like I've ever been to a freaking Hollywood premier before. Like I know the first thing about attending anything on a red carpet. Like he and I are actually friends.

And we're not. Because when you don't talk to someone for four years, and then just let them into your vagina, and then tell them to get off your front lawn the next day, it wouldn't exactly be what I'd call “buddy-buddy.”

Still. It's a premier.

With Holden.

I couldn't say no. I didn't want to say no. So I allowed myself to say yes.

And now, it's Saturday afternoon, and Sami is in my room telling me to go commando. Well, not literally in my room—she's FaceTiming me on my laptop, which is propped on my desk.

"The last thing you want is a panty line," she says, grimacing.

"It feels a little...."

"Like you're saying something with your lack of an undergarment?"

"Pretty much."

"Good, because you are saying something. You’re saying Fuck me please, Holden, and show me what it's like to be Johnny Jumper. Jump my bones."

She moans dramatically and I immediately click down the volume, holding a finger to my lips.

"Language, woman, my parents might hear."

"Oh, you're no fun," she pouts, throwing a kernel of popcorn at her computer. "Just go all-in. He's being nice. I know you said he was a player, but maybe you ruined him. Maybe, after you broke his heart in high school, he had no choice but to sleep with all of Los Angeles."

"I did not ruin Holden," I scoff. "He was sleeping with plenty of people before we took Acting 101 our freshman year."

"That's impressive, to be sleeping around as a high school freshman. I didn't get my cherry popped until I was a freshman in college."

"I remember." I shake my head, grossed out by the memory. "I was your roommate, and above you in that freaking bunk bed, while Maloney-Baloney tried to put on a condom. It's pretty much cemented in my memory as one of the most awkward nights of my life."

"Poor Maloney-Baloney. A man with a dick as flimsy as lunch meat." Sami picks up a can of Diet Coke, sighing before taking a sip. "And now look at you, all grown up and going out with a man rumored to have a cock the size of a summer sausage."

"Eww, stop it. I'm going to hang up on you."

"Never!" she mock-screams. "You love me."

"I do." I slide my panties off, then pull the skirt of long black strapless gown back down.

Holden sent it over via FedEx yesterday.

It's exactly the sort of dress I'd have chosen for myself: form-fitting but classic, with a mermaid tail. I smooth it out, adjusting the fake diamond bracelet on my wrist—which I've kept in a jewelry box since my senior prom, when I wore it last. "But seriously, Sami, I'm scared. What if I fall for him all over again?"

She moves so that her entire face fills up my computer screen. "There are worse things than having your heart broken."

I nod, not wanting to cry and mess up my mascara.

"Now put on some lipstick and walk downstairs, pretending that you don't have the parental issues that you so clearly do, and get into that hottie's limo. Do you even know how jealous I am of you right now?" She moves her screen so it takes in a panoramic view of her in her apartment. "I'm in leggings. And I'm not wearing underwear, but it isn't because I have a hot date, it's because I didn't do the laundry. So, please. Go play. Drink champagne. And have sex with Johnny Jumper."

I air-kiss her good-bye before closing my computer.

A text comes in from Holden: Ten minutes until I'm at your front door.

Sliding matte red lipstick over my penciled-in lips, I look at myself in the mirror, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.

I may not be a movie star, but I know I sure as hell look like one.

* * *

I try to pretend like this is a normal thing as I head downstairs with my overnight luggage. Yes, I’m a grown-up, but my parents’ judgmental eyes keep me in a perpetual state of inadequacy.

Stepping into the kitchen where my parents are sorting mail at the kitchen table, I barely receive a double-take. And I know I'm double-take worthy at the moment.

"So," I tell them. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime."

"Well, you know where we'll be," Mom says, not looking up.

My parents have volunteered at the local Food Bank every Sunday for the entirety of my life. I’ve spent enough weekends there to know the drill: 10-4, stocking shelves, sorting food, bagging up food for the people who come through the doors.

"Do you have a problem with me going?" I ask. "Because you've barely said two words about it since I told you."

Dad and Mom exchange a look that says where did we go wrong, and I suck in a deep breath, determined to have a good night.

"Bexley," Mom begins, "you know what we think about you spending time with a man like Holden. We just want what's best for you, and starring in movies that are superficial and don't really add anything to society ... well, we're just glad you didn't let his harebrained ideas sway you when you were vulnerable to his attention."

"You're being a little harsh, aren't you?" I know Holden's going to be here any moment, and I don't want him coming all this way to get another condescending tone from my parents.

"You decide that for yourself. Meanwhile, we're glad you're teaching youth about getting some self-esteem and confidence before they go out into the real world. And meanwhile, on our time off, your mom and I will continue to choose the less fortunate in our community, serving those in need. We all have our roles to fill."

My eyes widen, taking in the most passive-aggressive words I've ever heard from my father's mouth. And that’s saying something—my parents have passive-aggressive tendencies down pat.

The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me," I tell them, unable to stop myself from sinking to their level.

I open the door, clutch and canvas bag in hand, and look at my date.

"Damn," he says, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip. "You look fucking incredible."

Normally I’d look over my shoulder, scared my parents may have heard.

But tonight I don't.

Instead, I offer him my hand, knowing that by the end of the night I'll be offering him a lot more.

Chapter 13

Holden

She's gorgeous—which I knew she would be. Lindy picked out a dress after I gave her the specifications, and damn, she did good.

With her lips ruby red, her hair in a bun, she looks like herself—except those bare shoulders, the heavy-lidded eyes, those fuck-me-please heels, and that skin-tight satin gown. In those, she looks like my fucking date.

The drive is full of me adjusting my twitching cock, her smiling demurely out the window every time I do. We talk about our weeks—safe topics, not the past or the future.

"My agent wants me to choose between two scripts, but it's fucking impossible. So instead of choosing, I went out with my boys, Cash and Jude. We went golfing."

"You golf?" She eyes me with disbelief.

"Not well," I laugh. "But we know we aren't hot shit, and we totally piss off the dudes there who take it hella seriously."

"You're such a dork," she says, shaking her head.

"Better than being a douche, right?"

Her eyebrows furrow. "I guess."

"And you, tell me about your week," I ask.

"Well, I'm back at Tolling High. Obviously. Student teaching in the drama department. Which is sort of surreal, to be honest. It's better now, though, in the new theater."

"Why's that?"

"Come on, I'm sure you can guess." She shrugs. "The old theater is full of memories. Good and bad. Just, I have a lot of history there. It's basically where I grew up." Her words turn softer as she finishes explaining, and I remember what it was like behind those thick, black curtains between set changes.

What it was like to sneak up to the catwalk and chase one another before a show. What it was like to unlock the costume room and play hide and seek with the cast on closing night.

Bexley and I always chose the same place. Behind the row of dusty suits and ties, where a green velvet couch was piled with discarded clothes, we would sit with the lights off, far enough from everyone that no one would ever look for us way back there.

We would dissect the performance in hushed tones, not wanting to be found, and also not really in a hurry to leave the theater and go to a lame cast party in some stage crew guy’s basement. I never went to those anyway. I'd leave and find a real party somewhere in town, beg Bexley to join me.

She rarely would.

Tonight though, she's here, with me. And I'm choosing to let that be enough.

"So you're going to be a drama teacher. I'd never have guessed that."

"No? I always love the craft more than the spotlight."

I grin, giving her a sidelong glance. "That's what you said, at least ... but I know there was a part of you that liked the standing ovation, the final bow. The bouquets of roses after opening night."

"Maybe a little," she says.

I know not to press Bexley on much. Every time I have, it ends in a fight. Instead, I take her hand, lace my fingers through hers. "I bet you're a great teacher," I tell her. "Those bastards in your class, though, I bet they have no idea how lucky they are to have you."

"Right, because Bexley Maddon has so much experience to impart."

I take a deeper look at her. "Did you perform in college, in a theater group?"

"Not really." She swallows, and I can tell I'm touching on something uncomfortable. "I mean, mostly I just did the minimum requirements for the degree. Took the acting courses, but didn't audition for anything outside of class."

My jaw drops, as cheesy as that sounds. "What the hell, girl? Just like that, you stopped?"

She looks out the window, pressing her lips together, and since we’re exiting into Hollywood, toward the theater where the premier is held, I don't want to press any harder. I've gone too far as it is.

"Listen, Bex," I tell her. "I meant what I said. Those students are lucky to have you. Fuck, I'm a little jealous is all." I roll my thumb over hers. "Tonight, let's just have some fun, okay?"

She nods, meeting my eyes. "That's what I want, Holden. I just want to have fun with you. Fun like last weekend."

"Good," I tell her, leaning my forehead toward hers, our noses touching. "Except this time I won't fuck you in my childhood bed."

"Where will you fuck me this time?" she asks, whispering as the limo comes to a stop at the red-carpeted entrance. Paparazzi are everywhere, reporters here for the inside scoop.

"This time I’ll fuck you in my king-sized bed. This time, I’ll fuck you until the sun comes up."

* * *

Chapter 14

Bexley

The premier is amazing. Overwhelming, but amazing. I smile, look at the ground so I don't fall in these heels, and hold onto Holden's hand for dear life.

The entire time, this forbidden surge of sexual energy pulses between Holden and me. I know what’s in store later tonight—what he’s promised me—and it’s impossible not to get a little turned on by the prospect.

"Did you like the movie?" he asks as we exit, headed to an after-party.

"It was cute. I mean, it was what I'd expect from a movie where the punch line is delivered by the couple's dog." The movie was actually dumb as hell, but I'm not going to say that to Holden; he mentioned being friends with the woman who starred in it.

"Wow, hard sell there, Bex." We climb back into his limo, headed toward Santa Monica. "I didn't realize you'd become such a film critic."

"I'm not a critic. It was just a little vanilla is all. Generic?"

He laughs, nodding. "I can't judge this romantic comedy. Johnny Jumper isn't exactly cinematographic brilliance."

My eyes widen in mock-surprise. "Wait, this was a comedy?"

"Remind me to never take you to the premier of one of my movies." Holden grimaces. "Don't think my ego could take it."

"I've seen your movies," I tell him. Of course I have. Every single one. Multiple times. And in every one, he looks sexy as all get-out.

"And?"

The limo is flying down the freeway and, while a part of me is curious about a Hollywood party, another part of me would rather be going to his place. To his bedroom.

"And…." I indulge him, licking my lips, leaning closer to him in the limo where we sit side-by-side. "I can see why millions of American women love you. You play the part of Johnny Jumper well. Sexy, confident, the hero."

"Why does it feel like you're about to say something that’s gonna wreck my self-esteem?" Holden smirks, running a finger down the length of my bare arm. His touch makes my skin prickle with desire.

"I'm not judging you, Holden." I smile softly, remembering the premier, the cameras flashing for him, the elite actors and actresses stopping him—not for a photo op, but to say hello. "I think you're pretty incredible. Coming here to LA, making this life for yourself. You rose up from nothing; you had no connections, no money … just a killer smile and the Holden charm."

He grins, seeming to love the way I'm complimenting him, and I realize that, even though he has so many people fawning over him, maybe he still needs his ego stroked by someone who actually knows where he comes from.

"Is charm a euphemism for big cock?" he asks, his eyes searing into mine.

"You tell me," I tease, leaning closer to him. In a daring move, I reach my hand to his crotch, running my fingers over the growing bulge in his tuxedo pants. "Did you sleep your way to the top?"

He runs his hand over his jaw as the limo pulls up to a lavish mansion.

"All I know is this: I can't wait until after this party to sleep with you, Bexley."

"Then let's not go," I tell him, relieved at the idea of not having to face any more of his colleagues tonight. I still need more time with him, to decide if Holden is playing me or not.

He doesn't hesitate. He calls to the driver and tells him to take us back to his place.

Then he takes my face in his hands. "I want you out of this dress so fucking bad."

If this dress wasn't so awkward I'd tell him to pull it off of me right this second. Instead, I lean in, and his mouth covers mine. Heat explodes over my lips as he presses against me. His tongue slides into my mouth, and I’m melting.

Melting into him, far from the stress of my passive parents and the insecurities of being with him. I sink into his touch, his arms reaching around me, running down my back.

"I need you, girl," he tells me, whispering in my ear as we pull up to his place.

"Good." I need him to want me in a desperate way. It makes me feel less vulnerable about going so far out of my comfort zone.

He opens his front door. It's a gorgeous mansion, very modern. So much black and white that it looks just like my closet.

"Your place is beautiful," I say as he takes my overnight bag and grabs my hand.

"You'll get the tour later—right now, I'm taking you to my room."

He leads me through the house to a massive bedroom. Enormous floor-to-ceiling windows look out at a huge stretch of the Pacific Ocean. It's holy shit amazing. He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I take in the view.

"That bed is way bigger than a king-size," I tell him, relishing in this moment where we’re pressed together, looking out at the crashing waves.

"You scouted the room pretty damn fast, woman," he teases, nibbling my ear.

I spin to face him, reaching for my side zipper.

He shakes his head ever so slightly, and reaches for it himself. Slowly, he unhooks the top, then slides the zipper down slowly, his fingertips grazing my ribcage.

I know that once the dress falls to the floor I’ll be bare before him, having taken Sami's advice on the underwear.

My eyes close; his breath is so hot as he steps closer to me.

"It's a custom bed, if that's what you are wondering."

I can't help but reveal my insecurity. "For all the fucking that takes place here?" I dare to open my eyes, look at him.

He feels the jab; I see it in his eyes. "Harsh, Bex."

"Sorry."

"Do you want me to apologize for the women in my past?"

"How far past are you talking?"

His fingers freeze. "I didn't sleep with anyone this week, if that's what you're asking."

"That's some restraint, coming from you."

"Do you wanna do this now?" he asks. My zipper is pulled down; one shimmy of my hips and the entire gown will fall to the floor. "Because, baby, you have a sharp edge coming out. I want to make sure you can handle the cut."

"I'm baby to you now?"

"If you want." He tugs on the dress, and the fabric drops.

I'm naked before him, and I inhale, exposed.

"You avoided the question, Bex." His eyes are still on my face, and I'm both grateful that he's not staring at my tits and uncomfortable for how visible I feel.

"I don't want to fight right now,'" I say truthfully, knowing if we start that fight, this entire fantasy will end.

Poof. Up in smoke.

For now, I want to keep this precious flame alive.

"Good. Then stop talking and let me fuck you."

* * *

Chapter 15

Holden

She stands before me, completely undressed, her tits so full, her nipples erect. I watch as she reaches for the pins in her hair, letting her hair down, shaking her head slowly as her tresses fall, her eyes filled with desire. For me.

I won't waste this moment.

I undress–tug off my tie, discard my shirt, drop my pants.

My cock is fucking solid. I step toward her, my eyes on her perfect pussy, and take her hand, setting it on my rod, guiding her as she strokes me up and down, as if she’s practiced, but knowing she has only done this once before.

I've been with enough women to know that there are the haves and the have nots when it comes to being good in the sack. Bex? She's a fucking natural.

She wraps her soft-skinned hand around my length, moving with a gentle rhythm, licking her lips the whole time, as if whetting her appetite. I hope she's fucking starved for my cock.

God knows I'm dying for a taste of her sweet pussy again.

I kneel before her, my arms wrapping around her waist, squeezing her ass cheeks and easing her gap apart, kissing her mound. My tongue teases her folds, already hot as hell for her to warm up.

But just one lick of her perfection and I know this girl is more than ready to enjoy herself.

"You're so wet, baby."

Her hands run through my hair, and she whimpers above me.

Good. I'm gonna make this girl gush before the night is through. Pussy juice is going to coat my mouth, and I'm going to lick her little cunt until she's worn out.

I stand, pick her up in my arms, and carry her to the bed. "Holden," she laughs. "You're gonna drop me."

"Yeah, I am, right in the center of this bed."

I set her down, spreading her knees, and press my mouth back against her pussy, wanting more of her, all of her. I lick her up and down, ass to clit, over and over, and her knees buckle ever so slightly, but I ease them back down. "Relax, baby," I tell her. I like using that term of endearment, because I know how shitty I was to her for so fucking long, and now I just want to be good to her. Take care of her. Make her happy.

Starting with her pussy.

I roll my tongue in tight circles over her clit, then press my mouth closer against her folds, sucking against her, and she grabs the sheets beneath her. That brings a huge fucking smile to my face, and I reward her moans by holding her thighs down, opening her up more.

I press my tongue deeper into her pussy, rolling against her hot flesh, tasting every sweet drop of nectar she releases. I cup one hand around her breast, plucking her hard nipple as my face grinds against her dripping gap.

"Holden, oh God, you're making me ... insane," she pants, a hand pulling at my hair. I lap against her—fast, faster, faster—causing her legs to tremble and buckle against me.

So I slow, knowing it will make her insane. I ease my tongue from her and kiss against her hood softly, sprinkling kisses all over her soft pussy, then press a finger in her again, remembering how wet she got when I did this last week.

"I can't breathe, Holden. It's too much."

"Shhh," I tell her, pressing her open wider with my hand, using a finger to press against her until she writhes beneath me. She's sopping wet, and I fucking love it. I move in and out, and my cock is so fucking hard, wanting to get in her warmth.

But I need to ease her tight pussy open first. My cock will break her if I don't take care to ease her perfect body against mine.

She squirts against my hand, her release so fast with my fingers pressing inside her, fluttering against her pleasure point. I pull out my finger, licking it slowly so she can see me.

"You taste so fucking good."

Then I can't help it.

I press my mouth back on her pussy, sucking her hard, up and down her gorgeous slit, until her thighs squeeze tight against my ears, her entire body pulsing as she orgasms. My mouth against her, her thighs against me, and I swear to God, if her pussy was the last thing I saw before I died, I'd go a happy man.

I move above her on the bed. Her skin is slick with sweat and pleasure, and I feel like a fucking man to get this girl off so well.

Now, my cock needs her. Bad.

"What the hell was that?" she asks, her eyes dreamy, her body nearly satiated.

"That was you getting off."

"And you?" she asks. "How do you want to get off?"

I bite my lip at this girl with her innocent nature mixed with her desire to be uninhibited. I have no problem helping her shed any of her skin.

"Ride me, baby," I tell her. "Ride my cock."

She raises her eyes, and I know she likes the idea. Bexley never hid her emotions well unless she was on stage.

I fall on my back, watching as she climbs on top of me. My hands slap against her creamy thighs as she straddles me.

Her tits—fucking hell. I reach for them, massaging those perfect globes in my hands, sitting up slightly so I can suck her nipple, roll my tongue over the tight bud that causes her to whimper again.

"I need your cock," she tells me plainly, in a way none of the girls I've brought to this bed before ever would. "I've been dreaming of it all week."

I grab a condom from the bedside table, and roll it onto my thickness. Her eyes are on my cock as I do, seeming enchanted with the way the latex covers my hard rod.

I lay back down, and she holds my cock with one hand, using her other to press against her dripping entrance and lubricate my cock with her pussy juice, like she's done this a hundred fucking times.

I swear I could come right then and there, shoot my release across her gorgeous tits. Instead, she raises onto her knees, then slowly sits down on my throbbing cock. She holds my shaft as she guides herself against me, and her other hand runs through her hair. Her head is thrown back, her back arching, with her tits displayed in all their splendor.

"You're so fucking hot," I tell her, not having any more words but hoping these are enough.

"You’re so fucking big."

I laugh, so rarely having heard Bexley use the F word. It's sexy as hell.

"Your fingers were nice, and so was your mouth—but Holden, your cock fills me up so ... so...." She rocks against me, her hips swerving in a circle, and stops mid-sentence.

"I fill you up how?" I ask, teasing her, my hands on her waist.

"You feel me up completely."

"Good."

"Mmhhhmm," she moans, her eyes closed. "Oh, yes, baby."

Her use of the word baby gets me fucking harder than I've ever been before, and I thrust against her like an animal, realizing that I fucking need this woman in a way I've never known was real.

"Oh, yeah," she purrs, her hands grabbing my chest, bracing herself as her pussy pours against my groin, and she rolls harder against me, over and over, as she presses deep against me, getting off in every sense of the word. "Oh, my God, yes, yes, yes."

She orgasms against me, and I can't wait anymore.

I pull her off me, quickly ease her onto all fours, and then press my raging cock into her pussy from behind, grabbing hold of her tits as I plow into her perfect cunt, letting my cock fill her entirely, my come exploding from the tip of my rod.

I squeeze her hips as I finish. She’s gasping in the aftershocks of the torrential orgasm. This girl was drenched up and down, licked dry, and fucked silly.

Pulling from her, I take off the condom, hating that we had anything between us at all.

She turns and faces me, her eyes filled with lust, filled with the knowledge of what she and I are capable of. Filled with ideas of how we might fuck next.

Good. Because Bexley and me, we're just getting started.

* * *

Chapter 16

Bexley

The next morning, I shower while Holden is in the kitchen making coffee.

My legs are sore, my pussy completely worn, and my heart? It's warming up to possibility.

In the bathroom, though, I admit that it's disheartening to see an entire shelf of women's hair product options, and in the adjoining walk-in closet I can't help but notice the shelf of women's clothes, mostly athletic wear, but also plenty of panties. For what, exactly?

Still, I dress, pushing the knowledge of Holden's conquests—past and present—from my mind. Well, I let myself dwell on his latest conquest: me. Because, oh my heck, I can't believe I have lived twenty-two years not having a man take control of my body that way.

Regardless, I can't help pulling out the drawer in his bedside table before walking out of his room. My curiosity is piqued with the teeny-tiny thongs. Has Holden changed at all in these last four years?

In the drawer I find a baggie of pot. A pipe. A lighter. Pursing my lips, I shut the drawer. It's not my place to assess his life choices. I’m here for him, not his habits.

Walking into the kitchen in jeans and a tank top, I smile, looking at Holden in his low slung jeans, with his washboard abs and perfect white-toothed grin.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. "Do you still drink it black?"

I nod. "Some things never change."

"Some things change an awful lot."

I sit on a barstool, and Holden offers me a warm croissant and hands me a steaming cup of coffee.

"Where did you get these? I was in the bathroom for like fifteen minutes."

"I have an on-call cook, but today my assistant Lindy delivered them, per my request."

I break off a piece of the flaky goodness, raising an eyebrow. "Someone delivers you breakfast every day?"

He shrugs. "I'm kind of a big deal."

"Barf."

He smiles, peeling a banana.

"You're not having one?" I ask, pointing to the buttery morsel of heaven.

"I'm on an eating plan. No carbs before noon."

I laugh. "Holden, you're in amazing shape."

"Because I don't eat breakfast pastries."

"Way to make me feel like a beached whale."

"Fine," he acquiesces, "I'll have one. I just don't want my trainer to yell at me. You know I have a thing with being a people pleaser."

"Right," I laugh. "You've always had such a hard time doing what you wanted."

"Well, maybe we're just different kinds of people pleasers. If I remember correctly, I pleased you pretty well last night."

"That's true." I smile again, and it's quiet for a moment as the memory of last night washes over me. "Is it weird that we picked up like this? After not talking for so long?"

"I missed you. I wanted to call you a thousand times," he tells me. "But you were pretty clear at graduation."

"I shouldn't have said those things," I tell him. "I didn't mean them."

"You meant them then."

My words were very clear, and so undeniable. It had started simply enough. I told him that I was sorry, but I was going to Northern California University and not moving to LA with him.

I had kept this from him for two months, because I knew that the moment I told him I had agreed to my parents' post-high school plan, we would never recover.

And I was right.

In response, he called me a disappointment.

I called him selfish.

He called me a dick tease.

I called him a man-whore.

He called me a sell-out.

I called him a pothead.

He called me a straight-laced prude.

I called him my ex-best friend.

He called me a bitch.

I called him out for cutting class, for screwing girls during passing period, and for never thinking I was worth changing any of his behavior for.

I told him not to call me ever again, because by then my face was streaked in tears, and his mom was watching, and my parents were shocked, and I was crushed.

I’d led him to believe that after Tolling High, he and I could start a crazy life together where no one could put boundaries on me. On us.

And I had loved dreaming of that possibility with him. How could I not like that fantasy? I had spent eighteen years in my parents’ shadow. I had never really, completely let go and given in.

But Holden made it seem like together we could. That I could actually let go after high school, and that he would break my fall. That we could take over Hollywood, one audition at a time.

I let him believe it was more than a daydream.

Meanwhile, I dutifully mailed in college applications, got accepted with scholarships, and made my parents beam with pride.

And I put off the inevitable.

So I ended whatever sexually-wrought relationship we shared. I had to end it. Because the idea of keeping in touch with him, and hearing how he was doing in LA, without me, would have killed my resolve.

And then, as only Holden could, he started taking over Hollywood in a way no one could have scripted. He was the golden boy, with a thousand-watt smile and charisma that could crack the coldest director in LA.

He was brave, and it paid off.

"I didn't know anything back then, Holden, at graduation. And I'm sorry. For all the things I said."

"I'm sorry, too, for … you know, never stepping up and telling you exactly how I felt."

"How did you feel, Holden, back then?"

He shakes his head, bites his bottom lip. "Mostly? I thought you were way too fucking good for me."

"Maybe now you're too good for me," I tell him. "I mean, look at this place." I wave my hand around at him. "You’re this entire movie star. This man who’s bigger than life. Certainly bigger than a drama teacher at Tolling High."

He juts out his chin. "You're better than that, too, you know."

I shake my head, confused. "Better than what?"

"Being a drama teacher. I mean, you’re an amazing actress."

"Was. I retired," I joke.

"Whatever. You're telling me if you were offered a role with a major studio, you'd turn it down?"

I roll my eyes. "Holden, I have my whole life figured out. I don't want to be an actress anymore."

"Bullshit."

"Don't." I shake my head at him. "Don't belittle my choices."

"It’s a choice you made four years ago out of fear, Bexley. I'm not belittling anything; I'm only speaking the truth."

"Stop it. You're going to ruin any good thing we have here—you realize that, don't you?"

"Why, because I'm telling you things you don't want to hear?"

"No, because you're judging my choices." I storm off to his bedroom, him trailing me. I want to get my things. I want to go. Now. "And you know what, Holden? It's such bullshit. I'm not judging you. You're still the exact same guy as you've always been. Smoking pot, fucking strangers, and pretending with me."

He slams his hand against the door. "Dammit, Bexley. I'm not pretending with you at all. I’m putting myself out there, completely. You're the one who's fake, who's acting like the life you chose is the one you fucking want. You’re the same, not me. I've grown up."

"Sure you have, Holden. Keep telling yourself that."

He punches a wall, and I get out my phone, my hands shaking, and call a cab as I leave his house.

"You aren't seriously leaving my house in a taxi."

"Yes, Holden, I am. And I've said it before, but I never thought I'd say it again: don't come after me."

When we were teenagers, I never directly asked Holden to change for me. And I won't do it now, either. If he and I were ever to work, that would have to be his own doing.

I walk to the street, waiting for the taxi. I don’t look back, because I don't know what would be worse—him standing there wanting me to come back inside, or him not there at all.

I get in the cab, knowing that, deep down, Holden and I both have a lot of growing up to do.

* * *

Chapter 17

Holden

My knuckles are bloody from the wall collision, and I pace my house trying to sort out what the fuck just happened.

The moment she's gone, I know that I need her back. But damn it, beyond the needing, I know I'm right about her. And, shit—I need her to understand that I'll give up all the pot and women. She’s the girl that can tame me. The only woman I want to share my wild side with.

It's always been her.

Of course, a few nights with me in sexed-out bliss isn't going to convince her that I'm actually the stand-up guy she wants. I need her to know I’m committed to seeing this thing through. God knows, I was never man enough when I was younger.

I've changed, even if that change started the moment I saw her in the parking lot, last week, four years after we screamed our good-byes.

I want to call her, but her words were so fucking clear. She ended things before they began.

Because, once again, she got too fucking scared.

I drop the phone on the counter, looking in the freezer for ice for my knuckles.

Then I pour a cup of coffee and start making a fucking plan.

* * *

"First of all Holden, did you look at the scripts?" Trenton asks me the following morning. We're in his office and I'm throwing a dart at the target mounted on his wall. Bullseye.

"I looked at them. But it's a tough call. Either a superhero or a cowboy." I smirk. "That's really the best you got for me?"

Trenton guffaws. "These are the best scripts anywhere right now. You should be grateful to have an option outside the Johnny Jumper franchise."

"Give me some time. That's not what I came here for anyway."

Trenton pulls the darts from the target, looking at me, quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"It's about a girl."

Trenton laughs again. "Damn it. With you, Holden, it's always about a girl."

"No. This time it's about the girl. And I need a favor."

* * *

Jude, Cassius, Rachel, and Evangeline meet me for dinner at TropiCALI later in the week. We're getting cocktails as I fill them in on my plan.

"So then, afterwards, I want her to meet you guys. Show her that I'm a good guy. That I've changed."

"So you want us to lie to the girl you want to win back?" Rachel says. Dark eyeliner rings her eyes, and heavy bangs cover half her face. "That seems like a stellar plan," she deadpans, while rubbing her burgeoning baby belly.

I don't get this girl at all.

"I don't want you to lie, exactly. Just avoid the hot-button stuff."

Rachel isn't gonna budge. "So you don't want us to tell her that you had strippers at your place three weeks ago?"

I take a drink of my vodka soda, swallowing what I could ask her about the rumors constantly circulating about her, before and after she got pregnant.

Instead, I say evenly, "The strippers were there as a present for my friend, Zac Turner, who happened to be in town."

"His girlfriend wasn't too pleased about them, either," Evie says, swirling her drink.

"Damn." I shake my head. "Can anyone go easy on me tonight?"

"To be fair," Cassius pushes playfully, "Ashley wouldn't be too happy about anything."

Ashley Fast is Zac Turner’s girlfriend, though who knows for how long. It’s always trouble in paradise with her, and he’s only last in a long string of guys she can write breakup songs about.

"Because you know everything about Ashley, now that you and Jack Harris are BFF's?" Jude asks, giving his friend a hard time. DJ-turned-songwriter Jack Harris was Ashley’s boyfriend before Zac, and the breakup song about him was a doozy.

"Did you seriously just say BFF?" Evie asks laughing. "My cousin is such a nerd."

"Maybe we could stay on topic?" I wave over a waitress and order another round for the table.

"Okay, homeboy," Cassius says. "We promise to mention that you let Evie stay at your guest house when she was in a jam, and that you're the future godfather to Jude's son."

Jude's jaw tenses as he turns to Rachel. "He's just fucking around, don't worry. No one has been asked to be the godfather."

"I don't really give a shit about that stuff," Rachel says, dismissively. "Besides, I think it’s sorta fucked up to trick that girl into thinking you're a good guy, Holden. Everyone knows you're a man-whore."

"Fuck," Cassius says coolly.

"Everything okay, Rachel?" Evie asks, choosing a softer tone. "You seem a little ... tense?"

Rachel purses her lips. "I just think Holden is fighting for a relationship that died a long time ago. This girl wants to move on, so let her. Friends come and go; just let her go."

Jude looks at her, incredulous. "What about fighting for what you believe in? Fighting for love?"

Rachel studies her seltzer water thoughtfully before answering, meeting Jude's gaze. "I think that's sweet, but it sure as hell isn't real life."

Everyone goes quiet, and in this full, loud restaurant I swear I could hear a pin drop at this table.

"I need to get some fucking air," Jude says. "I got your back when your girl comes to town, Holden. But right now, I need to breathe."

He walks out of the restaurant, and I'm pissed at Rachel.

But also completely sure—of what I want, and what I need to do. Rachel is hella wrong.

I'll fight for Bex.

And I’ll win her heart.

Or I'll die trying.

* * *

Chapter 18

Bexley

It's Thursday afternoon—the end of sixth period—and I'm exhausted, hungry, and grumpy.

Basically a shittier version of myself than normal.

"And please don't leave trash in the theater. It's brand-new. And seriously, to all the couples in the class, I know you think it's funny to choose a make-out scene for your onstage performance, but it needs to stay PG or we'll cancel this altogether." I hate the sound of my voice as I give my final announcement to the students. I sound shrill, and old as heck.

But seriously, watching teenagers kiss sloppily in the name of acting is making me ill.

Especially when I’m trying to forget just how un-sloppily Holden kissed. How perfect, in fact, his kisses were.

The final bell of the day rings, and the students are tossing bags over their shoulders and waving good-bye when I see him standing in the back, watching me.

He has a bouquet of red roses and a smile.

There isn't much to say, because honestly, haven't I already said more than enough?

Enough to push him away. To keep my heart safe. Protected.

But he’s back.

Which ... isn't that what I always wanted? Him to choose to come back to me?

Here he is.

"Ms. Maddon, these are for you," he says, holding out the bouquet. He walks toward the front row, where I have a box of props the class used today. Several students gape wide-eyed at him, which makes sense. He is the Hollywood Holden.

Here to see me.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" I ask, pushing down my reflexive response, which would highlight that I told him never to come back.

"I came to bring you some flowers." He pushes them toward me. "Take them. Don't make this more awkward than it has to be."

I take the roses, because the students are watching. "And?" I ask. "Why else are you here?"

"To ask you on a date. This Saturday night."

I set the roses in my box, then pick it up. "A date?"

"Yeah. Lunch, a walk on the beach. Dinner."

"Two meals?" I ask. "That seems like more than a date."

"Call it what you want. I'm not letting you go this easy."

I look at the box in my hands. "I've got to take these to my office."

"Let me help," he says gallantly, taking the box from my arms. "See, I'm so helpful. Because I'm a nice guy. A nice guy who brings flowers, and asks girls out on proper dates." He leans closer to my ear, a cocky smile on his face. "No sexting required."

I don't know what's happening, but I like it. I always wanted him to fight for me.

Maybe now he's ready to.

"My office is in the old theater," I tell him, grabbing my jean jacket and waving him out the side entrance. "You coming?"

He grins, following me to the theater where he and I met.

As I unlock the door and hold it open for him, he inhales deeply.

"It even smells the same," he says.

"Yeah, and it's nearly empty. They hauled everything out this week; it’ll be torn down next month."

"That's so sad," he says, as I open the door to the office I'm sharing with my advisor.

"It's your doing, dork. You're the one who bought the school a new, fancier one."

"True." He leans against the doorframe.

I take the box from his hands, setting it down along with my jacket. I hold up the roses, looking for a vessel. Finding a quart mason jar I've been drinking water out of, I set the roses in it.

"You're so resourceful, Bexley. I bet that's why you're such a good teacher."

"Ah," I say, picking up on his vibe. "So you came here today to try and take back all the terrible things you said about my teaching career?"

He doesn't answer; instead, he grabs my hand. "I want to see this place one last time. Show me?"

I hesitate. He must see it.

"I won't try to fuck you on center stage, if that's what you’re worried about, baby."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I tell him, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"Then what is it?"

"I'm worried I might try to do something with you."

He laughs, surprised at my confession. Walking toward me, he takes one of my hands in his, and pushes back a tendril of loose hair with his other hand. Leaning in, he whispers, "Let me prove to you I've changed."

I nod, raising my chin. His lips find mine in one hot instant. He tastes familiar, forbidden, so close to my heart that I know I could reach out and take him right now.

I pull back, look up into his eyes. "Holden, I'm still so scared of what tomorrow might be like with you. And I know I'm being wishy-washy with my words and my body, but I can't help it."

"We don't have to decide anything today. Today we can just ... act out what we imagined doing at this theater back when we were kids."

"You're so bad," I tell him, leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I wonder what would have happened if he had done this four, five, six years ago. If he had just pressed me against him and held me close. Maybe I always just wanted this assurance from him, that he would do anything to be with me.

He kisses me again, softly, and I walk to the theater door, locking it.

I take his hand and lead him through the dark passageway downstairs, beneath the theater, past a prop closet. I stop at the door to the costume room.

"They've cleared out everything valuable, but that green velvet sofa is still there."

He presses my hand firmly against his pants, against the outline of his firm cock. My pussy tightens at the touch. God, it's been a long week. A week where Sami daily berated me for being a total brat. A week where I picked up my phone to call and apologize a thousand times. A week where I wondered if I would ever get another chance.

A week where, in the end, he showed up. With a stiff cock and a dirty mind—and I’ve got a willing pussy and a growing need to have him inside me. Again.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, baby," he tells me.

And I believe it. I know I’ll let him.

Inside, the room is mostly empty, as I promised. There are rows of empty clothing racks, but pushed into the corner is the sofa. I lock the door behind us, and we make a beeline for the couch.

We undress silently in the quiet of the room. My black pants and white blouse drop to the floor; his jeans and tee-shirt are discarded, I slide off my panties and my bra. I want to be bare and, in this moment, I want to be his.

I watch as he takes off his boxers, his massive cock taunting me with its thickness. It's like my pussy can see it, knows what it can do, because my cunt starts dripping the moment his veiny rod is in plain view.

I press a finger to my opening, touching myself as he strides to the couch, takes a seat, looking like a fucking king.

"You look so good when you touch your little pussy, baby."

"You like it when I touch myself?" I ask him. "You like it when my pussy gets nice and wet for you?"

"I fucking love it."

"Good." I step toward him, circling my clit with two outstretched fingers, my other hand on my right breast, thumbing my hard nipple. "I've been touching myself this way all week, thinking about you."

"You're so naughty, Bexley," he says, his hand reaching for his shaft. I watch as he makes sure, rapid strokes against himself. I step closer, just a foot away from him now, my feet apart as I move my fingers faster, wanting him to know how much he gets me off.

"I'm not naughty, Holden. Just horny. All week I've been taking baths, letting the warm water cover my tits and my purring pussy. I've used my vibrator, letting it hum against my folds, remembering the way you licked me raw."

"Oh, girl," he says, reaching for me, pulling my ass toward him.

"I'm dripping, Holden. For you."

He smacks my ass, reaches between my legs, feels my slick thighs. He groans against my pussy as he inhales me. My hands run through his hair as his fingers reach my ass, pulling apart my ass cheeks as he licks my tight pussy.

He licks hard and deep, groaning as I release against his tongue. I know his chin must be drenched, because every flutter of his tongue sends flames across my entrance.

I need him, or I swear I'll go up in smoke.

He must sense my mounting desire. He rolls on a condom, and I straddle him on this green velvet sofa that was once filled with our pent-up lust. Now here we are, setting all those repressed fantasies on fire.

I sit on his hard cock, my pussy aching. I can't hold back; I can't wait another moment to be filled with him. I sit on him, hard.

"Ohh, Holden," I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck as I swivel around his massive hardness.

My tits bounce as I move, and I know he loves it. His cock thrusts deep in my pussy; his hands press against my round tits to stop them from swinging as I rock faster above him. He pulls a breast into his mouth, sucking hard, clamping against my nipple. My pussy gushes with pleasure as he sucks harder.

I'm soaking him, and this couch, and I don't care. I fuck him deeper, faster, forever. I grind above him as I come, thrashing against his chest as I release. With my legs spread over him, his eyes searing into mine, there’s nothing I won't give him in this moment.

He's close to release, and I just want more of him. So I stand up and then get on my knees before him. I pull off his condom and stuff my mouth with his cock. It's throbbing—so close to release—and I need to taste his salty manhood pour down my throat. I need to gag on his pleasure rod, and I need to be filled with his seed.

I suck him hard, his balls tight in my hand. It feels like I've done this a million times—not because I'm bored, but because it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be on my knees before him with his cock in my mouth, my lips tight against his shaft as he explodes against the roof of my mouth. As his come fills my mouth, I have this desire to be covered by him.

I pull him from my mouth, letting his come shoot over my bare, bouncing tits, letting his come hit my face, my mouth, my lips, my neck. I want to be drenched in him the same way my gushing release covered his face when he sucked my pussy. He comes all over me, and I'm already fantasizing about his come shooting across my bare ass next time we fuck.

I fill my mouth with his cock again, needing to taste him one final time.

"Oh my fucking god, woman," he moans as I take his throbbing cock from my mouth, climb back into his lap, and wipe my face with the back of my hand. I want to keep those creamy beads on my skin, glistening reminders of the way I was just taken. "What the fuck was that?"

I smile, shocked at the way I just let my inhibitions fly.

"That, Holden, was my way of saying yes. Yes, I'll go out with you on Saturday."

* * *

Chapter 19

Holden

She insists on driving her own car, which, okay, I understand. We may have fucked like rabbits in the old theater, but things with us can change in a moment. And maybe she figures if she ends up storming out of my house, this time she'd rather be driving her own car.

Before she comes, though, I call my sister, because my mom has been making a big deal about me getting in touch with her.

"Hey, Catalina." I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, having just finished an intense workout with my physical trainer. "You doing good?"

"Did mom tell you to call, or did you call because you love me?"

"I love you, but yeah, Mom told me to call."

"You suck. But you can make it up to me by letting me move into your guest house for the summer. And next fall."

"You have school in the fall, Cat."

"I'm transferring to film school at U of C, in the heart of LA. Aren't you excited?"

"Excited? Cat, this is little rash, isn't it?"

"Mom says she's moving to LA this fall and this way we can all be there, together."

"When did mom tell you that?"

Cat sighs, exasperated, like I'm a complete idiot.

"She says she wants to be on that reality show Millionaire Matchmaker. She's desperate for a man, Holden."

I roll my eyes, "Listen, she's not going on reality TV."

"Well, she’s moving there. She's listing the townhouse."

"That's crazy," I say, uncapping the water bottle. "Once we're all gone, it's like there won't be anything left in Tolling."

"Except Bexley," Catalina says in a sing-song voice.

"Well, she won't be there long."

"No?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

"You're still avoiding my question. Can I move in this summer ... and stay for the fall?"

"Couldn't you move into whatever Mom buys?"

"Eww, Holden. Mom wants to move to LA to find a boyfriend. I don't need to hear that."

"Cat, that's way too much information."

"You're telling me. She called me to tell me about match.com, asking for advice on her profile pic."

"Why are we talking about this?" I ask her.

"I have no idea. Listen, I promise I won't cramp you and bitchy-Bexy's style. Promise."

"Don't call her that, Cat."

She sighs. "Okay. Just ... you know how she always was."

I snort. "Do you remember how I've always been?"

"Touché. Guess you're both totally weird. Perfect for one another."

"I'm going, Cat. Great talk," I tell her, sarcasm rolling off my tongue.

"Honest though, Holden. Thanks. This summer is going to be amazing."

"Whatever you say, sis," I say, knowing I never directly said yes.

I hang up, shaking my head, needing to get ready for the date that could change everything.

* * *

A few hours later, Bexley arrives in her Volvo, and I tell her my plans for a long walk on the beach. A simple, hand-holding walk where we can catch up. No agenda. We head down the steps off my patio, and we're on the beach in minutes.

"This is good. I wanted normal today, Holden," she says.

"Me too." I lean in, and am rewarded with a soft, parted-lip kiss.

Pulling apart, we smile, the sun on our faces and the sand in our toes. I could get fucking used to this.

"So, did you ever decide on the script?" she asks. She's in a red skirt, a white blouse knotted at her waist, and strappy sandals that she steps out of when we touch the sand. She has on big, black Jackie O sunglasses and those ruby red lips. On every occasion, she looks so fucking chic. I wonder sometimes how a girl like her ever came from a town like Tolling.

"I've been putting it off." I shrug as we walk toward the rolling surf. "I don't have another Johnny Jumper movie for twelve months, so I only have a few more weeks to decide. Time's running out."

"It's awesome you have so many choices, though. For me, with teaching, there are so few drama teacher jobs available. I think I might just end up subbing in Tolling next year, because I don't want to move to some random city for a teaching job."

"Would you ever consider moving somewhere for the dream job?"

"Honestly," she says, letting the water hit her feet, "I would feel bad leaving my parents."

"They know you're with me today?"

She scrunches up her nose. "Not exactly."

"Bexley," I moan. "Girl."

"I know. I just, I'm not ready."

"That's cool. I just know family is important to you ... and whatever happens with us, I want them to be on our side."

"You think your family is cool with whatever happens with us?"

"I think so. I mean, I spoke with Cat this morning. She knew you were coming out."

"You talk to your sister often?"

"Not as often as I should, but yeah. She's gonna move in this summer, actually. And my Mom's moving to LA, too."

"Wow."

"You sound surprised."

"I am." She takes my hand, laces her fingers through mine. "That's sexy. You being, like, a family guy. I wouldn't have guessed that."

"I'm full of surprises, Bexley," I tell her, pulling her to me, kissing her deeper, longer.

Looking into my eyes, she nods. "I'm learning that about you, Holden."

"Good." I smack her ass. "Now come back to my house, I have someone I want you to meet."

* * *

An hour later we're on the patio, drinks in hand, and Bexley and I sit on a love seat across from my agent Trenton.

"So," I tell Bexley. "Trenton signed me four years ago, when I was a nobody, but he saw something in me.

"That's great," Bexley says, smiling as she sets down her glass of chardonnay. "It's really good to meet you."

"You too." Trenton eyes her appraisingly. I know he must see what I see. Bex would be perfect for the love interest in Johnny Jumper 4, and I know it hasn't been cast yet. "So, Holden tells me you used to do a lot of acting?"

She laughs. "Well, when we were teenagers. But Holden was the real star, obviously."

I cut in, "That's not true. Bex, tell him how you were the star of every fall production starting freshman year. Which was unprecedented."

"Okay." Bexley swats at my words. "In high school I was a shining star," she says dramatically. "And now I'm a teacher. What's the saying? ‘Those who can't, teach’?"

Trenton laughs nervously, looking confused. "Do you have any interest in acting again?"

"Uh, not really. I mean, I think I made my choice."

"That's cool," Trenton says, leaning back with his beer in hand. "My mom was a teacher. Valid career." He smiles at her kindly. We keep up the small talk for another half hour, before Trenton excuses himself, shaking Bexley's hand good-bye.

I walk him out. Standing next to his car, I ask, "So, what did you think?"

"I think she's gorgeous, articulate, charming, and has zero interest in being a movie star."

"That's not true. She's amazing on stage. She just doesn't know she wants it yet. She's scared."

"Holden. I love you, man, and I've done plenty for you in the past, but no way am I signing her as client, going to the biggest movie producer in LA, and asking for him to audition a no-name who doesn't want the job."

"Then I'll go talk to the producer. He's worked with me enough; he owes me this."

"No one owes anyone a thing in this town, Holden. Everyone's fending for themselves."

"Let me talk to her one more time before you say no."

"Sure," he says. I can tell he's humoring me—and I get it. If Bexley had any interest in a movie career, she would have angled the conversation toward that, on some level. Any level. Instead she deflected, letting me lead. "But, you owe me a decision on the script. Soon."

No one owes anyone a thing in this town, I think, but all I say is, "Understood."

I head back inside, toward Bexley, frustrated like hell that the meeting I set up bombed, but determined to finish the day by showing her that this life is hers for the taking.

* * *

Chapter 20

Bexley

Something's off when Holden returns to the patio.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah," he says, smiling, reaching for his beer.

"I didn't know you and your agent hung out, like, on the weekends."

"Trenton's a good guy."

"Seems like it." I twist my lip, trying to read him. The entire situation. "It feels like you're not saying something."

He shrugs, takes a swig. "I'm good. Great. You're here with me, Bexley. I've been trying to tell you that's all I want."

"All you want?"

"Is that too hard to believe?"

I shrug, not wanting to fight, but also not seeing how we could work beyond a fling. And if this is just a fling, do I need to press every single thing to the point of breaking?

"Hope you don't mind, but I thought we could meet up with some friends for drinks before we have dinner tonight," he says, surprising me. Again. I figured tonight would just be us.

"You want me to meet your friends already?"

"Well, yeah, I've been talking about you enough. They want to know who you are."

"No pressure," I say, laughing into my wine glass.

"There isn't. My friends are awesome."

"Tell me about them." I set down my glass, tuck my feet under me, cozying up beside him.

His eyes crinkle. "You may have heard of some of them. Cassius is Cash Flow, and his girl Evangeline—"

"Shit, Evie?" I ask, eyes wide.

"You're a fan?"

"Well, yeah," I tell him. As if it isn't obvious? It should be. "She's gorgeous, and so talented. At the Grammys this year she looked like an angel. I mean, I downloaded her album on iTunes the moment it released."

"Yeah, she was crazy nervous. But man, her solo album is off the chains. Don't tell Cash, but I think Evie's is better."

I smile, agreeing. "Don't get me wrong, Cash Flow's music is so raw and emotional, but Evie is breathtaking."

"I met them last fall," Holden explains. "Evie actually moved in here, into my guest house. For like a month, before she met Cash."

"How did you meet her?" I immediately feel a flash of insecurity over someone that beautiful, that famous, living here.

"She's the cousin of my other buddy, Jude—you'll meet him tonight, too."

"And who's Jude? Let me guess? A model or a screenwriter?" I smile, enjoying this insight into Holden's personal life.

"Jude's a film maker. You may have heard of him? Jude McCall? He produced Dead Bird Falling?"

I purse my lips, trying to remember. "Is that the indie move that won all those awards at Sundance?"

"Yeah, it was big deal."

"I remember. I haven't seen it, though."

"Jude's the shit. He moved to LA to be an actor, but he's a few years older than us. We signed with Trenton at the same time. Anyway. Jude called bullshit on all the movies he auditioned for—including Johnny Jumper. That asshole auditioned for the part before me, got offered the fucking gig. Turned it down."

"Wow. Does he regret it, now that you've become such a success?"

Holden shakes his head, taking another drink of his beer. "Nah. The commercial thing isn't his scene."

I admire that about Jude, and I haven't even met him. When I used to think about coming to LA, it was never for the movies Holden makes. Though, looking around this gorgeous property, I know that way of thinking was a little naive. A blockbuster film pays the bills, in a big way.

“So when are we meeting your crew?" I ask. "I should probably change."

"I can help you with that, if you want." He leans closer to me on the love seat, his finger running along the buttons of my blouse.

I lick my lips. "Right. This skirt might be tricky to get out of."

"I could always help you wash up first. You need a shower, bad."

"You're right, of course."

"I am?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm really dirty," I tell him, taking his hand and dragging it up my leg, under my skirt. I want him to feel that I skipped the panties again today. I want him to feel that I'm already getting wet with just the idea of he and I sharing an afternoon delight.

His fingers graze over my knee, up my thigh, moving higher until his fingers press against my bare mound.

"Oh fuck, girl," he groans, plunging a finger into my wet pussy.

"I need you to wash me nice and clean," I tell him, my hand moving over the growing bulge in his shorts. He's so hard for me, and I trace the outline of his hard cock as his finger traces the folds of my pussy, my wetness seeping as he runs his finger back and forth.

He doesn't wait any longer. He lifts me from the seat and his strong arms wrap around my waist.

"I'm gonna fuck you right now, and then I’ll wash you up, understood?"

"Mmmmm," I manage. "That sounds perfect." My mouth presses against his, our lips parted, our tongues entwined. My hips grind against him.

I want to feel how huge his cock is for me, so I unbutton his shorts and reach a hand down. I’m so desperate to feel it in my hand, his smooth-skinned cock that fills my pussy so well. He rips apart my blouse, buttons popping across the deck, his hands reaching for my tits like he needs them, immediately.

"Your tits are so fucking huge. Like melons. And they taste so fucking sweet, too," he tells me as he unclasps my bra, letting my breasts fall from the cups. He tries to palm them, but they're too big for him to hold with one hand. Instead he leans down, sucks on my hard nipple as I run my hand over his massive cock, up and down, stroking him nice and good out in the wide-open air. The sky is blue and the sun is warm, and no one is even remotely near us. It’s just Holden and me, stripping down and opening up.

Our relationship is shifting, growing. Becoming something carnal and real. Something tangible, something that could be more than a fling.

That idea terrifies me, but it also ignites a need for Holden to be closer to me, in me.

As if reading my mind, Holden speaks. "Turn around, baby," he tells me, and I do as he says.

He lifts my skirt. My bare ass is in his hands, and I lean against the bar next to us—stocked for his infamous pool parties, I'm sure.

But right now, I'm only thinking about the way my hands grip the counter, the way Holden runs his hands over my skin, his fingers traveling lower, to my wanting pussy.

I hear him roll on a condom, and then his cock is against me, thrusting into my tight pussy, and I move my feet apart, bending my ass toward him, so he can ease into me completely.

I'm coming within moments. "Oh my God, Holden, you feel so big."

"I am big, baby."

"But this ... this is so full. So ...." I can't speak. I can only moan.

He likes it like that. His cock is deep inside me, and one hand reaches to my breasts, massaging me. His other hand moves lower, circling my clit expertly. I lay my hand on top of his as he moves against my dripping pussy. It feels so good, and my back arches in pleasure as his hand and cock bring me to my limits.

I'm moaning—okay, at this point I'm full-on crying out—because he's pounding against me, hard, harder, harder. So hard I can't see or think. I can only feel.

He knows it, because he moves in and out, his fingers circling me faster, over and over again as I climax against him, pressing my body against his chest, hard, begging him to close his arms around me as I crash.

He does; his arms tighten around me as I come. He hasn't come yet, but he must sense that my pussy has been pounded as hard as I can possibly take. He pulls out of me, turning me around, but his raging hard-on is still begging to be satisfied. It's throbbing, needy, and I want my pussy to be its release.

Lifting me, he sets me on the counter then pulls me to him. His solid cock enters my soft pussy; my hands grip the counter, my butt balancing me, as my legs wrap around his waist. He pumps against me, and my tits are bouncing in his face, just the way he likes it. The salty sea air moves over us, and my erect nipples burn in the breeze.

"Fuck, girl," he groans, coming against me, hard, as he thrusts deeper.

"It feels so good, baby," I tell him, unable to restrain myself from his endearing term. I can't hold anything back at this point. Right now, I would give him anything.

My pussy grows warmer as his seed fills the condom, pressed inside me. I close my eyes, near tears at that amazing display of human prowess. Holden's cock could rule the world. It clearly rules my pussy.

He wraps his arms around me, tenderly holding me, and our noses touch. The moment is intimate, still. Ours.

"I love you, Bexley," he tells me. "So damn much."

I kiss him, the words a salve to my heart—words I've been waiting to hear for years, unknowingly.

Still, they aren't words I'm ready to repeat.

* * *

Chapter 21

Holden

We're both so relaxed, we nearly fall asleep on the ride to TropiCALI for drinks. Thank God I have my driver taking us everywhere tonight.

After the patio fuck, we enjoyed simultaneous shower-gasms, then got dressed. Now we lazily lace our fingers as we cruise toward downtown LA.

"It's been a good day," Bex murmurs, nestled close to me. She rests her head on my shoulder, stifling a yawn as the car pulls up to the valet.

"You gonna be able to handle this?" I ask her, as the driver opens her door. "There might be a lot of cameras out tonight."

"I only have eyes for you." She winks, and I know she's being cheesy on purpose, but part of me loves the sweet way she plays. I need more sweet in my life.

"You better," I tell her, squeezing her ass as she exits the town car.

The restaurant is full, and I'm glad we have a table in the back of the bar. Holding Bexley's hand, I guide her to my friends. When they see us, Cassius raises a glass in greeting.

"Our man, Holden," he says. "And this must be Bexley?"

"That's right," she says confidently, offering him her hand, before reaching for Evie's proffered one. Shaking it, she says, "I'm a huge fan—I know that is probably so tacky to say, but I was very much fan-girling when Holden told me you were friends.”

"Thank you," Evie says, her eyes warm and her words genuine. "I still can't believe I’m well-known enough for anyone to know my name."

"Oh, you totally are," Bexley says, taking a seat on a couch beside me. "I'm a student teacher, and the students are constantly playing your album—and yours, too, Cash."

"Yeah, sure," Cassius says, grinning, beaming at his girl. "We all know who's the real star here."

Jude jumps into the conversation, and I notice that Rachel's not here. "Heard you might be a star soon, too," he says, shaking Bexley's hand.

She shakes her head, confused. I want to mouth the word NO to Jude, but it's too late.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Did the meeting with Trenton not go well?" Jude asks, darting his eyes to mine.

Oh, fuck. Bexley is not going to like this.

"Trenton?" she asks.

At the same time, I say, "Oh, that went fine. He just stopped by for a drink."

"A drink?" Jude's left eyebrow raises, more than slightly.

"But I thought he was coming to—" Evie starts, but Cassius reaches for her knee, squeezes it. The moment is so noticeably awkward that even Bexley scrunches up her nose.

"What am I missing?" she asks.

Jude, Cash, and Evie all smile tightly, leaning back in their seats, looking at me for help.

"What?" Bexley says, laughing now. "You guys are pretty intense to keep up with. I think I need a drink while you fill me in."

A waitress appears, as if she heard our conversation—hell, she probably did. We’re the most A-List table here tonight, and I try to ignore the reality that several people have pulled out their phones and are taking photos of us.

"I'd love a glass of Prosecco," Bexley orders.

"I'll take a Manhattan," I tell her before she whisks away.

As soon as she's gone, Bexley returns to the group, leaning in as if they're old friends. "So, I thought the whole thing was kind of awkward with Trenton today. Was there a reason for that?"

Jude frowns—and Bexley notices.

I've got to say something, but I don't want the next words to be ones that push her away.

"Trenton's my agent, right?" I say.

"Yeah," Bexley says, nodding slowly.

"Well," I begin, uncomfortably, "I thought maybe he could represent you. Like, if you wanted to take acting seriously again, move to LA and start auditioning. He came over to meet you—"

"Wait," she says, holding up a hand. "You, like, set it up?"

The waitress comes over and drops off our drinks, and I take the moment to look at her, thank her directly, avoiding the conversation at hand.

"I'm going to be a teacher, Holden. You know that, right?"

"I know you say that, but ... we both know you don't really want to be a teacher."

She lets out a cold, sharp laugh—a laugh that’s so unlike her that it throws me off. Her ruby red lips widen incredulously as she absorbs what I said.

"Don't you think that's a little fucking presumptuous?" she asks.

"I think I know you better than you want to admit. I think you’re as scared as you've ever been. And I’m a good friend, helping you get out of Tolling and into the place you belong. Where you've always belonged."

"In LA? With you? Is that it?" she asks, standing.

"Sit, Bex. Don't be like this," I tell her, reaching for her hand.

"Be like what? Be a realist? Because the truth is the same as it's always been, Holden. You never wanted to commit to me before, and now it seems like you only want to if it's on your terms. If I'm some actress with an agent, and living here in LA with you, we can work. But if I don't play by your rules, what? What happens then, Holden?" she asks.

"Then you’ll live with more regret than you have right now."

She leans over, clearly unfazed by the fact that my friends can hear every word we exchange. "You told me you love me," she hisses. "This isn't love, not respecting me enough to ask why I'm in Tolling. Why I chose this life."

"Oh, baby," I tell her. "I know why you're back there. You’re scared to face the person you really are."

"But you're so noble, so evolved that you know your motivations for everything?" she asks.

"I know you. And that's enough."

"You don't know anything about me, Holden," she tells me, her voice hushed, her tone intense, her words sharp. She starts to walk away.

"Why is it always you walking away from me?” I call to her as she heads toward the exit. “You say I'm scared of commitment? I'm not the one leaving. That's on you, Bexley. All of it."

She turns. Her eyes are full of tears, her face washed in pain.

I watch as she absorbs my words, as the truth in them hits her. She knows it's true.

And still, she walks away.

* * *

Chapter 22

Bexley

I leave the swankiest restaurant I've ever set foot in, with tears filling my eyes. My heart surges; everything inside me wants to scream.

This is so freaking typical of Holden.

I'm pulling out my phone, desperate to get an Uber back to his place so I can get in my Volvo and head home. Now.

Maybe I subconsciously knew this was going to happen ... why else would I have been so adamant about taking my own mode of transportation today?

Just as I'm about to press the app, Jude strides out of the restaurant, headed straight toward me.

"Awesome, so he can't even come after me himself? He sends you?" I say snidely, even though I know this guy doesn't deserve my attitude.

"Woah, honey. To be fair, he tried to follow you, but the entire table actually vetoed him chasing you down. Besides the fact that the paparazzi would kill for this story, we're all betting you'll scratch out Holden's eyes if you see him right now. And even though he's a fucker, I think blinding the bastard might be a little harsh?"

I cross my arms, pulling in my bottom lip.

"You need a ride?" he asks. "I'm guessing you need to get back to Holden's place to get your car."

"Yeah, but I don't even know the security code. The last thing I want to do is call him and ask for it. God. This is so stupid." I run a hand over my neck, upset that I let things with Holden get as far as they did.

Terrified that I'm everything he says ... and worse.

Jude hands a ticket to the valet, rests a hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you."

"Thanks," I tell him, taking deep breaths, trying to gain some sort of composure as I slide into the passenger seat of his bright red Dodge Challenger. I buckle up as he gets into the driver's seat.

"You hungry?" he asks, driving away from the restaurant.

"Actually, I am."

He nods, and turns left before getting on the freeway.

Fifteen minutes later, he and I are standing at a taco truck in Santa Monica, ordering street tacos with extra guacamole.

Sitting on a bench, looking out at the Pacific Ocean, I shake my head. "He's always been like this. Always thinks he knows what’s best for me."

Jude nods. "He really cares about you."

"He said he loved me today. You know how long I've wanted to hear those words from Holden?" I pause, looking at the ocean before us, trying to find the right words. "Ever since we met as freshman in high school. We’d both never set foot in an acting class in our lives, but we were randomly assigned there by our guidance counselors. We went around the room introducing ourselves, saying something about our summer."

I look at Jude, and I can tell he's listening intently.

"Anyway," I continue. "I'm sure I said something about volunteering with Habitat for Humanity—my parents are teachers, and really into that organization. We spent every summer building houses. Anyway, Holden stands up, grinning, and tells the entire class that he had spent the summer perfecting his ability to choke the chicken."

I pause, smirking.

Jude starts laughing. "He said that?"

"Right? Well, I had no idea what that meant, and neither did the teacher; Holden got lucky there. But the boys in class knew the euphemism, because they were laughing. I went home, Googled it, and found out it meant jacking off. Obviously my interest was piqued. I mean, what fourteen-year-old has balls that big, right? He could have been suspended."

Jude shakes his head. "So it was love at first sight?"

"There's always been a divide between Holden and me. I've always felt a few steps behind him. Like I'm never in on the joke. But also, I've always felt like Holden was fearless. And even though he’s done some stupid reckless things, he also gets what he wants. And I think that's what I've always been so attracted to."

"What stops you from being stupidly brave like him?" Jude asks.

I take a bite of my chorizo taco, thinking. Finally, I wipe my mouth and answer, "My parents think acting is selfish. They think it's a self-serving career. That's why I never went with Holden. The truth of it."

Jude groans, leaning back on the bench. "Fuck, that's heavy shit."

"What?" I ask, caught off guard with his exclamation.

"I bet you've never told him that, have you?"

"Well, he thinks I didn't go because I was scared ... but it basically was that. I was scared of standing up to my parents and fighting for my dream. They're good people who spend all their free time helping others, never getting attention themselves. Me? I wanted to be center stage."

"You don't strike me as a fame-and-fortune hunter."

"No?" I take the final bite of my taco, listening.

"No. I've lived in Hollywood for four years; I know the difference."

"You've known me an hour, Jude."

"An hour is a lifetime in this town. Besides, I'm a filmmaker. I make a career out of taking a few minutes and telling an entire story. I knew your angle the moment we met at TropiCALI."

"Oh yeah?" I crumple up my taco wrapper. "What's my angle?"

"You aren't being honest with yourself. I saw it in the way you looked when Holden called you out, said that you're scared to face the person you really are."

"How did I look?" I ask, somehow able to hear Jude in ways I can't with Holden.

With Holden, the words are charged and personal. But Jude's interest in this relationship working out is different than mine or Holden's. He's a third party, and I trust him.

"Your face was marked with anger, but you kept talking—sharp and cutting. Like you wanted to push Holden to the breaking point. You wanted the scene. The drama."

"I thought you said I wasn't a drama queen, looking for attention?"

Jude smiles softly. "You're not, Bexley. But I think you were hoping—and maybe it’s the same thing you hoped four years ago—to push Holden so far over the edge that he’ll reach out a hand and take you with him. Take you with him to the figurative dark side, the place you want to go. You think he's the only one who can. You want him to pull you away from the life you are living. But he won't. Ever."

His words hit me painfully hard, and I draw in a tight breath, on the verge of tears.

"Why won't he force me to go with him. Why won't he fight for me?"

"Oh, girl," Jude sighs. "Because that's true love."

"To give up on me is to love me?"

"No, it's true because he loves you enough to let you choose your own path. He loves you enough to know you need to do that part on your own."

I wipe the tears away, the ones falling down my cheeks, realizing this is the exact same logic I've been using on him all this time.

"Why do you know so much about love?" I ask him, surprised by the way he articulated things I'd never be able to put into words.

"I don't know shit."

"Not true." I look out at the ocean, at the crashing waves unfurling on the shore. A child walks hand-in-hand with an older man, squealing as the water covers her ankles. "You're a real grownup. Aren't you going to be a dad soon?"

"Something like that," he says, his eyes also on the shoreline.

I don't press, because who am I to judge anyone's word choice at this moment.

"Thank you, Jude. For all of this." I wave at the taco wrappers and the ocean and the space between us. His words are still hanging in the air: He loves you enough to let you choose.

"Hey, anytime," Jude says. We stand, walking toward his car. "And hey, if you ever decide you want to come to town, come out of retirement, I can hook you up. I mean, I can't offer you a role in a summer blockbuster, but I’m looking for funding for a film right now."

"What kind of movie is it?" I ask.

"Modern retelling of Gone with the Wind."

"No one wants to help with a classic?"

Jude shrugs. "People are scared of changing what works."

"But you? You aren't scared of upsetting the general public by tainting their perception of Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler?"

"People are going to be upset in life no matter what we do, Bexley. Might as well go big or go home."

* * *

Chapter 23

Holden

When I return home, her things are gone. Jude texted, letting me know he had her and was bringing her back for her stuff, and that I should give her some space.

I know he's right. The last thing Bexley needs is me telling her, again, what she needs and what she should fucking want.

She's her own woman. Damn, that's why I've always loved her. Even as a freshman in high school, she was set apart, in her Audrey-Hepburn-esque clothing, her red lips and complete ability to be her own person regardless of how the rest of the population of Tolling High thought of her.

Yeah, she’s flawed. She’s scared and running—and fuck, I think I know what she needs, what would be best for her. No, I'm not just referring to my mammoth cock that's so perfect for her pussy. I'm also talking about her flashing her parents the middle finger and moving to LA and giving herself a shot at what she really wants.

I hate that she's settling. I want more for her.

But she has to want it for herself.

I send her a text.

Me: Hope you got home safe. I meant what I said. I love you Bexley. But I'm not gonna call again. The ball's in your court.

She responds an hour later: I'm home safe. Thx for the space.

At that point I message my personal trainer, telling him I'm going to need extra sessions all week.

Working out is the only way I'm going to keep my cock from going crazy. Already, it’s wondering where that perfect pussy has gone.

But a week passes. Without a fucking word.

And at this point I'm getting pissed.

I call in backup.

Cassius and Evie are house-shopping—apparently their lease is almost up on their rental—and I follow them around from mansion to mansion, lamenting my plight. They give me pitying looks and I decide to cool it on my woe-is-me act.

They know I fucked it up with her anyway. Why the hell did I call Trenton to interview her like a piece of meat to be sold?

Their real estate agent shows them a mansion, really close to my place, and I point out why the location is so prime.

"You could walk down the beach and we could be partying within minutes."

"I thought you were done with parties?" Evie asks, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know what I am."

Evie tells the agent that we're going to look outside and discuss the property.

She, Cassius, and I walk out to the deck, where an infinity pool frames the ocean.

"Damn, this place is ridic," Cassius says, snapping his fingers as he takes it in, reminding me that he’s more of an OG than I could ever be.

"It's nicer than my dad's place," Evie says. "Can we afford it?"

"We can afford it, but it’ll max us out," Cassius says. "I can't believe it's even on the table as a place I could buy. It's a little insane, how fast our lives changed."

"Speaking of lives changing," I start.

"We need a Bexley break," Evie says, holding up her hand. "No offense."

I wave her off. "I wasn't talking about me. I was going to mention Jude. His life is seriously about to change. Rachel is five months pregnant."

Cassius shakes his head. "I don't get the impression either of them have any fucking clue what they're about to face."

"I have no experience with babies. Or kids in general," I say. "I need to step up my game, though, because they’ll need some serious help."

"Surely she'll hire a nanny or something, right?" Evie says. "Rachel doesn't come off as exactly maternal."

"She comes off as a fucking bitch who doesn't even want this kid. Or her life with Jude." Cassius isn't sugar-coating anything, which I appreciate, but I'm also glad Jude isn't within earshot.

"We need to be as supportive as possible, then," Evie says. "I mean, I know nothing about babies, but right now they just need us to be there for them. Do you guys know how Jude's work is going?"

"It's at a dead end. He has a script he's pumped about, but can't get funding," I tell them.

"Maybe we shouldn't buy this house," Cassius says, taking in the sweeping view. "We could be the investors he needs."

"He refuses my money."

"I've never offered him mine," Cassius says. "Maybe it would be different, since I'm not going to be starring in it."

"I'm not starring in Jude's movie," I say, laughing.

"I thought you said you were changing?" Evie challenges me. "Growing up and all that?"

"I can change without putting a nail in the coffin of my career." I raise an eyebrow at Cassius. "Would you really offer him the funding?"

"It would be sweet to be an executive producer. And damn, my mom would be proud."

Evie smiles at her boyfriend. "And your brother would shit his pants."

"True," Cassius laughs. "Then it's as good as done."

"You won't be sad, not living so close to me?"

"Eh," Cassius shrugs. "We could always move into your guest house."

"No can do. I promised it to my sister. She's moving here in a few weeks for the summer. Or forever."

"I've never met Catalina," Evie says. "How old is she?"

"Just a year younger than me. We're eleven months apart. My poor mother."

"And you're almost twenty-three?” Evie asks.

"Yep. She'll be twenty-two next month."

"I can't wait to meet her. I need some friends. You two are fun and all," Evie says, "but I need a girlfriend."

"Well, Cat's your girl. She's a girl’s girl through and through. Sweet as honey and never lets people down."

"I thought she was at Berkeley?" Evie asks.

"She's transferring to go to film school."

"Man," Cassius says as we walk back into the mansion, "I wish a girl like that could have ended up with Jude, instead of Rachel."

Evie swats his arm, admonishing him. "You can't say that."

The agent looks at us eagerly. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we're going to pass," Cassius says. "We're renewing our lease and investing in a person, not a property. "

I think the agent is annoyed—but damn, how can anyone argue with words like that logic?

People over things. Friends over fame.

The words rattle in my mind as I drive home, my phone taunting me. Bexley hasn't called in a week.

When does “space” equate to the end?

I don't want to know.

* * *

Chapter 24

Bexley

I cry on the entire drive home after my break-up with Holden.

Is that even what that was? Honestly, it's happening so often, I don't know what he and I are anymore—besides a train wreck.

The heart-to-heart with Jude helped me see things more clearly, but it didn't make anything easier.

Holden texts me that night, and I thank him for giving me space.

Which I mean.

I need that. Space. Time.

Reflection.

Of course, that lasts for the length of one night.

Because even if I want it for a longer period of time, I'm not on some meditative retreat where I can figure out my issues. I'm living real life, in my parents’ house.

The next morning over breakfast, my parents are discussing their summer plans.

"We're going to spend six weeks rebuilding the Homeless Shelter. It's near collapse," Dad explains. "And some local churches have agreed to partner with us to help build an annex for a summer program for the kids who stay there."

"Wow, that's quite the undertaking," I tell them, pouring my coffee, trying not to take it personally that they don't ask me a single thing about my day with Holden. It isn't fair to expect them to be something they aren't. Meaning: supportive.

"What are you doing this summer, Bex?" Mom asks. "Besides looking for a teaching job?"

"I haven't decided, to be honest. I've scoured the job listings for drama teacher jobs, but they’re so rare. I think the best bet is staying in Tolling and subbing at the school next year until there's an opening. I don't really want to move to a random city, all by myself."

"That plan could work, though you won't have any health insurance," Mom says, spreading jam on her toast.

I twist my lips. "True. I hadn't thought of that."

"That's why you have us," Dad says genially, patting my hand. "To help you make good, solid decisions."

"Your plan sounds wonderful though Bexley," Mom says. "And you can help your father and me at the shelter this summer."

I nod, wondering if I should be honest right now, mention my thoughts about Holden—the heart-wonderings that are fluttering around in my head when I let myself wander down the road of what-if.

But before I can even utter his name, my dad adds, "To be frank, this time you've been spending with Holden has worried us more than a little. It's nice to see you here at our breakfast table this morning. It reminds us that we have done a good job raising you."

"And if I'd stayed the night in LA, that would change your opinion?" I can't help but ask.

"Not necessarily," Mom says sheepishly. "But yes, this rekindled friendship reminds us of the hard spell we went through with you when you were in high school."

"Hard spell?" I laugh. "Mom. I got straight As. I was in the Honor Society. Volunteered on the weekends. Starred in too many plays to count. Got a full ride to college. I don't think I could have done all of that while going through a hard spell."

"To be fair, you did challenge us, even with the time you spent at that theater. It was all so indulgent. So ... unnecessary."

"I loved the time I spent on stage."

Mom smiles, much too sweetly. "We know you did. But does doing something because you love it make it worthy of your time?"

I pick up my empty coffee cup, knowing this conversation isn't going anywhere.

"Thank you for the offer to stay here. It means a lot," I tell them, determined to take the high ground.

"Of course, Bexley. You're the best daughter—and best teacher—in all of Tolling."

"Big shoes to fill," I say, leaving the kitchen, biting the inside of my mouth to squelch any possibility of losing my mind.

* * *

I FaceTime Sami after work, knowing she must be buried in finals. Grateful, for the first time, that I spent last summer doing extra courses so that now, while student teaching, it’s the last box that needs checking to get my college degree.

"Hey," I say, pulling a French fry from my bag of fast food—a PMS indulgence I legitimately deserve. End-of-year high school students suck, even if they are cute drama geeks.

"You okay? You went MIA all week," Sami says, reaching for a Frappuccino while sitting in the front seat of her car.

"Are you driving?"

"Relax. I'm parked outside of Starbucks. I've been here cramming for hours."

"Which class is stressing you out the most?"

"Poli-Sci. It's so dumb. Remind me again why I wanted to be a Psych major?"

"Uh." I laugh, knowing Sami may be great at pop culture bar trivia night, and better at naming songs on the radio than Shazam, but she doesn't have the market cornered on depth. It should be interesting to see where she ends up in the fall.

"I know," she moans. "God. I've been studying every free moment."

"Is it helping?"

"Well, I was going to add, I've been studying every spare moment starting yesterday at like six PM."

"So less than twenty-four hours?"

"Pretty much." We both laugh, her drinking her coffee shake and me gobbling up greasy fries. "So what's up?" she asks. "You never really told me how your date went last Saturday."

Knowing I only gave her cryptic texts since then, I dish the entire story. Walking the beach, awkwardly meeting the agent, the patio sex, the shower quickie, ending with the disastrous drinks at TropiCALI.

When I finish, Sami sighs. "Did he seriously say you were the one scared of commitment?"

"Why?" I ask, surprised that she's chosen to latch onto that nugget considering I had a hunch Holden might actually be right about that part. I am the one walking away. Always.

Pushing him back. Always.

"It's just kind of insightful, don't you think?"

"In a lot of ways, yeah ... but, Sami, Holden's the bad guy here, right? He had his agent come to scope me out. I never asked for that."

"What did you ask for, Bexley?" she asks.

"I didn't ask for anything. Not a single thing."

"Are you sure?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm sure."

"Okay." Sami looks away from the camera, and I know her well enough to know there is more to this than okay.

"Just say it," I beg her. "Please."

"He said he loves you, Bexley. And then you literally ran away. I just wonder if maybe that's worth looking into."

"But, Sami," I tell her, dropping my guard. "If Holden was right ... that means I just wasted four years of my life. I don't know if I can face that."

"Would you rather waste the next four decades? Hell, Bexley, we can all get re-dos. Start-overs."

"No." I shake my head. "Life is not a video game."

"Maybe not," Sami says. "But it isn't all or nothing. Life isn't black-and-white."

"Maybe you will be a good psychologist."

"Thanks, brat," she tells me. "Now help me study. I need you to quiz me."

I open the email she's forwarded from the professor about the final and start reading off questions, while stuffing my face with the rest of my fries.

I’m grateful as hell that she isn't the type of friend who walks away; she stays, listens, speaks her mind. And I can't help but wonder if that's the sort of girl I want to be.

And what it would take to stay.

Not here in Tolling, but with Holden, through thick and thin.

* * *

Chapter 25

Holden

I put Trenton off as long as humanly possible.

Long enough to decide what the fuck I need to do.

What I really want to do is Bexley—anywhere and everywhere. I want her to ride my cock up and down, all day. All night. Always.

She still hasn't called. Two fucking weeks and not a single call.

Nothing.

At this point I want to fucking let it go. Drop it. Every godforsaken memory of her perfection.

Because I can take a fucking hint.

She doesn't want me. If she did, she’d be here. With me. Now.

The morning I'm supposed to head to Trenton's office to deliver my decision, I wake with a raging hard-on that only Bexley could ease down.

The sun shines through my drapes. My house is empty, my hand firmly planted on my cock.

I indulge myself by thinking of her, and of her big, luscious tits. I imagine her rubbing them up and down, the length of my cock, titty-fucking them nice and good. I stroke myself as I imagine her hair falling over her shoulders, her bright red lips widening over the tip of my cock as she sucks me nice and slow, rolling my balls in her hand.

Her ass would be in the air, of course, and I imagine myself slapping it, giving her a nice spanking—one she deserves, and one she wants. For being so naughty. For making me wait for her for so long.

My cock is so hard in my hand, as I keep rubbing it out, wanting to come as I imagine her round ass in my face, me licking that sweet cunt of hers, as she licks my cock until I come all over those tits.

Fuck. I move my hand faster on my shaft, exploding as I think of her gagging on my cock, as I think of her swallowing my come, the salty release dripping on her swollen lips as I suck her clit, letting her pussy juice pour all over my face, just the way I like.

I could lick her pussy every day for the rest of my goddamn life. If only she'd fucking let me.

Getting out of bed and showering, I try to wash away my thoughts of Bexley, try to let the memories swirl down the drain—but just one look at my softening cock, and I know even the thought of her is strong enough to get my wood hard as nails, unrelenting. Needy.

Driving to Trenton's, I mentally psych myself up for what's ahead, for what we need to discuss: the future of my fucking career.

"Holden, good to see you," Trenton says, as I step into his office.

"Yeah, sorry I took so damn long to get a decision to you."

"Will I be happy?"

"Not sure. I don't really fucking know what you want."

"You don't? I want tons of cash, and that's about it."

"And for your clients to be happy, right?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Of course, of course," he adds, with too much force, which tells me that actually, no, my happiness is at the bottom of his list of priorities.

"Good. Because I am happy."

"Really, even though that girl of yours is out?"

"Shit, of course I want her in. But dammit, I'm done forcing something that someone else doesn't want. She wanted out. So she left."

"You, Hollywood Holden, notorious asshole and womanizer, just let her walk away?"

"It wasn't walk so much as run." I laugh, knowing how self-deprecating I sound. And he's right. Maybe as recently as a few months ago, my biggest concern was getting the heat off my back over a stupid-ass fight at a bar that got me bad press.

But it isn't anymore.

Being with Bexley—however fucked-up the time together was—reminded me that I came to this town on my own terms. I walked into LA and created a name for myself by being myself. Those fans I made, they can follow me anywhere I go, but I sure as hell don't want them if they only want my back as Johnny Jumper.

I’m more than that.

Bexley always thought I was.

I've been scared, too. Scared to take a risk.

I said that Bexley was the one who was scared, but I was fucking wrong.

Because Johnny Jumper may be a firefighter who jumps out of planes, dodges bullets, and saves the fucking day … but he’s a safety net. A sure thing.

And that isn't who I want to be. I want to be a risk, a chance. I want to beat the odds.

"So is it script number one, or number two?" Trenton asks, a smug look of curiosity on his face.

"Neither," I tell him. "I take door number three." I drop a script on his desk. "This is the movie I'm making. Make it happen."

I don't wait for an answer.

This time, I'm the one who walks away.

* * *

Chapter 26

Bexley

The school year is wrapping up. It's Friday night, and only two more days of class next week before it's over.

And no job prospects. Not even a nibble.

I'm not stressed, exactly, but I am feeling less grounded than ever.

But my advising teacher, Rita, is out for three days with her mom in San Diego. I can't help but wonder if something has gone wrong.

When Mom and Dad show up in Rita's office, the one I use, during my planning period I’m a little caught off guard. They’re very respectful of personal space during work hours, no surprise. They take everything super seriously, and even if I'm student teaching at their school, in their opinion decorum preempts family.

"Hey Mom, Dad. Everything okay?"

Mom grins and reaches for my hands, squeezing them. "Oh, honey. We just heard through the grapevine."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Has Mark not been in yet?" she asks.

"Mark?"

Dad waves his hand. "She means Principal Pratt."

I register the principal's first name—something I never think about, considering he was my principal when I was a student for four years. "No, he hasn't been by. Is something wrong? Have you heard something from Rita?"

Mom beams at me, looking prouder than when I got the full-ride to college.

"What?" I ask, laughing in confusion.

"We're just so darn proud of you, sweetie. Always working so hard, choosing such a noble profession. We are so honored to be your parents."

"Okay, now you're scaring me." I wave my hands in the air. "What's this all about?"

"Don't ruin the surprise," Dad says.

"Surprise?" My eyebrows raise, wanting to know what's up.

"Tonight," Dad says, wagging a finger at me. "We celebrate. I'm grilling steaks, for our girl."

"And I'm making coconut cream pie," Mom adds as they scoot out of the office, causing me to smile despite myself. It feels good to make them so happy, and the nervous energy they brought with them circles me for the rest of the planning period.

So when Principal Pratt shows up in Rita's well-organized—courtesy of me—office in the new theater, I'm not surprised.

"Morning, Mr. Pratt," I say formally, then asking if everything is okay. Not that something would be seriously wrong if my parents were acting so dang cheery.

"Oh, things are fine on my front. Ms. Childs, on the other hand, has informed me that she won't be returning next year."

"She won't be? Like, at all?" I pull out the pencil that's tucked behind my ear and twirl it nervously in my fingers. "Is it her mom?"

"Afraid so. She had surgery this spring, and the recovery has been poor. Rita is moving in with her, and has requested a leave of absence for the upcoming school year."

"Wow. I'm so sorry, but I'm glad her mom has her," I say, absorbing this unexpected turn of events.

"The same way your parents are lucky to have you, Bexley. They were so happy to know you were doing your student teaching here."

"It's been a great experience."

"So you feel as though you can hack it? These crazy kids aren't giving you a run for your money?"

"Not exactly." I laugh. "Rita was a good example, and of course my parents have been more than willing to help as I learned the ropes."

Mr. Pratt smiles warmly, and it feels nice to know I did such a good job here. I put my heart and soul into my student teaching, and had a fun time while doing it.

"So what would you say if I offered you a one-year contract, Bexley?"

My eyes widen. "Is this an official offer, Mr. Pratt?" I press my hand to my chest, flattered, and knowing that this is a moment I will never forget—the moment I make a choice about so much.

"It is," he says, grinning. "It's the end of the year, and it isn't an extended contract. So if we can avoid a hiring committee, it would be my pleasure to end the year knowing we had a drama teacher secured for next year."

I smile. Swallow.

One year isn't forever. Heck, I spent four years wondering what sleeping with Holden would be like. Four years tormenting myself over our good-bye.

Four years wanting a re-do, but also terrified at the prospect of what I would actually do if I was face-to-face with him again.

And now I know. I know that when Holden said he loved me, when he flat-out told me I was his, that his heart was mine for the taking ... I ran.

But I don't have to run anymore.

Now, I get to choose.

For the first time in my life, the choice feels easy.

Like it isn't a choice at all.

Like it was predestined, like it’s meant to be.

* * *

Chapter 27

TWO MONTHS LATER...

Bexley

I'm driving my crappy Volvo, headed to my very first day on the new job.

There was literally no way I could say no to the offer even if I wanted to. My parents had expectations of me, and I had expectations of myself.

And in the end, I knew what being a grown-up meant. It meant a 401k and a retirement plan and a sure thing.

My stomach is in knots. I'm probably dressed all wrong. This uniform of mine—black pants, white blouse, red lips—was cute when I was a teenager, acceptable when I was a college student ... but now I’m beyond all that.

Now I’ll have all eyes on me, scrutinizing everything I say or do. And I don't want to look like an idiot.

I should be more confident. This isn't my first time at this rodeo. It's not like this is completely new. I've practiced.

But still ... just because I'm prepared, doesn't mean it will be easy.

God knows I've second-guessed my choice a thousand times. I think if Sami had to listen to one more night of my lamentations regarding my life choices she might genuinely have screamed in my face—but, as a dutiful best friend, she chose to support me.

She even came and helped me move out of my parents’ house, loading up a tiny rented U-Haul to move into my own place. Like a real grown-up with an actual job. A career.

And she's slept over at said new place for most of the summer. Because she didn't have a job to go to herself and, luckily for her, her parents are willing to fund grad school.

We enjoyed a California summer, driving to the beach and reading trashy romance novels in the sun. We drank cheap boxed wine in my new digs while binge-watching Outlander. We pretended we were still in college.

Which Sami still is, technically.

And the summer dragged on forever, the build-up for my new job growing every day, mounting as I debated whether I made the right call.

But she left my place last week, and now I'm flying solo.

I wanted to start this new chapter all by myself.

But driving into the parking lot now, lifting the brake, and grabbing my tote bag, I wonder if I made a million wrong decisions that landed me here.

Brought me to today.

Because this is not what I planned. Not what I expected.

But it is always—always—what I dreamed of when I imagined myself all grown up.

I open my car door, and step into the first day of the rest of my life.

* * *

Chapter 28

Holden

Stepping on set, my heart races.

I am so fucking excited for this project, even if Trenton thinks it's a complete fucking disaster waiting to happen.

I don't really care, though. I'm going with my gut, trusting my instincts, and going all-in.

This is a risk.

No more hiding behind blockbuster movies that are sure things. This is a gamble. A chance to fucking take a leap of faith.

In myself.

When Jude accepted Cassius's funding for his new film, Here in a Breeze, everyone was overjoyed. In fact, it was what led me to get the guts to take that very script to Trenton's office, drop it on his desk, and demand he get me a part.

Of course Jude agreed. Hell, me starring in the film will no doubt give the entire movie a leg up.

Not that I believe Jude will need it.

He's an incredible filmmaker, although a very private one. I don't even know who’s starring in the movie opposite me.

But I don't care. Let him do his thing, and I'll do mine.

Is this movie a risk on a bunch of fucking levels? Hell, yeah. I've been Johnny Jumper, an alpha with a few lines and an eight-pack. Now I'm going to need to actually act.

Act, like Bexley always believed I could.

"Hey, man." Jude steps out of a trailer and greets me. "Looks pretty fucking good, right? And that right here is your private trailer," he adds, pointing to the last trailer in the row.

"Yeah, it looks amazing," I say, taking in the huge lot full of trailers, a massive outdoor set where the opening scene takes place.

I'm not shooting anything today, but I'm here meeting the rest of the cast. I'm playing the modern version of Rhett, and I'm very interested to meet my Scarlett.

"So," I turn to face him. "Rachel doing okay?"

"Yeah, she still has a few months to go. I'm hoping that most of the shooting is done before then."

"It's a tight schedule, but not the worst."

"I know." Jude nods. "Worst case scenario, we blow all of Cassius's money on a shitty film."

We laugh, knowing it isn't even remotely a possibility. After Cassius brought money to the table, several other investors that Jude had been hoping to work with ponied up.

"So, when do I meet the cast?"

"Looks like your leading lady just got here," Jude says, pointing to the parking lot behind us.

I turn, following his gaze.

And blink. My heart beats fast as I take in the sight of the familiar car.

"What the fuck?" I say, my body moving before my mind can even register what’s happening. Then I'm breaking into a run toward the parking lot.

Because hell, walking away has never been my style.

* * *

Chapter 29

Bexley

I shut the door of my Volvo and walk toward the movie set, still not quite believing that I'm coming here today. That this is actually my life.

The life I chose.

Of course, Principal Pratt offered me a solid job. A career path that a lot of people would find fulfilling.

But not me.

Still, I have no idea what to expect.

I just hope that Jude didn't make a terrible judgment call when he hired me. I hope I can hack it.

Locking my door, I turn around, only to see someone running toward me.

Fast.

I blink. Knowing this moment—the moment I waited for and planned for and really hoped wasn't a complete disaster in terms of timing—is here.

Holden sees me.

He stops across from me, catching his breath.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and I already feel hope bubble inside me in the deepest, truest way.

He shakes his head. We haven't spoken in two months.

After I turned down my job at Tolling High, I realized I needed to come to LA, like I always wanted, and begin carving out a life of my own.

I knew Jude had offered me a role in a project, but I didn't want to call in favors before I even tried on my own.

But life is funny. After living here for two days—two days where I debated how soon I should call Holden, how exactly I should even apologize—I ran into Jude at the taco truck he'd introduced me to.

And he asked me to audition, swearing he wouldn't even tell the casting director who I was.

And so I did.

And I got the leading role.

That was when Jude told me who the leading man was.

That's also when I came up with the harebrained idea to hold out and wait until right now to apologize to Holden.

Two months is a long time, but a lot shorter than four freaking years. That's a big improvement. And I'm hoping he sees it that way, too.

Jude has affirmed that it will be worth the wait, that the moment will be movie-worthy. Cassius and Evangeline even agreed to help bolster Holden's spirits as we waited with bated breath for the big reveal.

Sometimes, timing is everything.

"I'm out of retirement," I tell him nervously.

He shakes his head. "You're in this movie?"

"Yeah. I'm playing Scarlett." I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to wrap my life around his.

"I'm playing Rhett."

"I know," I admit.

"You knew?"

I nod, scared he's going to push me away. Scared I'm too late, that waiting two months was the wrong call.

"You moved to LA?"

"Two months ago."

"You never called."

"I wanted to give you space," I told him. "To let you decide…."

"What kind of person I was?" he asks.

Holden deserved a chance to decide what kind of man he wanted to be without me there, pressuring him ... at least that’s what his friends told me.

Apparently he's stopped his pool parties, the tabloid-worthy antics. Apparently he used the space he had to become a man—on his own terms, without me pushing him. I would always have questioned if it was what he really wanted.

This way, I’m certain.

And I hope he’s certain, too.

"Fuck, Bexley," he says.

"Am I too late?" I ask, tears filling my eyes.

"I would have waited forever," he says, pulling me to him.

"What's with us and parking lots?" I ask, looking around before he cups my face with his hand. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want a forgiveness fuck," he says.

"I wasn't offering you one," I say, my heart pounding. Hope surging.

"What are you offering?" he asks.

"My heart. My soul. My everything."

"Dammit, Bexley, you can't run again. You understand that?"

"I love you," I whisper, my words covered with my tears, but he hears me, knows me, believes me.

"I'll love you forever." His eyes sear into mine, and there’s no hiding, no holding back.

"What are the odds?" I say, laughing at the tears brimming in my eyes.

"It was always meant to be like this."

"This messy?”

"This beautiful.”

He kisses me then, long and hard, our mouths colliding and our hearts crashing, and everything undone, and everything coming together as one.

I couldn't have scripted it better if I'd tried.

❤️❤️❤️

SAINT JUDE

By Frankie Love

Chapter 1

Jude

Falling in love fucking sucks.

No one tells you that. Or at least, no one I listen to told me that.

But damn, it’s the truth.

And standing in my driveway, watching Rachel throw her tote bags into the car with a man I don’t know—not even stopping to think about her daughter—I realize that I never loved this woman.

It was Etta who taught me about love.

When Etta was born, I knew I was a goner. She was small and precious, and would sleep in my arms. It was a love that I could contain, that I could manage. That I could literally hold in my hands.

But there’s a lot of pressure with that amount of responsibility. Etta needs me. I can’t fuck it up. Her life is on the line.

And that terrifies me. That is what sucks.

Especially now.

Now, I’m all this six-month old girl has got—because her mother is determined to go, and God knows Rachel is not a force that can be stopped.

“I’m done with this life, Jude,” Rachel shouts, apparently having determined that I’m the root of her problems. Me, the guy who’s fucking taken care of her for the past eighteen months without asking for a single thing in return.

Me, the guy who would take care of her forever because I don’t quit on people, even when I should.

Especially not when that person is my daughter’s mother.

“Why today, of all days, do you choose to go?” I ask, wanting to understand how she could just up and leave on a random Tuesday morning while Etta is asleep in her crib.

“Because Conrad here promised to take me on a road trip.” Rachel is high, her glassy eyes and stringy hair the epitome of a mess, her mind already made up. She hasn’t wanted to be here for weeks. She never came home last night, and now, at six a.m., she shows up, strung out and packing her clothes.

“Etta needs her mother,” I try. “You need help, Rachel. Let me help you.” I’m already thinking about the rehab centers I’ve called, the ones who are willing to take her any time she will admit herself.

I’m guessing that now, with Conrad behind his wheel, smoking his damn cigarette, smirking at our domestic exchange, she must think she has better prospects.

Fuck this shit. I know Etta and I are the best things that have ever happened to Rachel, but she’s so hell bent on fucking up every good thing she has going.

“Etta doesn’t need me,” Rachel says, frowning, not having any of it. “She has you. Saint Jude. You fucking think you can save every lost cause in the world. But I’m done, I’m out. I don’t need your saving.”

I want to scream, punch something. Fucking show her that she’s being unreasonable. Crazy.

I don’t want her to stay for me … I want her to stay for Etta. I want her to get cleaned up and learn what truly matters.

Instead, Rachel opens the passenger door, slides inside. She offers me a small noncommittal wave, before letting Conrad drive her away.

“Fuck!” I scream to the sky.

How the hell did I get here, to today? My life is a joke, a fucking dick tease where I’m the one left with blue balls.

Left wanting.

I’m here, in a fancy-ass house in Los Angeles, with more on my plate than I can fucking handle.

Watching her leave down the road in another man’s car, I swear it: I’m over women. Over the drama and the fucking bullshit and the games and the disappearing and the falling in and out. And the falling apart.

I am over women.

And I swear: besides Etta, I’ll never have one for longer than a single night ever again.

Going back into the house, I hear Etta stirring. It’s a solid hour before she usually wakes, but maybe somehow she knows that her mom just left her. Left us.

Still, I can’t help wondering how my life got to this point. How did I start off owning this town, and end up here?

Eight months ago I made a film with Hollywood Holden and Oscar-nominated actress Bexley Madden. And now? Now I’m looking at a six-month-old baby girl, who looks nothing like me: different eyes, different nose, different hair.

And her mom is gone.

Getting tied up with Rachel changed everything. My friends thought I should have walked away in the first place, and never let a woman like Rachel into my life. Before Etta, Rachel was a model with a handful of high-end contracts, but every time she was close to making a real name for herself she sabotaged her opportunities. She was a messed up, beautiful wreck of a girl with more problems than I could handle.

But I wanted to help her, plain and simple. I don’t know if that makes me a fool or a saint.

Maybe I do have some complex about wanting to save people, take care of people. But is that such a fucking bad thing? To want to fix things? Make things right? Better?

No one did that for me as a kid and growing up, always fending for myself, fucking sucked.

I can’t go back and change things for myself, but I can do my best to change things for the people around me. To step in. Step up.

But nothing’s better now than it was when Rachel and I met. All that effort, all that work to take care of her. For what?

Etta’s crying, ready for a diaper change and a bottle. I can give her that. I want to give her that. I swear I’ll give her that for now, forever. For as long as she needs me.

A few years back, I was such a different person. I spent my whole life being a so-called bad boy. I had it all: women, booze, and a cock that always got me what I wanted.

But now? As long as I have Etta, I’ll never be that man again.

Etta sees me through the rungs of the crib. She knows I’m watching her. She sees me.

I just hope I’m enough.

Because, hell—right now, I’m all she’s got.

* * *

Chapter 2

Catalina

If I watch one more episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta I’m seriously going to … okay, I don’t know what I’m going to do, exactly. And I don’t want to be some melodramatic girl who’s tossing out ridiculous ultimatums, but the truth is I’m just bored out of my freaking mind.

It’s not a secret. I’ve been lying on this couch in my brother’s guesthouse for six months straight. Six months where I basically quit … everything.

Completely.

I didn’t apply to any film program. That was just a bullshit excuse to get out of Yuri’s clutches. I needed to get the eff out of Berkeley, and this seemed like the surest, quickest bet.

It was the right call. My mom moved to town a few months before I did, and my big brother Holden … well, what was he going to do? Not let me move into his empty, rent-free, gorgeous oceanfront guesthouse? I mean he’s a total douche, but he’s not that big of an asshole. He’s still my big brother.

The truth is, I’ve always been in Holden’s shadow. How could you not live there when your brother is a narcissistic, womanizing, demigod of a man?

And no, this is not some opening chapter about a girl who has some stepbrother fantasies. I’m talking about the fact that my brother is basically the most sought-after bachelor in America.

At least, he was before he hooked up with Bexley—who, I might add, is really adorable and way too good for him, but I guess in some ways they are perfect for one another. The yin to his yang, the good to his bad. The sweet to his … salty?

But eww, that is getting way too personal.

I don’t even know why I’m thinking about them, but it’s a commercial break and I’m drinking warm Diet Coke, eating SmartPop, and wondering what the actual fuck is happening to my life.

The biggest issue here isn’t even that I need to do something. The biggest issue is that Holden is going to walk through the guesthouse doors in about one hour and stage an intervention.

How do I know this?

Mostly because yesterday he came here and said, “If I come into your room after I get off work tomorrow”—which, sidebar, get off work is code for hanging out with his personal trainer—“and you’re still in the same sweatpants as yesterday, and haven’t showered, I’m calling in backup.”

Backup means my mom will come here and try to drag out what happened to cause me to go into this spiral of self-destruction.

Maybe I am trying to sabotage my life. I mean, my mom coming over here should be enough of a threat. Instead, I’m still shoveling popcorn down my throat, as if the fact the bag says 100 cal per 100 cups makes it go anywhere besides my ass. Ignoring the fact that Diet Coke is basically the equivalent of guzzling GMOs. Ignoring the fact that coming face-to-face with my problems is the last thing I want to do.

I click off the TV and bury myself under the covers of my bed.

Anyone who was watching me at this exact moment would think This girl is an entitled brat. And they’d probably be right—except they don’t know my whole story.

My whole story equals an asshole of an ex-boyfriend who pretty much destroyed all of my confidence.

Which is fucking depressing, considering I’m a newly-minted twenty-two-year-old. The world is my horizon, or oysters in my hand, or whatever the hell it is people say; I could do anything.

Could being the operative word here, though, isn’t it? Could changes everything.

Right now I could get out of bed, take a shower, be presentable, and not have my brother moaning about me going back to school or getting a job. He says he won’t let me live off his riches forever. Which, I mean, I get on some level. But the dude is a freaking millionaire.

This house alone, right? Six thousand square feet of heaven on the coast of California.

But even with this inspirational backdrop, I feel stuck. I gave my heart to a man who had no clue what to do with it, who ripped it to shreds. He broke me down and broke me apart.

Yeah, getting mixed up with Yuri was pretty much the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but you can’t exactly take back the things in your past, can you?

If you could, I’d obviously change a few things. I’d never go out with a crime lord and become his pseudo-sex-slave. I’d never let him use me for nine months when I could have been going to college like a proper undergrad.

Or, at the very least, I’d be honest with my family about what was actually going on. But I didn’t, because Yuri did one thing really well. He made me feel vital. Useful. Necessary.

And that was enough to keep me under his thumb. But then I wanted to go visit my brother, and Yuri did not like that idea.

In fact, he forbade me from leaving him.

That was the tipping point for me. Because feeling wanted is important, but feeling trapped? Not so much.

Knowing I needed to leave Yuri for good, I made an excuse to my brother, and moved down here without telling Yuri. But once I got here, I couldn’t shake the disappointment. I’d let myself get caught up with a man who hurt me.

At some point I must fall asleep under the duvet cover, because the next thing I know Holden is here, in my bedroom. Thank God I’m actually dressed, and don’t have like, you know, a vibrator between my legs or something. That would be pretty much mortifying.

To clarify, the mortifying thing would not be that I was taking care of things—that’s pretty much a given these days, considering no one is around to give me a lady boner. The mortifying thing would have been my brother catching me taking care of said things.

Okay. Side-tangent, point being: Holden is here looking at me with a scowl on his face and probably thinking the worst.

Okay, not probably. Now he’s screaming.

So definitely thinking the worst.

“Are you shitting me right now, Cat?” Holden yells.

“You’re not my mom.”

“Yeah, but I can call Mom to come over here. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want. If I did, this would all be a hell of a lot easier.”

“Cat,” Holden says. “I love you. And not just because you’re my sister. I love that you’re smart and talented—”

“Oh, come on,” I say, tossing my blanket to the floor as I stand. With my hands on my hips, I prepare to lay into him. “I’m doing everything I can to just, you know, keep myself together.”

“This is what you call keeping it together?” Holden points around the room, incredulous.

“Okay, not exactly keeping it together—but, Holden, of course you don’t get it. You have life all figured out. You’ve always had life all figured out. You knew what you wanted to do, and went and got it. Me? I’ve never had a freaking clue about anything. So yeah, I’m eating SmartPop in yesterday’s pajamas and drinking lukewarm soda. So sue me. So kick me out. So send me to live with Mom. I get it; I’m a drag. But it’s like, you’re asking me to be someone I don’t know how to be.”

“Cat,” Holden says. “I’m not trying to make you be anything. I just want you to be something. There’s a difference. I’m not asking the world of you.”

I groan. “You know, now that you mention it, I’ll just snap my fingers and have a brand-new life dropped into my lap.” I literally snap my fingers for dramatic effect. “Because, you know, life is that easy.”

Holden’s phone rings. He looks at the number and then answers it, holding up a finger as if I don’t understand the concept of him needing a sec.

“Let me think…. Damn, no, actually Bexley has a photo shoot this afternoon, that’s probably why you couldn’t get a hold of her.” Holden frowns. “What do you need exactly?” He listens, and then nods, eyes on me. “No problem, bro. Catalina is here and she was just asking me how she could help.”

Holden pockets his phone, smirking the way only an older brother can.

“What?” I ask.

“You said you wanted something to”—Holden snaps his fingers dramatically—“magically appear?”

I cross my arms, waiting for him to finish.

“Jude needs a babysitter,” he says. “This afternoon. He has a meeting. I told him you were free.”

“Really?” I swallow, knowing my priorities really are fucked up. The first thing I think when he mentions Jude’s name is not that he needs help with his six-month old daughter.

My first thought is that Jude is hot, and every time I see him I can’t help but think about ways he could work me over.

“Thanks, sis,” Holden says, grinning, as if he’s won this round. “I’ll text you his address. He needs you in an hour.”

I smile tightly, because what else am I supposed to do? I may be a self-indulgent loser, but I’m not a complete bitch.

“And where’s Rachel?” I ask.

“Jude didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“I guess I should take a shower,” I say, looking down at myself.

Holden just nods, waving me off. “That’s a good start,” he says, walking toward the door.

I roll my eyes, actually not hating the idea of helping Jude today. Because like I said, Jude is hot.

I head for the bathroom, wanting to clean myself up for Jude, my body warming to the idea as I slip off my shorts and panties, I take off my bra and look at myself in the full-length mirror. My hand grazes my pussy as I think about Jude’s tattooed arms, his dark hair, and his kissable mouth pressing against mine.

He and I can’t be a thing—he has a woman and a baby—but I can certainly get off in the shower pretending we could be. Turning on the shower and parting my legs, I let myself pretend the last year never happened. Instead, I give into something else happening right now.

Something that begins with an O.

* * *

Chapter 3

Jude

Rachel’s been gone for an entire week.

Does it make me a total asshole to feel like it’s been both forever and not nearly long enough?

I’m not sure what it says about me that the biggest issue I’m having at the moment isn’t about taking care of Etta. My biggest issue is my fucking pride. It’s like I don’t want anyone to know that my daughter’s mom ditched her. Ditched us.

I don’t want people to think that Etta isn’t worth staying for, because she is. But I know how people get, how people talk, how people think. A lot of it is bad—especially in a town like this, where word spreads fast.

Rachel’s called once. She left a voicemail letting me know that she was thinking about Etta, thinking about coming home, but that she knew she wouldn’t be for a while.

A while? A little vague, right? I mean, seriously you can’t do better than that for Etta?

This is exactly why I never should have been with Rachel in the first place.

But then I wouldn’t have Etta. It’s pretty much a clusterfuck anyway you look at it.

I have to go to this meeting today, no question about that. It’s a meeting that could determine whether or not I get financing for my next film—even though in my heart I know that even considering doing a film right now, with my life is so fucking up in the air, is a disaster waiting to happen. Still … I’ve got to go.

Especially on the heels of my last film, Here in the Breeze, which took Sundance by storm. Bexley is nominated for a fucking Oscar for her role in it.

I don’t want to lose this momentum. It’s what I’ve worked so hard for.

I can’t let Rachel destroyed what I’ve built.

So I called in back-up with as little detail as possible. I don’t have family in LA—hell, I don’t have family anywhere. Isn’t that why people end up in places like New York City or LA in the first place? People blowing in the motherfucking wind, not grounded, not stable. Just looking for something?

I’ve thought about all that existential shit a lot since Etta was born. Damn, all I’ve got to do is look at Etta, cradled in my arms, and think that maybe I already have everything I need. Maybe I have it right here. Maybe chasing these dreams with these Hollywood executives is just a fucking waste of time.

But it’s worth checking out, isn’t it? I’ve got to put food on the table and a roof over my daughter’s head.

I clearly have some issues I need to work out. Truckloads.

I never would have called Holden, but damn, I need help.

Bexley has an audition or whatever the fuck she’s doing today, and that’s good for her. Good for her and Holden; they have their own perfect little life carved out for them, and I couldn’t be happier for two people in the goddamn world.

Except for maybe Cassius and Evangeline.

My two closest friends and their girls are going to ride off into the motherfucking sunset together. Great. They found their unicorns.

I don’t need a unicorn.

I just need a babysitter.

Catalina’s coming, Holden tells me on the phone. Good. That’s something.

The doorbell rings. Etta’s in her swing—changed, fed, and smiling happily as I walk toward the front door.

It’s Catalina. Her hair is wet, and there’s no makeup on her face. Her eyes are piercingly blue, her skin perfectly tanned, and she’s wearing cut off shorts, flip-flops, and a tight tank top.

She looks like Malibu Barbie—without the fake tits. But damn, she has some perfect tits. I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. It’s as if she literally rolled out of bed, jumped in the shower, and showed up here.

Actually, come to think of it, that’s probably what happened. Everything Holden has told me about his sister over the past six months, leads me to believe that’s exactly what Catalina was doing before she came here today.

But damn, I know exactly what I would like to do with her now.

As if on cue, Etta starts crying.

* * *

Chapter 4

Catalina

Yeah, so Jude is hotter than I remembered.

“Hey,” I say as he holds open the door for me. Behind him, a baby is fussing, a sound I’m not at all familiar with. “Everything okay?” I ask, not really knowing what the question should be.

Baby equals bad. Right?

“Uhhhh,” he says drawing out the syllable. “Things have been better.”

I walk into his place, and look around his gorgeous rambler home. It’s warm and well-worn, so mid-century, so effortless. It’s not like Holden’s place at all; Holden’s is all steely and gray, modern black-and-white.

Jude’s house is oak coffee tables, and bookshelves lined with records, and stacks of design magazines next to a brown leather couch.

There’s also a definite sense of disarray going on as I look around. I mean, it’s hard to tell exactly, considering I’ve never been to Jude’s home before, but I’d guess if everything was in order it would not look like this. Everything he owns appears intentional, as if purchased at a flea market or an antique shop; everything belongs here … except all the things that don’t.

The random baby paraphernalia that’s scattered throughout the house haphazardly. The plastic bouncy chairs and swing, bottles drying at the sink and blocks littering the floor.

The crying baby itself. I mean, herself.

Her. Etta. Jude’s daughter.

I watch him walk to her and pick her up from the swing, pat her back. His biceps flex as he does this, and I swear my pussy gets just a little wet watching him calm this little girl. It’s like my eggs are literally dropping from my uterus as I watch him care for an infant.

Which is weird, mostly because I’m not maternal. At all. I mostly think about the here and now.

And the here and now mostly revolves around bullshit television and scrolling through the social media feeds of old friends from college.

I know, the most productive human being ever, right here. You’re looking at her.

Winner.

“So,” I try. “You have a meeting?”

“Yeah,” he says, walking toward me with his now-smiling baby. “I do. The meeting is important or I wouldn’t have asked. I just … I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“Where’s Rachel?” I ask, thinking Etta’s mom could, you know, be the one with her today.

“She’s….” Jude looks around awkwardly, which is quite a feat, considering he has got to be one of the least awkward men I’ve ever encountered in my life.

Jude is tattooed up and down his arms; I’m guessing his chest is, too, but I’ve only ever seen a hint of what’s underneath his shirts when he raises his arms to stretch. Which, okay—yes, I have noticed that because I’m a woman. A lonely woman.

Have I mentioned that?

And besides the tattoos and muscles and deep brown eyes that just ooze sincerity, Jude is also smooth. Not douchey-smooth—he just has a way with people that make you instantly like him, without any of the charm or attitude that Cassius or my brother give off.

No, Jude is different than guys like that. He’s not a bad boy in the traditional sense; he’s nice without being weak. He’s dangerous without being an ass. He’s sexy without being a man-whore.

I mean, clearly he has some trouble that’s followed him around—you only end up with girls like Rachel if you have some unfinished business with your past.

“She’s where, exactly?” I ask, realizing he never answered my question. He just kind of trailed off, looking around the room.

“She’s gone. We broke up.”

“Oh,” I say, hating the way my mouth is dropping into an O. Thinking about the ways my O-shaped mouth could widen around Jude’s—

My God, this is totally inappropriate. He’s telling me that the mother of his daughter just broke up with him, and I’m thinking about sucking his cock. I’m a complete disaster.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says, handing Etta to me without giving me a chance to hesitate. My body shifts to compensate for her weight. My hands seem to instinctively know how to hold her, which is a good sign.

And right now I need a good sign. Because damn, I can’t seem to think straight when I’m looking at Jude. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a long conversation in our lives. The moment I moved to LA, Rachel was giving birth. Not exactly room for he and I to hit it off.

Hit what off, anyways?

There is literally zero reason for me to be imagining him and I doing anything … besides me being the babysitter.

I blink, determined to focus on Etta, and getting her father out the door and to his meeting on time. Maybe Holden is right; maybe I do need a life mission. Maybe right now my mission can be making sure this broken family unit doesn’t fall completely apart under my watch.

“Jude,” I say gently. “Why don’t you head to your meeting?”

I smile more brightly than I actually feel inside. Inside I feel just a little bit uneasy, apprehensive. More than a little over my freaking head. Outwardly, though, I can totally do this. For Jude. For Etta. For me.

“I got this,” I assure him. “And if I get totally overwhelmed, I can call my mom. She lives in LA and she’s great with babies—great with most people, actually. So, in a pinch, she could help with Etta.” I laugh awkwardly, cringing inwardly because—well, Jude is not awkward, as we’ve so thoroughly discussed. But I am.

Remember the popcorn and Diet Coke from this morning? The irrational fear that my brother was going to catch me with a vibrator between my legs? Yes, I am awkward.

But this situation does not have to be.

“Thank you, Catalina,” he says. “Seriously.” He takes a deep breath, leans over and … does not kiss me on the cheek, obviously, because that would be weird.

He does, however, kiss his daughter on the forehead.

Because, like I said, he isn’t one of those actual bad boys.

He has tattoos. He’s ripped.

But he also knows that kissing his daughter good-bye is more important than anything else.

* * *

Chapter 5

Jude

Two hours later, I’m cruising back home in my Dodge Challenger, feeling an unexpected sense of relief wash over me. Yes, I’m still in deep shit with Rachel being gone, but at least I have work off my plate for the next month or so.

I got funding for my next project, which is fucking fantastic, but I’m not going to actually start shooting anything for six months. In the meantime I’m going to set everything up that needs to happen before then: cast, crew, studio space … and, most important of all, getting the script into workable shape.

I love my job. When we’re filming, I get to go on set every day and make something happen. And at the end of the shoot, everything has gone my way. I know that might sound like I’m some control freak, some narcissist, but that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

If I can make one thing go perfectly, give every character in my films the ending that they deserve, that they earned, I’ll do anything I can to get them there.

Real life isn’t that perfect.

* * *

Walking in the door, I’m relieved to see Catalina hasn’t burned down my house or ditched Etta altogether. I’m not saying I think she’s a flake—I mean, clearly this girl is a flake—but she’s a hot flake and part of me is really happy to see her in those tiny little shorts once more before she leaves me alone with Etta.

“Hey, girls,” I say.

Walking toward them, I drop my messenger bag on the couch and kneel down on the wood floor where Etta and Catalina sit. She has spread out a blanket, and a pile of toys surrounds Etta. Etta’s just learned to sit, and I must say she’s doing pretty damn well.

“Did it go okay?” Catalina asks.

“Yeah, it was great.” It catches me off guard, her asking me about the meeting. I run my hands through my hair, suddenly wishing I could just dump all of my problems on this girl. Which I know is completely inappropriate, but she sits here, still looking up at me, so open–and with her bright eyes, she looks so willing.

“Okay, that’s cool if you want to be vague with the details. I totally get it. It’s none of my business anyways.” She flashes me a genuine smile, before picking a rattle up from the floor and giving it a quick shake. “They invent the coolest baby toys. That might sound weird, but I haven’t been around a baby in, like, a decade.”

“How old are you, Catalina?” I raise an eyebrow, giving her another once-over, I’d say it was quick … but that would be a lie. My eyes are grazing over her skin nice and slow, and damn, I like what I see. Not to be that asshole who compares girls, but Rachel was jaded. Bitter.

I’ve spent exactly zero time with Catalina, and I already know she’s looking for something, anything.

Not needy, but longing? Yes, that’s how I’d describe her if I were writing a character description for a casting call. I push away the idea that the thing she could have is me, even though right now that’s exactly what I want to give her.

At least one rock solid part of me. The part of me that is twitching even as we speak.

Damn, I’m horny; I try to calculate how long it’s been.

I mean, it was way before Etta was born. Way before that. Around her fifth month of pregnancy, Rachel decided to stop sleeping with me. So, yep, I’m going on a year.

“I’m twenty-two,” Catalina says, bringing me back to the conversation at hand and not what I’m imagining doing with her. She smiles, and then bites her bottom lip as if she is holding something back. “Why are you asking, Jude?”

“I was trying to figure out how old you were, exactly, the last time you played with baby toys. Sounds like you were twelve?” I pick up a plush bear and toss it at her. She blocks the hit with her hands and laughs.

Something about her is so completely uninhibited, but not, like, let’s go get drunk and high in the bathroom uninhibited, like Rachel.

I’m talking unedited inhibition that says eff the norm. That says eff the rules.

I’m going to show up here and babysit without a bra on. I’m going to sit around my brother’s house for six months without a job and not feel bad about it. I’m going to do whatever the hell I want.

In all honesty, that’s sexy as hell. I’ve been doing what I should be doing for a really long time.

“Your little girl is really cute,” she tells me. “And I’m not one of those girls that just gives out compliments willy-nilly.”

“Oh, wow. Not willy-nilly?” I laugh, liking the chance she’s giving me to breathe a little easier. I’ve been stuck in the house all week with Etta, not talking to anyone else, avoiding my friends—because the truth is, what am I supposed to say exactly?

“Don’t be an ass.” She’s laughing too. Then she hands Etta the rattle she’s been holding, and watches as Etta’s tiny little fingers grip tightly to the plastic ring, as if she’s holding on for dear life.

I wish it was that easy. A life ring offered to you when you need it? I could use one now. Not because I can’t hack it as Etta’s father—I love this girl, fucking love her so hard. The problem is trying to figure out where I’m supposed to go from here.

Do I force Rachel back here? For us? I don’t want her around me. I don’t want her around Etta. What does that make me?

Right now, I’m feeling like a monster.

“So,” Catalina says, stretching her arms over her head, her belly button taunting me. I have to force my eyes away from her bare skin. “Do you have any food around here? I’m starving.”

“We could call in some food?” I shrug. “I’m pretty hungry, too, actually.” Thinking about it, I realize I probably haven’t eaten all day.

“Sweet,” she says, jumping up from the floor. “My brother’s obsessed with health food and is all protein shakes and Paleo-whatever. He doesn’t order in anything. So the greasier, the better.”

I smile, knowing that Holden is really into fitness. He needs to be; his career depends on it. But nobody is looking at me, behind the camera.

Cat stands in front of me, her long legs leading to a narrow waist, her tank top revealing that stretch of skin between her belly button and rib cage, those perfect tits perky and unrestrained.

I could look at her all day long.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she teases. I know she’s just giving me a hard time, playing dumb. She knows exactly why I’m looking at her. It’s the same reason I’ve felt her eyes linger on my body since the moment she walked in my front door.

“I’m looking at you like that, Catalina,” I tell her, reaching over to pick up Etta before I stand in front of her, “because I’m thinking about how badly I need to get Etta down for a nap.”

“Oh, yeah?” she smirks. “And how long does she sleep?”

“How long do we need?”

Etta’s head falls on my chest. Her eyes lazily close. I know I’m lucky; she’s an easy baby. Don’t get me started on another tangent of how Rachel never knows how good she’s got it.

“I’m thinking we’ll need at least an hour,” she says. “You know, to eat our lunch.” She narrows her eyes, as if daring me to tell her I had something else on my mind.

But I’m also not creepy. I won’t talk about sleeping with the babysitter while I’m carrying my daughter in my arms.

“I’m going to put Etta down,” I tell her. “The menus are in the top drawer next to the dishwasher.”

A flash of disappointment seems to cross her face, but she doesn’t press.

That’s fine, I’ll press her soon enough.

In fact, I’m thinking I’ll press her right against that fucking wall.

* * *

Chapter 6

Catalina

Am I really doing this? I mean, I don’t know Jude all that well, but I was looking for a way to get my mind off the shittiness that is my life.

And I’m thinking he’s the perfect distraction. After spending two hours in his house, noticing plenty of signs that Rachel is really, really gone—like gone for good—I don’t even feel that bad about sleeping with Etta’s father.

Rachel’s toothbrush isn’t in the bathroom. No phone charger by her side of the bed. No clothes in her drawers. This woman is gone. Like, for reals.

I’m guessing Jude feels about as lost as I do.

Well, that’s probably a pretty shitty thing to say, considering I don’t have a daughter to take care of. If he’s lost, I can’t even begin to imagine the sort of pressure he must be feeling right now.

I pull open the drawer next to the dishwasher, and smile. There’s a stack of menus; I didn’t even realize people used paper menus anymore. Every menu I get is off of Yelp. I bite the side of my lip.

Jude is older than me. A good five years older than me. Should that matter?

When he walks back into the kitchen, I have my answer.

Jude is clearly looking for a way to let go of the shit he’s dealing with, even if only for one hour, one time. I can give him that.

I can definitely give him that.

“So,” he asks.” Did you find anything that looks good to eat?”

“Yeah,” I say, waving the menus I’m holding. “I found a few options.”

Jude walks toward me, the distance between us going from ten feet to ten inches, in less than ten seconds. My heart beats fast in my chest, and I can’t help but think that this is so much better than the first time Yuri seduced me.

I say seduced, but we all know that’s not what it was at all. I was drunk. He was drunk. Well, he was much drunker.

Actually, I don’t know who was the drunkest. I just know it was bad.

A bad idea.

A bad relationship.

A bad escape.

Not that I’m actually out of his clutches. The most recent voicemails he left, demanding I return to Berkeley ASAP, pretty much sum up that he’s still trying to control me. I don’t even know what he wants anymore.

But I know exactly what Jude wants. And there’s a relief in knowing what he wants. In knowing I can give it to him.

“Thanks for helping with Etta today,” he says. He’s half a foot taller than me, and when I look up at him I love the way his body casts a shadow over mine. Like, he could protect me. Take care of me. Even for this hour.

It’s reassuring, to be in the presence of a man like this. A man who seems to know how to take care of people so well.

“I didn’t mind,” I tell him softly. “I didn’t mind at all.”

“And would you mind if I kissed you?” he asks, looking down at me, those dark eyes hitting me where it hurts.

I smile softly. “In romance novels, those alpha guys never ask for permission. They just take what they want.”

“Oh girl,” he says, laughing, as his hands cup my face. “You got me pegged all wrong.”

“Oh, so you’re not a bad boy?” I tease. My heart flutters, with his hands on my face, flutters because I’m this close to a man who is just that: a man.

Not an asshole. Not like Yuri.

Jude is a man who knows how to hold a woman. And yeah, he’s just holding my face right now, but I know he’s capable of holding much more than that. Sometimes you just know.

Sometimes you just know it’s right.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a bad boy.” Jude shakes his head, ever so slightly. “But there are different sorts of bad boys, aren’t there?”

“And what kind are you, Jude?” I ask, my eyes dropping to his chest. For some reason, I don’t want to see his eyes as he answers the next part.

Like it’s too vulnerable, or too intense a question to ask someone I barely know—to ask someone who is touching me like this. As if the answer might pull him away.

And God knows I do not want him going anywhere right now—I mean, anywhere besides my pussy.

“I’m the sort of bad boy who tries to fix things.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, Jude.”

“Girl,” he says, “people only want to fix things if something is broken.”

My eyes search his. I’m sure confusion is written across my face.

“You think I’m broken?” I ask, slightly offended, but also wondering how he got to the root of all my issues so damn fast.

“No,” he says laughing again. “I didn’t say you were broken. I just said something was broken.”

Now that I’m looking in his eyes, I see he wasn’t talking about me at all.

He was talking about himself.

“Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes.” I say it as a statement, because it is. I don’t even know what kind of question to hitch it to; it’s just the only thing that flashes through my mind when I look up at him.

“I’ve heard that before,” he says.

The way he says it tells me that he has heard it before … but he’s never heard those words from me. And maybe I’m dreaming, but I feel like they have a different effect on him.

“You can kiss me,” I tell him.

He doesn’t hesitate; his lips are all mine.

In a hot flash, in a way that crashes over me. Like I’ve never been kissed before.

Like I may never be kissed again.

This kiss is a lifeline. But I don’t think it’s a lifeline for me. I think it’s, like, a lifeline for him.

Like he needs this kiss in order to survive, in order to breathe.

I’m not trying to be dramatic here. I’m being honest. This kiss is life-giving. And I sink into it, into him.

Our lips are soft as they press together; my lips part and I feel his tongue slide into my mouth, intertwine with mine. His hands grip my face tighter, reaching toward the base of my neck. He runs his fingers through my hair as he pulls me close.

I drop the menus I’m holding. I hear them as they flutter to the floor, and then I don’t think about food, or my life, or a job, or a plan.

All I think about is this moment. The moment where Jude reaches for my ass, and pulls me to him—tighter, closer. I feel his raging cock in his pants, and it makes me wet, just thinking about him and me.

Us.

He picks me up effortlessly, and being picked up like that in a man’s arms, arms like his—that’s what I’m talking about.

That’s what I mean when I feel like he could take care of me. Because somehow, in a matter of moments. I’m cradled in his arms.

Jude sets me on the counter. My legs are spread apart as he leans in close. Raising my hands in the air, he strips off my shirt; my breasts are bare before him.

I didn’t put on a bra this morning, because I think it’s stupid to wear a bra when my breasts don’t sag. I mean, my mom always tells me that’s exactly what is going to cause my breasts to sag, but I’m living in the moment. It won’t always be this way—so as long as I don’t have to have an elastic band around my rib cage restricting me from breathing, underwire digging into my chest, I won’t.

And right now, I’m really glad I listened to my women’s intuition regarding undergarments, because I know the fact that I’m not wearing a bra is turning Jude on even more. His hands are on me, plucking my hard nipples, and I don’t want him to stop. Ever.

Our kissing intensifies as his hands run up and down my back, then around to cup my breasts. I want to run my hands over his chest the exact same way, so I pull up the hem of his shirt, needing to feel his chiseled body, see his skin.

He pulls off the shirt, and now I can feel the heat of him as his body presses closer to me. “I’m going to fuck you,” he tells me.

“I know.” I arch my back, smiling up at him. “The question I have is: how? How are you going to fuck me?”

“Here. Right now.”

“Good.”

He drops his pants, his boxers, steps out of them. I love the fact that he’s not going to draw this out. This is a pure and simple hook-up.

Maybe it’s a fantasy of his—you know, to sleep with a babysitter. I don’t care. I don’t care at all. I can be his fantasy. Damn, I think this is a fantasy of mine, too. A few hours ago I was eating popcorn in my brother’s guesthouse. Now? I’m looking at biggest cock I’ve ever seen.

I’m not joking. This is magnificent. I think I may be drooling—but if I am, Jude doesn’t comment. Instead he wraps his hand around his shaft and strokes up and down.

“You are most certainly a bad boy,” I tell him, jumping off the counter. Unbuttoning my cut-off shorts, I shimmy out of them until they fall from my hips and drop to the floor. I step out of them, watching as Jude’s eyes zero in on my covered pussy.

Now he’s the one nearly drooling.

He’s still touching himself, and something about that is so fucking hot and intimate. Like he’s letting me into a private slice of his life. His cock is ten inches long, his hips narrowing into a deep V that is literally nature’s way of forcing my eyes toward the only part of his anatomy that matters.

And damn, his anatomy matters.

“Don’t be a dick tease,” he tells me.

“Oh,” I tell him, “I’m not teasing you at all.”

Maybe it’s the fact that his baby is asleep, but he’s not wasting any time with me. He pulls me close to him again, his cock raging against my belly button.

His fingers run under the waistband of my panties, and he pulls them down, as if he has done this hundreds of times before. I hope he has, because if I’m going to have fantasy sex with him this afternoon, I want it be off the charts.

I have a feeling it’s going to be.

But with my panties off and his hand pressing against my pussy, it’s as if he’s never touched one before—and not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. No, not that at all.

He’s touching me as if with a sense of wonder. As if this is the most magnificent pussy he has ever touched in his whole damn life.

Which, okay, I can get behind that. I want to feel like a goddess, like my body is something to want and desire and fawn over.

I’ve never been with a man who could make me feel holy. Blemish free. Pure. Every time I’ve ever slept with a man, I’ve walked away feeling dirty.

But with Jude, I don’t think that’s possible. I don’t think I could feel that way. Because, right now, I feel blissed out. His fingers move over my folds, dipping into my entrance, and I’m not even embarrassed about the fact that I’m dripping wet for him. Maybe because I can tell how much he likes it.

A smile slowly crosses his gorgeous face, and I let out the slightest moan. My hand reaches for his raging hard on, and moves up and down on his solid rod. Just touching his manhood turns me on, excites me about what’s to come: him, coming in me.

“Girl,” he says shaking his head. “You feel so good. Your pussy is so wet.”

I’ll admit, a sigh of relief escapes my mouth. Part of me always wondered if my pussy is broken, because I like to be touched so much—and when I am, my pussy drips in pleasure.

More than drips. My pussy gets sopping wet when turned on. I gush, and if I get finger-fucked nice and hard, I start squirting.

At least, that’s what happens when I touch myself. A man has never gotten me off like that.

But the way Jude is touching me now, it makes it feel reverent. Like a gift. Like my pussy is a fucking altar, and he’s worshipping it with every flick of his finger.

How is he doing this? How is he touching me and making me so perfect?

I know I’m dripping now; as he touches me, my release runs down my thigh. I don’t think I’ve ever reached a tipping point so quickly in my life.

My arms wrap around his neck as if I’m clinging to him for dear life and the next thing I know he’s reaching for a condom in his pants pocket. He rips open the package and rolls the latex over his hard cock.

Then he lifts me to his waist, his hands squeezing my ass as he carries me toward a bare wall in the living room. With my back against it, he lowers me ever so slowly onto his massive cock. My arms wrap harder around him, my chest pressed against his chest. I kiss his neck, my eyes closed, bracing myself for what I’m expecting will be pain. Ten inches is not exactly something my pussy is used to.

But as he begins filling me, there’s no pain. There’s no moment where I want to block anything out. I let out a deep sigh, as if I’ve been holding my breath all day long.

But I’m not holding anything back anymore. In this moment, I’m letting go. In this moment, with my back literally against the wall, Jude is allowing me to fall into his arms.

I’m filled with him, his firm hands on my ass, my tits bouncing as we move. He rocks against me, steadily, with certainty, with a force to be reckoned with.

Well, a ten-inch force, to be exact.

We move together, and I’ve never been fucked like this: hard, but also slow and tender. It’s everything.

He thrusts into me—again, again, again. He thrusts until his cock is pulsing inside of me, throbbing for release. My pussy is begging, too, desperate to climax. A different kind, not the gushing sort—I’m talking about the complete toe-curling orgasm I know I’m in store for.

And then it comes, him and me and me and him, and together we whimper, moan, cry out. I don’t even know what he says. I don’t think I say anything coherent. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

“Oh, Catalina,” he says as we both get off.

Our bodies rock as we finish. He shakes his head, catching his breath, lowering me from him and him pulling me close.

His hand is on the small of my back and he wraps around me as if he won’t let go. “Thank you. Thank you for that.”

A bizarre rush of emotions washes over me. Tears prick the corners of my eyes.

I know that this means nothing beyond an afternoon quickie with my brother’s best friend—and let’s be clear here, I’m not on the verge of crying because I want something more than a hook-up with Jude—but the emotions come because he just made me feel something I have never felt with a man before.

Precious. Valuable. Worth something more than what my body can give.

Which is pretty much insanity, because I just gave him all of me.

Maybe we didn’t just give our bodies to one another this afternoon. Maybe we gave one another pieces of ourselves.

* * *

Chapter 7

Jude

I’m not usually the sort of guy who obsesses about one person in particular. I usually do my best to help anyone who comes across my path … and the ones that stay in my path, I help even more.

I haven’t seen Catalina in a week, but I can’t stop thinking about her—thinking about the way her body pressed against mine, the way she so openly gave herself to me, without any sidebar requests. She didn’t ask for a single thing.

What are all the other relationships in my life? Not Holden and Cassius, of course. They have my back, I know. But the vast majority? I don’t hear from them unless they need something.

After Etta woke from her nap, Catalina quietly slipped on her flip-flops and left through the front door without even asking me for my number. Without asking for a goddamn thing.

And now? Damn, I want to ask her for something. A date, maybe? Do people even do that anymore? It’s been so long since I’ve taken a girl out.

Besides, this isn’t just a girl. This is Holden’s sister, which opens up a whole different floodgate of problems.

I still haven’t told my friends that Rachel’s gone. It’s been two weeks now; she sent a quick one-sentence text, and when I returned it she didn’t reply. I sent her photographs of Etta, thinking maybe that would be the thing that brings her home, wakes her up.

Damn it, Etta needs her mother. I haven’t told anyone this, but in the back of my mind I’ve had questions about if I’m really her biological father. Rachel leaving makes me wonder if I will ever get any answers.

But hell, maybe having answers won’t fix anything.

The only thing that let my mind hit pause on my baby-mama-drama was Catalina coming over last week. With her, things felt light. Easier. Bearable.

Etta’s crying now, ready for a bottle. I pick her up from the swing that lulled her to sleep an hour ago, then carry her into the kitchen, debating if I should just get some balls and call Catalina.

I don’t want to be weird—don’t want to be that creepy guy, the older brother’s friend—but I also want more of her sweet, sweet pussy. More of her smile, more of her laugh. More of the distraction from this difficult reality.

The phone rings before I can think about it any more.

“Hello?” I don’t recognize the number.

“Hey, it’s Cat,” she says breezily.

Cat. I like that.

“Have you missed me?” she asks, laughing nervously—probably because neither of us knows what we’re doing.

Maybe neither of us should care.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I actually have.” I sit my phone on the counter, putting it on speakerphone. I grab a bottle from the drying rack, and fill it with prepackaged formula. I Googled if this shit was toxic. It’s not.

“Tell me more,” she moans playfully.

I shake my head, knowing this girl is trouble. Knowing I want this sort of trouble. Knowing I want her.

“You want to come over?” I ask, before I can even think about the repercussions of this request.

Fuck it, I want her here. I’ve got nothing else going on, on a Saturday night. I screw the bottle cap on and give it an unnecessary shake. Cradling Etta in my arms, I offer it to her. She sucks it greedily.

At least I’m doing something right. Etta is happy. Fed. Clean. Mine.

I think.

“Wow,” Cat says. “Are you asking me out?”

“No. I’m asking you over for that take-out we never got last week.”

“So is this how you’re, like, paying me for my babysitting services?”

“Do you want to be paid for your services?” I ask, wondering how close we’re getting to mentioning the post-babysitting quickie.

Not that it was quick. Or what I would call a hook-up. It was … more. I know it was. But what kind of more, I don’t exactly know.

“I don’t want to be paid,” she says, laughing again. “I was actually calling to make sure things were okay. I heard Holden mention that you haven’t been returning texts.”

“You talked to Holden about me? Us?” I immediately wonder how close she and Holden actually are. She wouldn’t tell him about us, would she?

“Whoa, easy there, Mr. Producer. I don’t talk to Holden about my sex life. But I did hijack his phone so I could get your number.”

“So what was Holden saying?” I ask, getting back on topic.

“He was just bitching to Bexley about how you’ve gone off the radar. And then Bexley was like, well, he has a new baby. And that shut him up. But it got me thinking—just, like, about you. And Etta. And,” she lowers her voice, “Rachel.”

“Oh,” I breathe—relieved, I guess? I mean, clearly I have issues surrounding my relationships, but I don’t necessarily want to start dissecting those right now. What I want right now is for Cat to come over. “So are you on your way?”

“Is this a booty call?” she asks.

“First off, you called me. Secondly … do you want it to be?”

“Depends on what kind of take-out we actually get this time.”

“Do you have a preference?” I ask.

“Oh, I have lots of preferences.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“You tell me.” She laughs easily and I momentarily wonder if she’s drunk. Or stoned.

And then I remember that she’s not Rachel. And that not all women require a high in order to be with me.

Fuck. I feel so damn weak right now.

I need to fucking take charge of my life.

“Yes. It was a sexual innuendo,” I tell her firmly. “And I have preferences too, Cat. Take-out and otherwise.”

“Good,” she says playfully, with a slight lilt to her voice. The light-hearted undercurrent is exactly what I need right now. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

I hang up, adjusting my cock, knowing what I want tonight.

* * *

Chapter 8

Catalina

Exiting the guesthouse, I see my brother. He and Bexley are all dressed up and apparently going out on the town. I know saying “going out on the town” is, like, very clichéd or dorky or something, but the fact is they’re going out—and when they see me in boyfriend jeans slouching low on my hips, my patent-leather Birkenstocks, a sweatshirt hanging off my shoulder, and hair in a messy bun, I’m sure all they see is a girl who needs to get a life.

“Hey, Catalina,” Holden says. “Where you headed tonight?”

“Oh, I’m just going out … to get dinner.”

“Want to come with us?” Bexley asks. “Just going to get dinner ourselves.”

“Thanks,” I say. “But I’m not actually up for a whole thing at the end of my day.” I wave my hand around, indicating their clothes.

“Right,” Holden says, visibly annoyed. His eyebrows are raised and he gives Bexley a knowing look. He has a more than decent handle on condescension. “Because there was something else you did today?”

“Do you want me to move out?” I ask. “Honestly, I didn’t move in here to annoy you. And I didn’t move in here to be all up in your grill. I just needed a change.”

“A change?” Bexley asks. “Cat, not to be harsh … but sweetie, you’ve seemed sort of stuck for six months straight.”

“Wow,” I say. “Okay. I didn’t realize that you had so much insight on my personal life, Bexley. Just because everyone in your social circle is either Grammy- or Oscar-nominated, doesn’t mean I’m a complete loser.”

“Cat,” Holden says, “Bex is just concerned. We’re all concerned. We thought you were coming here for film school—a film school you never actually applied to. Look. We want to help you get out of this … funk, but we don’t know how. You don’t let anyone in.”

“Let anyone in?” I say, trying to temper my annoyance at my brother—because I get it, he’s been really good to me. He’s let me live here rent free, paying for all my food and giving me spending money and paying for my car insurance. I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I can just … flounder.

“Cat, nobody wants to argue,” Bexley says, softer now. “When we say you don’t let anyone in, it’s only because we want in, because we love you. Everybody wants what’s best for you, and sometimes Holden and I—and even your mother—wonder if watching TV in your bed all day is the best life you could choose.”

I try to match her tone by looking her in the eye and remembering that she’s not the enemy. She’s actually the best thing that ever happened to my asshole of a brother. She’s a good person—probably one of the best. Which is probably why I’m so completely insecure around her.

Bexley does everything right. Even when she does it wrong, she does it right. Bexley is amazing. Compared to her? I don’t even know anymore. I don’t think I ever knew to begin with.

“I hope you guys have a really good time at dinner.” I reach for Bexley’s hand and squeeze it. “You look really pretty tonight, Bex.”

“I’d say you look pretty, too,” Holden says. “But, honestly, you look like shit.”

“Holden.” Bexley slaps her hand against his chest. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“I’m not a jerk. When did being honest become synonymous with being an asshole?”

“All right, you kids have fun, now,” I tell them as they walk toward the car. I force myself to smile, not wanting to at all. I remember to breathe, feeling like I just dodged a bullet, but not quite knowing who pulled the trigger.

I can tell Holden’s patience for me is wearing thin. I don’t blame him. My patient for myself is wearing pretty damn thin, too.

* * *

Pulling up to Jude’s door, I feel my stomach begin to flutter. I haven’t felt like this for a long time—this sense of something new, something exciting, something forbidden. I park in the driveway, press my freshly glossed lips together, and check my phone.

Yuri texted. Twice.

Yuri: I’m going to be in LA, soon. I need to see you.

Yuri: You owe me, don’t forget it. There are lots of ways you could repay me. You could introduce me to your brother.

I silence my phone. Pretending I didn’t just read that. Pretending Yuri isn’t actually coming to LA. I don’t want to see him.

Ever. Again.

I know so many of my problems right now stem from the fact that I’m not willing to talk about our relationship with my family. I know if I just explained what went down, then they’d understand why I was so desperate to get out of town.

Being with him meant giving up everything else.

I couldn’t just break up with a guy like that. I needed to cut ties, get a fresh start.

Moving here did just that.

Except he somehow got my new phone number a few months ago, tracked me down—and since then? He keeps calling me. Which is only making my spiral of self-diagnosed depression that much worse.

I knock on the door, and Jude answers it wearing a smile and a faded T-shirt. Ripped jeans hug his ass, and leather bracelets wrap around his wrists. He doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a week, and it’s sexy as hell, this scruffy look he has going on. His eyes are the same as I remember—still as deep and dark brown as ever.

“Hey girl,” he says greeting me. “I’m so glad you called.”

“Really? Not too forward of me?” I say, stepping inside his home.

“It’s fine. Actually, not fine—great. Man this week has just been….”

I look around his house and can quickly determine what his week has been exactly. I’m guessing little sleep, no help, and uh … “Have you been rearranging?” I ask.

The magazines that had been stacked neatly on the coffee table are now shoved in a cardboard box, the fireplace is surrounded with an ottoman barricade, and his lamps are unplugged and sitting high on the kitchen island.

“Well, not exactly rearranging. Etta’s learning to crawl. I have a feeling she’s going to be one of those babies that learns to walk at nine months old. This week, she’s gone from zero to one hundred in under an hour. My girl’s fast.”

“I see,” I tell him, looking around with a different perspective. “So you’re baby-proofing the place.”

“I’m trying.” He shakes his head, motioning for me to join him in the kitchen. Etta is sitting in a high chair with a handful of Cheerios on her tray, her four teeth poking out charmingly. “Honestly, if there was a professional baby-proofing company, I’d hire them. I’d pay them anything they wanted. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Hey,” I reach for his arm and squeeze it. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Honestly, you’re doing great. And I can help you.”

“You came over here because you want to baby-proof my house? On a Saturday night?”

“Well,” I begin, looking down at myself, “I’m not exactly dressed for anything else.”

“You’re always dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.” He eyes me appraisingly, and I may be missing something but I actually think he likes what he sees.

“Are you telling me you’ve been checking me out all this time I’ve been living with my brother?” I feign shock.

“Hell, yeah,” he says, running a washcloth under warm water. He wipes Etta’s face and hands clean, then takes her from the high chair, effortlessly bouncing her on his hip. “Every guy who sees you checks you out, Holden’s sister or not.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Oh, girl,” he says, slowly leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I’m not trying to make you blush. I’m hoping that soon enough I’ll be making you gush.”

“Jude.” I shake my head. “That’s pretty damn cheesy.”

“I’m a stay-at-home single dad,” he says pointing to Etta as if he has a decent excuse as to why he can’t do any better.

He carries Etta to a Pack 'n Play set up in the living room and puts her down. Instead of fussing, like I’d guess a baby would do, she sits happily and begins gnawing on the corner of a blanket.

He turns back to look at me, and I don’t shy away from the conversation at hand. I kind of want to know what I’m dealing with before I make a decision about what sort of moves I’m going to make tonight. Or what sort of moves I’ll let him make.

“So you said you were single … is that true? You and Rachel…” I lick my lips, wondering if this conversation is going much too fast.

The doorbell rings, and I’m guessing it’s our dinner.

“Yes,” he tells me. “I am single. Completely. Are you?”

The question catches me off guard, and the doorbell rings again, putting pressure on the moment. Not that I can’t answer truthfully—of course I can. And of course I will.

It’s just that the reminder of Yuri, the last person I was with, focuses me on what I want from tonight.

Last week, when I was with Jude, I felt so wonderful. The rest of the week, back at the guesthouse, I was deflated. But he was like a high—one I want another taste of.

I need my fix.

“Oh, I’m very single.” I find his belt loops and let my fingers wrap around them, tugging him close to me.

The doorbell rings again.

“Good. Then this is most definitely a date.” He walks towards the door with me in step with him, not letting go of his pants. “And I think our dinner is here.”

He opens the door. We both look in surprise.

It’s definitely not our dinner.

* * *

Chapter 9

Jude

When I open door I’m expecting to see a pizza delivery boy—not my cousin Evangeline.

Her eyes narrow as she takes in the scene before her. Evangeline isn’t an idiot—anything but, actually. She’s solid. And she knows Rachel pretty well, actually. Rachel and I have gone out with her and Cassius tons of times over the past year.

In fact, she threw Rachel a freaking baby shower before Etta was born. As far as I can tell, it was awkward as fuck—but still, Evangeline has done her best to be there for Rachel.

Unfortunately, Rachel never reciprocated.

“Hey guys,” Evangeline says. “What’s going on?” Her eyes dart between Cat and me.

“Hey, Evie,” I say. “You know Cat, Holden’s sister?”

“Yeah,” she says, stepping into the house, although reluctantly. I shut the door behind her, but she doesn’t walk farther than the entrance. “Is Rachel around?”

Cat seems uncomfortable, and I know that this is going to go from bad to worse pretty damn fast if she jumps in trying to address the situation.

I beat her to it, before she can get a word in edgewise. I don’t need anyone to cover for me. Rachel and I are done. There’s nothing that I need to be ashamed of. I’m not the one who walked away, who left Etta.

“Rachel’s not here,” I tell Evangeline. “She left a few weeks ago, we broke up.”

“What the hell, Jude?” Evie says. “Where’s Etta?” She strains her neck to look into my living room.

Etta’s in her Pack 'n Play, babbling happily to herself. She’s such a good girl … and every time I think that, it makes me more pissed at her mother.

“I’ve been trying to call her for days,” Evie says. “Where’d she go?”

“That’s the million-dollar question,” I tell her, my jaw tensing.

“Seriously? She just left?”

I look over at Catalina, who bites her thumbnail, eyes on the ground.

“Yeah,” I say, letting out a gust of air. “She left. But was that really a surprise? I don’t know when she’s coming back, Evie, and I really didn’t want anyone to know until I have a better idea about where the mother of my daughter is at.”

“Gosh, okay,” Evie says, her eyes twitching with annoyance. “I’m not trying to fight with you. I was just wondering where Rachel went, and I’m not interested in spreading your business all around town.”

“I’m not talking about running your mouth around town, Evie.” I run my hands through my hair. “Look, I just mean I’m not ready for Cassius or Holden or whoever to know that Rachel’s gone.”

“And that you’re hooking up with Holden’s sister?” she asks, giving Catalina a thorough once-over.

“Evie,” Cat says stepping toward her, “I’m just here to hang out with Jude. I was here to help with Etta. We’re baby-proofing his place. But seriously, let’s not involve Holden right now.”

Looking at Cat, I try to get a better read on her. I don’t know her all that well, and I don’t really know the inner workings of her relationship with her brother. Honestly, I don’t want to get into that drama.

Hell, getting involved in other people’s drama is what landed me here with a daughter in the first place.

I thought I could take care of Rachel, help her. But I can’t. I can’t do anything. And standing here now, looking at Catalina and knowing that I don’t want anyone to know about whatever is going on between us, I realize I’m in no place to do a relationship, or even a hook-up, with Holden’s sister.

It’s just a bad idea.

“I’m not trying to hide something from my brother,” Cat continues. “It’s just, Jude has a lot going on, and tonight we’re just having fun. It’s nothing serious, and telling my brother about me being here is only going to piss him off. And Jude doesn’t need that right now. Obviously.” Cat gives Evie a knowing look, as if exchanging information silently.

Evie shakes her head, looks back up at me.

“Jude, I’m obviously not going to go, what, tell Holden that Cat was here for dinner? You’re not in my business, and I wasn’t coming over here to get all up in yours. I was coming here to check on Rachel. I made an effort with her all year and I want the best for her—just like you do. If you talk to her, will you tell her to call me?”

“Of course, and thanks, Evie.”

“What matters right now, regardless of where Rachel’s gone, is that Etta is okay,” Evangeline says. “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know, okay?”

“I will.” I reach for the door handle, open it, ready to get on with my night. “And I know, of course you’re going to talk to Cassius about this, but can you tell him that it’s private? I don’t really want all of LA to know that Etta’s mother left her.”

Evie tries to clarify. “You mean left the both of you?”

“No,” I say. “Rachel and I, we were through a long time ago. But, for Etta’s sake, I want this just between friends for now.”

Evie seems to understand. She nods her head and looks back toward where Etta is in her playpen.

“She’s doing okay, though?” she asks.

“We’re hanging in there.” I swallow, because that is the truth of it, the whole of it. We are hanging in there. Hanging by a thread.

I shut the door behind Evie and turn back to Cat, who’s standing there, watching my story unfold. It feels way too heavy for a Saturday night hook-up.

“Are you over this?” I ask, looking at the space between us. We’re standing over ten feet apart, and I wonder if we just passed into territory that’s too wide to cover.

“What?” she asks without hesitation, taking a step toward me. Then another. And another. “You think your cousin is going to scare me away?”

“I don’t know, Cat,” I say, moving toward her—because damn, right now, I need to be close to someone. “I don’t know you all that well, do I? I don’t know what scares you. I don’t know what makes you stay.”

“What scares me?” She shakes her head, closing the distance between us with her final step. “I don’t scare easy, Jude. That’s one thing you should know about me.”

I reach for her waist, draw her close to me, and run my hand under the hem of her shirt. The skin of her back is warm against my palm.

“Tell me something else about you,” I whisper in her ear.

“I want you really, really badly.” A smile escapes the corner of her mouth, and I know she’s telling me the truth.

My lips brush against hers, because I’m not going to wait any longer. Etta could start screaming at any moment, the phone could ring, someone else could show up at my front door.

Right now, I’m going to take what I’ve got. And what I’ve got is Catalina in my arms.

My lips find hers, and what starts as soft and slow quickly warms; it’s like were inhaling one another. Her lips part, my tongue finds hers, and I want more of her.

All of her.

Now.

My cock is so hard, throbbing in my jeans. I feel her hand gravitate towards it, as if her body and my body are meant to be.

She runs her hand over the fabric of my jeans, tracing the outline of my bulging cock, and I groan into her mouth, wanting to devour her here and now. She whimpers against me, biting my bottom lip. My hands are in her hair, her hands on my cock, and it feels so good to be wanted.

Then, as quickly as it started, it’s over.

Etta cries out. The doorbell rings.

Our food is here. The baby needs to be fed.

And our bodies—they have to wait.

* * *

Chapter 10

Catalina

So, I know I’m a twenty-two-year-old college dropout with no job. I’m not exactly a catch. But here’s the thing about me: I’m not a complete bitch. I’m not totally out of touch with reality.

I’ve just had a rough go of things, and I’m so embarrassed about Yuri that I don’t even know where to start.

Maybe some girls could get caught up with a guy like him, and then recover quickly. But I’m not some girls.

I’ve never been the sort of person who knew what I wanted or how to get it. I think my mom’s focus was so distinctly on my brother growing up—his problems with school and suspensions and scandals—that her eyes were always on him.

Maybe that’s why being with Yuri was initially so appealing. Suddenly, I was the center of attention. His eyes, his focus, were always on me.

He was also demanding and judgmental, and furious if I didn’t tell him the where and the when of my day-to-day life. And I learned that the truth is, I don’t need to be the center of anything.

So it doesn’t feel good to say, yeah, I got caught up with this guy who didn’t even let me have a friend, let me have a life, who was demanding of me and manipulated me. Who used sex for power and who used me, the sister of the famous Hollywood actor, for prestige. I was pretty enough and wore short enough skirts that when I hung on his arm, I was the exact sort of eye candy he wanted.

Is it any surprise now that I prefer hoodies and cut-offs to dresses and heels? Is it a surprise that I prefer Bravo TV marathons to real-life encounters? Of course I’m depressed. Of course I’m a mess.

So here I am, standing in the quiet hallway at Jude’s house. Dusk is settling in around us, soft music is playing on a classic record player, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like not to be the mess that I am. What would it be like if I were the sort of girl a man like Jude wanted for more than a hook-up?

The sort of girl a man like Jude wanted for real?

I watch him carry his little girl to bed, and feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, because they have no place here. But what if they did?

Etta is in his tattooed arms. He’s holding her so completely, with so much certainty, I can’t help but believe she’s the luckiest girl in the world. I didn’t grow up with a father, and I never thought I missed out on anything. In my mind, dads equaled loss. Men who left before they even arrived.

My mom gravitated towards other single moms, and I grew up around women—girls without fathers, and women without husbands—because that was just the way the world I lived in worked. Men were not to be counted on.

And my relationship with Yuri, in hindsight, just drives that point home.

But standing here now, it’s impossible to ignore what I see:

A man who stayed. A man who loves. A man who protects.

Yeah, Etta’s the luckiest girl in the world.

After he lays her in her crib and starts a mobile playing a lullaby, he turns the lights low and he pulls her door shut, leaving it open barely an inch. He sees me watching him and strides toward me, shaking his head.

“I swear, she’s the easiest baby in the world.” He’s holding a baby monitor and I hear him click it on. The green light is bright, and static noise blares as he finds the channel. The sounds of the mobile, soft and sweet, now fill the hallway.

“I think if you keep saying that she’s so easy, you’re going to jinx it.” I raise my eyes as he slips his hand through mine and leads me back to the living room.

“You think she looks like me?” he asks.

I’m surprised by the sentence, not expecting it all.

“Well,” I say, slowly, not wanting to say the wrong thing—because it’s kind of a pointed question. And personal. I mean, the truth is between him and Rachel, isn’t it?

And I don’t necessarily want to get in that mix. Not when this is just supposed to be a hook-up. A fling. We’ve slept together once.

Except it wasn’t sleeping at all. It was against-the-wall-fucking. Plain and simple. So my mind should not be anywhere besides the gutter.

But after spending the evening with a guy like Jude—baby-proofing his kitchen and living room, eating margarita pizza on his leather couch, tickling Etta’s tummy, and putting on different records—it’s impossible not to imagine something more.

He’s … pretty damn amazing.

“Her eyes are like Rachel’s. Blue. And her complexion, it’s lighter than yours.”

Jude nods sharply. His shoulders tense, like he’s uncomfortable.

“What?” I scowl. “You’re the one who asked the question. Don’t get mad at me. And besides, aren’t babies constantly changing and growing?”

“I’m not mad,” he says. When his shoulders drop and his eyes opened wider, I know he means it. I don’t think he’s mad. He’s… unsettled? Doubtful?

Sad, I think.

“So, do you have any wine?” I ask. “I feel like we both could use a drink.”

Jude laughs. He’s not one of those guys who laughs big and broad, getting attention from people. Jude is quiet, contemplative. You know the phrase true blue? That sums up Jude, to a T. He’s not fake anything; he’s 100% real. And he’s not going to bullshit anyone, not going to say something that he doesn’t mean.

Which makes me wonder why exactly he asked about whether or not I thought he and Etta looked alike.

“I need something stronger than wine,” he says. “Whiskey, neat. You in?”

“No way. Whiskey is trouble.”

“I thought you liked trouble,” Jude says slowly, looking at me as he opens the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and pours an inch into each of two tumblers.

“Jude, I said no whiskey.”

“No. You said ‘whiskey is trouble.’ Tonight, Catalina, let’s be naughty.”

I bite my bottom lip, unable to restrain the seductive body language. My body betrays me. I want Jude so freaking bad. Watching him put his daughter to bed seriously turned me on. A man like that is a man I need.

He hands me a tumbler; I take it. He reaches his glass towards mine, and the rims clink. A toast—but to what, I don’t know.

I smile, wanting to keep things playful, not wanting to get into heavy territory I can’t chart my way out of. I need to stay in a safe zone with Jude, because after a few hours together I can already see myself getting lost with him.

Something I’m not ready for. Something he’s not ready for.

“To booty calls,” I say, laughing.

“To hook-ups.” Jude grins, catching onto my game.

“To one-night stands.”

Jude shakes his head. “Wrong,” he says, raising two fingers in the air. “Two-night stands.”

“Touché,” I say. I take a long sip of the whiskey; it burns as it rolls down my throat. I like it, feeling this much. I think I’ve been numb for six months straight. Being around Jude is making me thaw.

He drinks his whiskey in one fell swoop and sets his glass on the counter, meeting my eyes. I don’t look away.

“I want you so bad,” he tells me.

“How? How do you want me?” I ask him.

Not that I care. He can take me, have me, do what he wants to me. Because I remember when my back was up against the wall a week ago. It should have felt dirty; it should have felt rushed. But it didn’t.

Being with him, his cock buried inside my pussy, didn’t feel wrong.

It felt so damn right.

He moves toward me. “I want you now.”

Our mouths collide as quickly as our bodies do. I lift his shirt up, tugging it over his head, wanting to see his bare chest again. He does the same with my shirt, and in a moment we’re once again exposed, our skin touching.

He unbuttons my pants. They’re loose, and I step out of them as they fall to the floor. He squeezes my ass. I’m wearing a thong, and my bare ass cheeks are in his hands. Already, my pussy is on fire, demanding to be stroked, touched. Licked.

And I want to touch him, too. I remember tracing the outline of his cock at the front door earlier tonight, how hard he was. The memory of that has been taunting me for hours.

And now—now I can have his cock again.

This time I want it in my mouth. I want to suck him until he comes. I want to feel him in me deeper, more. Now.

“Oh, baby,” he says, running his hands over my body greedily.

Good. I want him to want me as badly as I want him.

He takes my hand, leads me down the hall past Etta’s room and into his.

He sets the baby monitor on his dresser, and that’s for the best, knowing his little girl is a few doors down to keep things in check. Because knowing myself, and the way it feels to be around Jude’s body, I don’t trust myself.

Tonight I want to completely lose control. I feel like I could lock the door to his bedroom and keep Jude inside, with plans to fuck for the next week straight.

But I know that is not a reality. What is real is right now. This moment. Him standing before me in his dark bedroom.

I kneel down before him, my knees hitting his carpeted floor, and my fingers unbutton his jeans. His boxers are covering the things I am most excited about, so I pull them past his hips.

He’s excited, too, because even now I see his massive rod rising. His hands run through my loose hair. He breathes heavy above me. He smells like whiskey and wisdom and restraint. He smells like a man who knows how to take care of a woman.

I slip off the boxers and his long cock springs to life. I can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the sight of it. My fingers run over his thick shaft, remembering the way it felt in my pussy. I clench my entrance as I look at his cock, feeling juice escape from my folds.

No surprise: Jude’s cock is more than a semen shooter, more than a means to an end, an orgasm, or a baby-making machine. Jude’s cock is a fucking work of art.

I mean it. It’s a masterpiece and I’m inspired. I open my mouth, unable to hold back, and my lips widen around his shaft. My hands wrap around his length as my mouth begins to suck him, be filled by him. All I want right now is to be able to take him fully in my mouth.

But I know I can’t. He’s way too big, and I already feel the tip of his warm cock against the back of my throat. Some animalistic instinct kicks in and I want to gag on him, on purpose. Like, I want to be that totally filled with him.

I move my head up and down as I suck him. I roll his tight balls in my hand as his veiny, throbbing cock fills my mouth.

The way his cock pulses to life, I know he’s close. His fingers are no longer running through my hair, and instead he steadies himself with my shoulders, as he thrusts his thickness into my mouth.

It’s warm, and shots of his release fill my willing mouth. He grunts above me, making me want to swallow his salty, milky release.

So I do. I taste him, drink him, lick every last drop off his massive rod.

I finish sucking and, once he’s done, I pull him slowly out of my mouth, knowing I’ll be filled with him again. But next time it’s my pussy that will be taking him.

“Cat, that was fucking amazing,” he breathes.

I lift my chin; our eyes meet. I want to say so much, but instead say nothing at all.

“What?” he asks as I stand. His hands run over my exposed breasts. My nipples harden under his palms.

“You taste so good,” I tell him, embarrassed at this admission, then realizing it’s stupid to hold back right now. And why would I? This is a hook-up, right?

I owe him nothing.

Yet I want to give him everything.

“Damn, woman. What are you doing to me?”

“I’m fucking you. I think that’s what this is called.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right, that’s exactly what this is.”

Then he grabs a condom from his dresser, rolls it onto his still-hard cock, and pulls me to the bed.

* * *

Chapter 11

Jude

She rides me, straddling my body in the darkened room, her tits bouncing as my cock fills her. We both bliss out, coming together, rocking together until we fall asleep. Our arms are entwined, our bodies slick with sweat and sex. Our hearts pump in a way that can only happen when you are giving your body over to another person.

Hard. Fast. Fully.

Hours later, Etta cries.

It happens every night. I don’t jump in surprise, because my body is programmed to wake at midnight, at 3 AM, at 8 AM. This is the rhythm of her sleep; this is the rhythm of my days, of my nights.

I slip from the sheet that’s wrapped around our bodies. Cat stirs softly, but as I leave the room she’s already back in deep slumber. Her body isn’t accustomed to the heightened sense that I live by.

I pause in the doorway, though, and while Etta whimpers from beyond, I allow myself to catch another glimpse of Cat. Her long hair frames her face, her eyes are closed, her body is completely given over to sleep. She looks so damn beautiful.

I go to Etta’s room, pick her up and hold her in my arms. She smells like lavender and buttermilk, the scent of her lotion and diaper rash cream. But I’ve come to learn the scent as hers, as familiar, as safety and love.

It’s only been six months, but I already know lavender will always remind me of her. It’s the best damn scent in the world.

With her eyes closed, she sucks her thumb, and I’m glad she never got attached to a pacifier. She’s self-reliant, and part of me feels a certain pride in that. Although she’s only six months old, deep down I believe this girl will be able to do anything.

That’s how hard I believe in her.

Is this middle of the night belief another word for desperation? Am I desperate for her to be something that her mother isn’t?

Right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, all that matters is that Etta’s safe, loved. And damn it, she is. I walk with her into the kitchen, fill her bottle with formula, screw on the cap.

Cradling her in my arms, I pace my living room with the nipple of the bottle in her mouth. She sucks as if her life depends on it. It does.

When she finishes, I put her back in her crib, wishing that everything were different for her. For me. For us. That Rachel was here, not for me—not at all—but for Etta. A girl needs a mother.

I return to bed myself; Cat’s arms lazily wrap around my torso. Taking care of both of them tonight makes me feel good, knowing I’m making things right when it would be so easy to get things wrong. I close my eyes, trying to fall back asleep, knowing sleep never comes easy.

I wish so much were different. And I wonder, if I hadn’t let my brother Nolan out of my sight, would I be a different man today? If I’d been able to save my brother would I so badly feel the need to save everyone else?

But saving people, fixing things, taking care of everyone, is my mode of operation. It’s what I do, trying to atone for my sins.

Some people joke, saying I’m Jude, patron saint of lost causes.

The truth isn’t hard to see, though, if you really look.

I’m Jude. I’m lost. And maybe I’m the one who needs saving.

* * *

I’m trying to keep my eyes open. It’s early—eight AM, the time all my days start—but today feels different.

Maybe it’s because my cock could still get hard at a moment’s notice, with Cat walking around my kitchen in her underwear and my T-shirt. Her perky tits so damn perfect, her hair piled on top of her head, and her eyes so wide, alive, awake.

Her bright eyes are taunting me.

“Damn,” she says. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” She opens the fridge, frowns.

“I’m not grumpy. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Well, I slept fucking great. I swear I don’t know if it’s your bed that’s just so comfortable, or the blackout shades. For some reason I really thought sleeping here was going to be a complete cluster.” She tilts her head toward Etta, who’s banging her fist against the tray of her high chair. Cheerios fall to the floor. “But it didn’t suck, like at all. Does Etta always sleep like that?”

“She woke up three times, Cat.” I shake my head, not finding the humor in her deep sleep. I guess the joke’s on me.

“Seriously?” Cat laughs, closing the stainless steel door. “You have no food here. What do you eat? Like, there’s not even coffee.”

“Fuck. I knew there was something I was supposed to do yesterday.”

“No worries,” Cat says. “We can go get coffee. And after, we can grocery shop.”

“Just like that? Making a honey-do list for me?” I shake my head, a grin still spreading across my face. Feels nice to have someone trying to take care of me.

“Hey,” Cat says, but the finger she waves at me tells me she’s all talk. “This is a hook-up. Remember? There need to be some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” I full-on laugh now, which is fucking impressive considering I’m not a morning person.

“Okay, maybe not ground rules, per se,” Cat says. “But maybe we should make some.”

“Oh, yeah?” At this, I narrow my eyes, trying to find her angle.

“Yeah, because I’m sleeping here again. Fuck Holden’s guesthouse. I haven’t slept like a baby in over a year. Your house is magic. Like a drug. I’m hooked.”

“Cat,” I tell her, not letting her words penetrate—because, to be honest, I don’t know if she means it or if this is just a joke. Besides, I’m focused on getting an Americano and an almond croissant. “It’s kind of cruel, don’t you think? To tell me how well you slept, when I was the one actually caring for a child last night?”

“Jude,” Cat says, walking toward the bedroom, where I presume she’s planning on dressing. “Don’t pretend you aren’t already planning our late afternoon fuck.”

“Damn, girl,” I say as I unbuckle Etta from her high chair. “I thought the whiskey was trouble, but I was wrong. It’s you. Plain and simple.”

I lift Etta from the chair, walking her toward her nursery to get her dressed for the day. My pissy mood from getting up earlier than I’d like is already dissipating.

“I’m not trouble, Jude,” Cat hollers. “In fact, I think I’m good for you.”

I don’t answer, not sure what I want to admit. But I know she’s absolutely right.

* * *

Chapter 12

Catalina

I don’t know what he and I are doing, but I like it. Sure, maybe someone might diagnose my behavior as living in la-la land, and analyze this as some bizarre fantasy where I can just completely escape and fall into someone else’s life. But is that really the worst thing ever, making Jude happy? He’s maybe the most deserving guy in the world.

And besides, it’s been one night. This is not a burgeoning relationship. This is a hook-up, just … extended.

Pushing the stroller, we’re cruising through a neighborhood I’ve never set foot in. It’s different than the kind of neighborhoods Holden hangs out in—a little more artsy, a little less playboy.

I like it. It has a hipster vibe going on, and that makes sense, considering Jude’s an indie filmmaker.

Add that to the list of things I like about him. He isn’t like other guys, the ones who are status quo—wanting their women to be plastic, their cars pristine. Jude drives a classic Dodge Challenger, which in and of itself is sexy as hell. And it makes the fact that I’m wearing yesterday’s clothing feel grunge-chic, as opposed to just plain old sloppy.

With coffees in hand, an Americano for him and a plain no-sugar latte for me, we walk toward the beach. It’s still really early in the morning—I mean, early for me, considering my morning wake up time has been verging on the eleven AM hour.

Okay, maybe it’s closer to noon. But I also don’t usually fall asleep so soundly. Usually I toss and turn for hours, staring at a screen until I eventually pass out on boxed wine and M&Ms.

But Jude is a real grown-up, and I’m kind of getting the impression that if he started asking me, like … say, three questions about myself, he would realize that I’m still a complete fuckup.

Jobless, homeless, pointless.

Instead, I take the handle of the stroller and push Etta down the block toward the beach. The movement puts her to sleep immediately—which, let’s talk about that for a second. Babies seriously have morning naps around ten AM? Why does anyone want to grow up, ever? Etta pretty much has the perfect life.

I’m kind of glad I didn’t say any of that out loud, because Jude might give me an annoyed look to remind me that, while she’s sleeping, her life isn’t perfect. Her mom abandoned her two weeks ago.

“Etta and I go on walks every day,” Jude says. “The house gets stuffy, and I’m not really working—I mean, beyond the stuff I can do online. I’m working on the script in a Google doc. It’s all really remote right now, which is great, all things considered. Still, we get stir-crazy. So we walk. Gives us something to do.”

“That’s great. I mean, walking is on the upswing in general—you know, because of Pokémon Go,” I joke. “I’m a walker, too. In fact, it’s the only form of exercise I can actually get behind.”

“Yeah?” Jude asks. “You don’t do other sports, like soccer or yoga, nothing like that?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not my style. I don’t do classes. Or leagues. I’m a loner.” I laugh—semi-nervously, but not really. I laugh because I feel like I should, as an explanation for the fact that I’m an introvert. And being around lots of people never gets me pumped up.

Add that to the reasons why Yuri and I were a complete disaster together.

“I get that,” Jude says. He takes a sip of coffee, and we’re quiet for a moment. “Cassius and Holden, having them in my life is actually a good thing. I tend to stay behind the scenes, but those assholes are always going to clubs, dragging me to parties or some show. It’s not the worst thing in the world to have a life, or at least to mix it up every once in a while.”

“Holden and Bexley tried to get me to come out with them last night,” I tell him. “I brushed them off, obviously. I had no interest in going to some bar for appetizers and small talk. Besides, those two are in a whole other league these days. Bexley was nominated for a freaking Oscar—I mean, that’s all due to you, but still. An Oscar? It’s impressive. She moved here about the same time I did, and look how far she’s come. It makes me think I should probably get my act together. I have nothing to show for myself.”

“I don’t know,” Jude says. I park the stroller next to a bench; we take a seat. I immediately slip off my flip-flops so my toes can sink into the warm sand. “It’s pretty relative, isn’t it?” he asks. “What you have to show for yourself at some arbitrary age? I mean, look—I’m twenty-eight, and you’re what, twenty-two? Five years ago, I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted. And now here I am.”

“And now you have a baby. A house. A career. A successful career, I might add.” I smile, not wanting this morning to become heavier than it needs to be—especially by my doing. “And you have hook-ups.”

I smile again, and he does, too.

It feels good, giving him a reason to smile, a reason to breathe easier—and I don’t even know the last time I wanted to make someone feel better. But when I’m around Jude, all I want is to make him happy.

How could someone do that to another person in the span of a few days? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe just the wanting is enough; maybe there doesn’t have to be a reason.

“You’re different,” Jude says.

“Good different, or bad different? I get both.”

“To be determined.” Jude grins, eyes raised. He eyes my hand, and I know he wants to hold it … and I want to hold his, so I do. I reach for it.

Fuck the fact that we’re out in public. I like being with Jude. I like this morning. I like getting coffee and pushing a stroller, and I like the idea of having a reason to get up every day.

“You’re a real asshole,” I tell him. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Jude laughs. “Basically everyone, ever. Remember? I’m a bad boy.”

“So you say. I haven’t seen the bad part yet.”

“That’s because you’re meeting me now, Cat. Not back then.”

“And back then?” I ask. “What made you so bad.”

“Cat, this is a hook-up. Do you really want to go there?”

“The real question is: will your answer determine whether or not we have an afternoon quickie?”

“Oh, definitely not. I don’t think anything is messing that up.”

“In that case,” I tell him, “why were you so bad? And why are you now so determined to be good and help every disaster in this town? To be the patron saint of lost causes?”

Before he can answer, our conversation stops. Now it’s not just Evangeline finding us. It’s Evangeline and Cassius.

I didn’t think Jude’s friends hung out in this part of town, but I guess I was wrong.

In fact, I’m beginning to think I’m wrong about a lot of things.

* * *

Chapter 13

Jude

What are the odds? I mean, I understand Evangeline coming by last night—but really, Cassius and her showing up here this morning? It’s not that I don’t want to see one of my best friends—Cash is a great guy and Evie is my cousin—but whatever’s going on between Cat and me is fucking real.

If I hadn’t been interrupted just now, I would have told her everything—told her about my little brother, told her how I messed things up so bad and how all I want to do now is make things right. So, yeah, I help people. I try to fix things. I let women like Rachel into my life and I don’t kick them out, even when I have a hundred and ten reasons why I should.

Because, damn it, I want my brother back. And since I know that isn’t happening this side of heaven, I do my damnedest to make sure no one’s going through hell under my watch. Never again.

“What’s up, man?” Cassius asks, bumping my fist, giving Cat a tight nod. Obviously Evangeline told him about Cat and me last night. “Look what we’ve got. Holden’s baby sister out here, hanging out with this douchecanoe.”

He’s talking to Cat, but she doesn’t look interested. The moment these two showed up, she got busy with the stroller, finding a bottle, covering Etta in a blanket, not meeting either of our eyes.

“Cat, I’m just messing with you,” Cassius says.

“It’s ok,” Cat says coolly. “I know you like to dish it, Cash. But I just don’t want this all to get back to my brother and I have a feeling it’s going to. So, yeah, the timing isn’t that great. Jude and I were having a nice walk.”

“Nice walk?” Cash asks, laughing. “That’s what you kids are calling it these days?”

“Kids?” I say, jutting out my chin. “I think I can handle my business, bro.”

“Dude, just messing with you.” Cassius shakes his head. “Evie and I were just getting brunch; you want to join us?”

“No,” Catalina says quickly.

I turn to look at her, trying to read whatever is going on in her face. I’m not quite sure why she doesn’t feel the vibe with Evie or Cash, but I respect it.

“Okay,” Evie says, taking a step back. “What’s with the mean girl vibes?”

“It’s not mean girl vibes, Evie. It’s just hella awkward, and I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. Before I go to brunch with you and Cash, I should probably have a conversation with my brother. Or my mom.” She looks at me, shaking her head. “You know what, maybe this is all going to get out of control. Jude and I were just having a good time. I was not intending it to become, like, this whole thing with all of his friends and everyone up in my business. Our business.”

I nod slowly, realizing Cat is uncomfortable as hell—and I don’t exactly blame her. This whole thing with Rachel is still so unsettled; it’s not the time for me to be hooking up with my best friend’s little sister.

I like that Cat says what she thinks to Evie. It surprises me, too, because she seemed so closed off when I met her before. Everything Holden has mentioned about Cat revolves around her lack of motivation, her tightlipped non-story about whatever caused her to move to LA.

Maybe I’m a fucking ass to think that I can get her to open up, to break out of her shell… but a major part of me wants to try and figure her out.

Besides, I’m not ready to end this hook-up, or whatever you call it. Not even close.

“Look,” I tell my friends. “Etta needs to get home, and Cat and I just ran out for coffees.” I raise my paper cup as if proving that statement. Like I need an alibi to be strolling the boardwalk.

“That’s cool, bro,” Cash says. “Just let us know when you’re ready to hang out. Evie told me what’s going on with you and Rachel. It’s kind of cold not to tell your friends when shit like that goes down, don’t you think?”

“Look, I’m not ready to talk about Rachel. At all.”

“Okay,” Evie says, rolling her eyes. “But you know, distractions won’t solve your problems. They’ll just amplify them.”

“I’m standing right here, Evie,” Catalina says. “And nobody is looking to solve problems today. Jude and I were getting coffee. We were taking Etta for a walk. As friends. Hell, you should go tell my brother that. He’s the one who’s been annoyed that I’ve been holed up in his house the last six months. Fuck, I’m getting a life.”

“Yeah, with Jude. As if that’s who you should be spending time with.” Evangeline huffs, crossing her arms.

“Why are you being like this?” Cat asks, sounding incredulous. “I thought we were cool.”

“Cool?” Evie sighs. “Rachel and I were friends. Are friends. You wouldn’t understand, Cat. Rachel doesn’t just float through life, and have a brother who can fix her problems, who lets her just flounder for months on end. And yeah, it kinda pisses me off that you’re sleeping with Jude two weeks after Rachel leaves. And Jude, I think it’s kind of messed up that you’re even willing to go along with this.”

“Go along with this?” Cat asks. “Are you kidding me right now? You know nothing about me. You’re judging me? Rachel left, but somehow I’m the villain in the story?”

“I didn’t say you were the villain, I just said you were jumping Jude’s bones. And he’s just trying to survive right now. The timing is a little questionable.”

“Questionable?” I ask, getting pretty pissed off at Evie’s tone with Cat. I’m not Cat’s boyfriend or anything, but she doesn’t deserve to be talked to this way. “Evie, you need to seriously back down. Cat is not doing anything wrong here. I invited her over to my house last night. I invited her out for coffee today. Me. So if you want to get pissed off at someone, get pissed off at me. But do not put your shit on Catalina.”

I feel Cat’s eyes on me, and I know I said the right thing. Reading her body language, I can tell she’s ready to get the hell out of here and get back to my house.

Baby, I think, I’ll take you there.

“Sorry,” Evie says, stepping back. “I know I’m getting a little intense about all of this. And that’s not fair to you, Cat. Or you, Jude. I’m just worried about Rachel. And I’m worried about you, Jude. And Etta. When I needed help, you helped me—you got me a place to live with Holden, and you completely had my back with my dad. You’re the only family I have. I mean”—she looks up at Cassius, smiling softly—“mostly. But you are my only cousin. And I care about you. I hate seeing you hurt, I hate seeing your pattern—”

“My pattern?” I ask.

“Yeah, your pattern … with women. Rachel was always a mess, and the girls before that—Lindy, Julia, I don’t even know how many others. Just a long line of girls who all needed you to save them.”

“I don’t need saving,” Cat says.

But even I don’t believe her words. Even I know the truth: Cat does need someone to save her, to pull her out of whatever she’s stuck in. I just hate the way Evangeline is pointing it out so clearly. So publicly.

“Okay, so you don’t need saving, Cat.” Evie shrugs, lacing her fingers through Cassius’s. “What do you need? Because all I see is a girl who is lost.”

There’s not much to say to that. Evie clearly has no interest in tiptoeing around any conversation today, and in a lot of ways I appreciate that transparency, but not at the cost of Cat, who has tears brimming in her eyes. She swallows hard, and looks as if she’s drowning in her own story.

“Evie,” Cash says, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I think that’s enough, babe.”

I know Evie’s not trying to be a total bitch, that for some reason her instincts tell her to warn me, and I should be grateful to have family like that. Like her.

But her truth doesn’t make my reality any easier.

The four of us turn towards Etta, who’s now awake and kicking off her blanket and cooing happily.

We say good-bye, and Cat and I begin walking back to my place silently, pushing the stroller. Feels like this hook-up just got hella heavy.

Still, there’s not an ounce of me that wants it to end.

* * *

Chapter 14

Catalina

I know Jude and I talked all morning about the potential quickie later that day … but after we saw Evangeline and Cassius, the mood changed. Things feel heavy and intense, and I just need some time to think.

And, to be completely honest, I don’t want to be a burden to Jude. That’s the last thing he needs right now.

When we get back to his place, I tell him I’m going to head out.

“Really?” he asks, unbuckling Etta from her stroller and carrying her inside.

I trail behind them. “Yeah. It’s not personal, I swear. It’s just … after that conversation with Evie, even though I know she apologized … it stung. And—”

“Do you always run when you’re hurt?” Jude looks at me, and I feel like my answer is going to change things for us, forever.

I know how he feels right now about girls who run. The truth is, I have no intention of staying. He’s standing here in the foyer of his house, with his baby. He is completely out of my league.

I’m not the girl for him. I was barely a hook-up for him. And I know that staying here, giving in to another afternoon with him, is just going to bring more drama to his life. Drama with my brother, with my family, with his family. He doesn’t need that.

What Jude needs right now is stability. And maybe a nanny.

But not me.

“I don’t always run, but I would be lying if I told you that wasn’t why I ended up in LA. Maybe Evangeline is right. Maybe I am bad news. And you don’t need that right now. Etta doesn’t need that right now. Right now, I think I might be the sort of distraction that isn’t so good.”

Jude walks toward me, his daughter in his arms. She’s fussing now, not in a totally hysterical way but in an I’m-ready-for-some-attention way.

“I don’t want you to go. I don’t give a fuck what Evie says. She’s my cousin, not my mother. And even if she were, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t ask permission. I do what I motherfucking want.”

“That’s the thing though, Jude—I operate the same way. I do what I want.”

“And right now you want to go?” Jude looks at me, clearly not believing a word I say.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I do. I think it’s best.”

“Since when do you do what’s best? What happened to the Catalina from last night, the girl who was looking for trouble?”

“It’s a new day. Maybe it’s the day I start getting my shit together.”

“You don’t need to do that for me.” Jude shakes his head.

“I know. You haven’t asked me for anything.”

“You haven’t asked me for anything, either,” Jude says.

“Then we’re even.”

“I don’t get what just happened,” Jude runs a hand through his hair. “I thought we were having a really good time.”

“We were. But Jude, I think you deserve better than that.”

“Better than you? Besides, I thought you said this was just a hook-up.”

I feel like he’s testing me, like this is another question I need to answer correctly.

Would he actually push me away? It seems like he’s the sort of man who’s never pushed anyone away in his entire life. He pulls everyone in, like his duty is to take care of them.

“I’ve gotta go,” I tell him. “Let me know if you need anything, or want to get a cup of coffee some other time. Take Etta for a walk. I’m game for that.”

“Just not an afternoon quickie? Or not staying when the conversation gets complicated?”

“I think my answer, today, is both.” I readjust my purse on my shoulder, and lean over to give Etta a kiss on the cheek. Then, without thinking, I lift my chin and kiss Jude squarely on the mouth. Because I want to. Because I think he needs me to.

But mostly, because I can’t bear to tell him good-bye for good.

* * *

Later, I’m in the guesthouse, my laptop open in my lap, when Holden walks in.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my eyes on the screen. This sub-reddit has sucked me in, and I’ve been lost in the vortex of forums for hours, reading threads on single dads and taking care of babies and dating brothers’ best friends.

As if message board answers are the shit that could solve my problems.

“You didn’t come home last night,” Holden says.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You want to tell me where you went?”

“Nope. I do not.” I look up at him and smile widely. Obnoxiously. Like a little sister.

“Okay, if that’s how it’s going to be.” Holden rolls his eyes.

“Stop being so weird. I can have a life here. Isn’t that all you’ve been hoping for the last six months? I got one. I have things to do, people to see.”

“Yet it’s a gorgeous afternoon in Los Angeles, and you’re in your bedroom in sweatpants on your computer.”

“Oh, let me guess, you and Bexley have some amazing plans to go surfing or a jog or to go pick out a dog at the animal shelter.”

“No, I was just wondering if you want to go out for lunch. Bexley and I were going to swing by Jude’s and see what the hell is up with them. He hasn’t been around much. And then we’re headed down the coast. We got a room at a bed and breakfast.”

My cheeks burn, and I look back down at my computer screen, avoiding my brother’s gaze.

“Yeah, thanks for asking, but I’m going to pass.” Twisting my lips, I think on my feet. “Hey, but let’s see if Mom wants to do dinner with us one night this week.”

“Really? You want to plan a family dinner?”

“Yeah, if you’re paying.” I smile. This time it’s real.

It feels good, to be honest with him about something.

* * *

Later, in bed, I think about Jude. Think about him putting his daughter to sleep tonight. Think about what it would be like if I was at his house right now.

Mid-thought, my phone buzzes. For a stupid second I think it might be him. Maybe he’s thinking about me. Maybe he and Holden got into a weird conversation that mentioned his sex life. Maybe everything is a disaster and I’m in the center of it.

Instead, I see the text is from Yuri.

Yuri – I’m in LA. I want to see you.

Me – that’s not going to happen.

Yuri – I’m sick of you thinking you can tell me what to do. I’m going to see you, you know you’ve missed me.

I close my eyes, hating the way Yuri talks to me. Like he owns me. Like he knows me. Like he means something to me besides a bad decision. Lots of bad decisions.

Me – no. I’m done with you. Told you that plenty of times please stop calling me.

Yuri – you don’t get to tell me what to do. I know what’s best for you, baby.

This is the reason I should’ve told people about Yuri a long time ago. I wouldn’t have gotten so deep, wouldn’t have gone to a place I had no business being, in a place I never wanted to go.

Yuri – I see, you’re going to freeze me out. Not answer my texts. Fine. But I know where you are. I know where you sleep. I know you are living with your brother. Why don’t you introduce us?

I drop the phone on my bed, my skin crawling, not liking his tone. Knowing that if I’m getting this creeped out via text, it would only get worse if it were in person.

The phone buzzes again. I want to throw it out the window, but also want to know what it says. So that I can make a decision, a smart one.

Yuri – I’m coming for you and I’m going to kiss you good night.

I hear the door to the guesthouse open. My worst nightmare has just stepped inside.

* * *

Chapter 15

Jude

Of course I’m disappointed that Catalina left. Obviously she didn’t like running into Cash or Evangeline, and to be honest I don’t blame her. Evie was a complete bitch to her, and Cat did not deserve that.

Still, it gives me a chance to sort things out in my own head, and the more I think about it, the more I realize I really like Cat. As a woman, as a friend. We had such a great time together, and I hate that I let her go this morning without telling her that.

Still, I’m not planning on pushing her faster than she wants to go. She wanted to leave today, and I let her. And even though all I can think about is her tight little ass and her perfect pussy, I know that before I can move forward with Cat on any level, there’s some other shit I need to sort out first.

I decide to call Rachel. It must be my lucky fucking day because, shockingly, she answers.

“Hey,” she says. I swear she’s slurring her words, but I’m not going to start pointing fingers. Not right now. Right now I just want to make sure she’s safe. “Long time no talk, baby.”

“Right … that’s mostly because you haven’t returned my calls. Or my texts. Rachel, where are you?”

“Really, Jude? Are you seriously just calling to give me a bad time? You know I can’t handle that.”

“What can you handle, Rachel? I just need to make sure that you’re okay. I don’t want anything stupid to happen to you.”

“Calm down, Jude. And of course stupid shit is going down. You know I’m no good for Etta. I never was.”

“Are you at least in California? I have no idea where you are. People are asking.”

“I’m not asking for you to cover for me Jude.”

“I’m not covering for you. I’m covering for Etta. Do you really think I want everyone to know that you just ran off on your daughter?”

“That’s on me. Jude, I don’t want to be there right now. I just need a chance to breathe, a chance to … figure my stuff out.”

“Stop being so fucking selfish, Rachel.”

“Don’t start guilt-tripping me again. Our relationship is built on you making me feel bad for being the person I am.”

“That’s not true,” I tell her. “I spent our entire relationship making sure you weren’t passed out, drunk, making mistakes.”

“Mistakes? Well, I got pregnant, didn’t I?”

“Etta is not a mistake. What you’re doing right now is. Come home. Get help.”

“I should never have answered my phone,” she says, “if this is the shit I’m going to get from you. Look, I’m in California. And I’m safe. And the longer this conversation lasts, the worse I want to get lit. Just give me some space. I’ll talk to you when I’m ready.”

“Could you call Evie at least?” I ask her. “She keeps asking about you. She’s worried. She’s your friend, remember?”

“My friend?” Rachel laughs coldly. “Jude, don’t be naïve. You know I never fit in with that crowd.”

“And me? Did you ever fit in with me?” I ask her.

“Let’s not do this. You know where I stand. I’m done.”

“Oh, honey,” I tell her. “I’m not asking you back for me. I’m done, too. I just want to make sure you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I’m not ready to come back.”

“Will you ever be?”

“I’m not sure.” She hangs up before I can press her, and I wish I’d never called.

* * *

I do some work on the computer for a few hours. The night just drags on. Etta takes such a long nap that I know she’s going to be up late tonight. It’s my fault, but damn, who wants to wake a sleeping baby?

But now? Now the whole evening stretches out ahead of me.

Holden and Bexley stop by, and I vaguely tell them that Rachel is out of town, at her mom’s. When Bexley asks if she can do anything to help with Etta, I brush her off, not wanting help.

“So what are your plans tonight?” I ask them.

“Oh, we’re headed down the coast, Holden got us a room at La Donna.”

“Oh, that’s some fancy shit,” I say, giving a low whistle. “That’s cool. So Cat is just home alone?”

Holden gives a shrug, telling me he really has no clue about his sister and me.

“Yeah, she was in sweats when we left, said she was planning on watching TV and eating take-out all night.”

“You think she’ll have company?” I can’t help but ask. Fuck, maybe Cat has some guy she’s seeing.

Bexley laughs. “Uh, no, but I swear to God that girl needs to get laid.”

Holden and I both swing our heads to Bexley, who’s always on the tight end of up-tight.

“What?” she asks, smiling. “She should. I feel bad for her. Being in a funk sucks.”

“Damn, girl, you never used to talk like that,” Holden says, giving his girl a hard time.

Bexley laughs, rolling her eyes. “The city has changed me. Or maybe you’re just a terrible influence.”

They leave, believing that Rachel is returning in a few days.

As soon as they’re gone, I pick up my phone. If Cat is home alone, I want to join her.

Her phone is off—which, maybe if she’s binge watching something she doesn’t want any interruptions, but damn. I want to interrupt her something bad.

The way we ended things this morning was so anticlimactic. I mean, I know Evangeline was part of why Cat wanted to take off so fast, but still. I want her to know that Rachel and I are done. Beyond done.

And yeah, I don’t know what’s going to happen next for Etta and me, but I do know I’d like to spend more time with Cat.

Besides being damn beautiful, she also seems to get me in a way most people don’t.

I need to see her, let her know how I feel.

It’s not that I’m going to get to her place and announce my undying love for her, but I have no problem telling her that what I feel for her is more than a one-night stand. More than a hook-up.

All I know is I want to spend the rest of the evening with her. Not in her pants, necessarily, but talking, BS-ing, drinking some beer, and watching TV. That’s the sort of thing I’d really like to do with Cat right now.

I know what my gut is telling me. I need to go see her. Make a move.

Buckling Etta into her baby carrier, I grab my wallet and my keys. I get her in the car and head towards Holden’s house.

I don’t stop to think if this is a good idea. Because hell, maybe it isn’t. But right now I need to see the woman who’s been on my mind for days.

* * *

Chapter 16

Catalina

One second, I’m lying in my bed, bored with my lack of plans. The next minute, Yuri is here. In my house.

This cannot be happening.

“Yuri, you can’t be here.” I jump up from my bed, trying to stop him before he enters my bedroom.

He isn’t big. His power doesn’t come from strength; it comes from control. His eyes are beady, his chin weak. He’s all bent out of shape. I know this look of his.

His dark hair and dark eyes and dark soul penetrate me in ways I wish they didn’t. But Yuri is the kind of man who can force people to do things they otherwise wouldn’t.

Like be his woman. Like stay as long as I did. Like forget about my dignity, and forfeit myself to him.

Maybe I’ve been here at my brother’s house for six months without any idea of what I actually want for my life, but I do know this: I do not want Yuri. At all. I’d rather sit in bed for the rest of my life than be with a man like him.

And now he’s here.

In my room.

Looking at me in a way that scares me.

“You think I’m just going to forget about the girl who left me?” Yuri steps towards me.

“Yuri, I’m not your girl anymore. We’re over. And you can’t be here. I don’t want you here.”

“You think I really care what you want? You think you can walk away from me, Catalina, without me having the last word with you?”

“Okay,” I tell him, trying to think on my feet, “if you something to say to me, that’s fine. What is it?”

I’ll let him keep talking, until I can figure out a plan to make him leave.

“Oh, Catty-cat. You know I don’t actually want to talk. I have other plans for you and me tonight.”

“Why are you in town, Yuri? You’re a long way from home.”

“I thought you could introduce me to your brother, but it looks like he’s not here,” Yuri says, looking around my bedroom.

My phone is off, and all I want right now is for it to be on so I can call Jude and ask for help. I want him to come.

Does that make me weak—that in my moment of crisis he’s the person I think of? That I want him to come save me, rescue me? Isn’t that the exact same thing that Evie told him he had a pattern of doing?

Still, I’m scared. I look toward my phone, willing it to turn on.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Catty?” Yuri walks towards me in two long strides. We stand face-to-face, and I’m trembling.

“Get away from me,” I tell him loudly. “Please, Yuri. Just go.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not going to happen,” he sneers. He reaches for my phone and throws it against the wall. “What, you think you’re going to call some boyfriend to come save you?”

“I don’t need saving. Yuri, go. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Hell, yeah, you will.” Yuri grins and reaches for my waist.

I’m in his clutches, and flashes of our past together pierce my memory. This is why I ran away. This is why I can’t go back.

“What are you going to do to me?” I cry. “Just get it over with. Please.”

“Oh, I’m going to take this nice and slow. I’m going to make you remember what you’ve missed.” He pulls me toward him aggressively, and I let out a cry.

“Yuri,” I tell him slowly, blinking, as if gearing myself up for what I’m going to say next. “Why don’t we have a drink, and catch up? I don’t want to make this difficult. And you probably deserve an explanation.”

“I deserve a hell of a lot more than an explanation.” Yuri pulls at my tank top, tearing my shirt, and pushes me toward the bed.

I start screaming, yelling at him to stop.

The fighting gets worse, but I can’t hold back anymore. I grab the vase on the bedside table and smash it against his shoulder; the glass doesn’t faze him. Water and shards of glass fly, rose petals float to the floor.

He forces my shoulders down onto the bed, and I know he plans on having his way with me.

But I won’t let him do that. Not today. Not tonight. I start screaming as loud as I can, hoping that someone will hear me.

But I know Holden is gone, and that leaves me here alone. I need help. I kick at Yuri, my legs swinging wildly, but he’s bigger than me.

Then the front door swings open, and someone is here.

Jude.

“What the fuck?” he shouts, pulling Yuri off me. “Who the hell are you?”

Relief rushes over me, and when Jude starts punching Yuri, I get off the bed, reaching for my phone.

I need to call the police. My fingers shake as I power the phone on.

Jude swings a punch against Yuri’s brow, and then Yuri’s fist collides with Jude’s jaw. It’s out of control, and they just need to stop. Jude pushes Yuri against the wall, punching him straight in the face. Blood pours from Yuri’s nose.

“Just go, Yuri,” I scream. “Please, leave me alone.”

He must know that his muscles can’t compete with Jude’s; he must know he’s going to lose this fight. He shakes his head, blood on his face, screaming obscenities at me that I can’t even register.

I just need him gone.

“Fuck you, Catalina. You’re a cunt, but we’re not finished.” He walks from my bedroom, still yelling as Jude steps away from him. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

Jude and I are trailing him, and I assume he’s asking who Jude is. But he isn’t. Someone else has walked into my house.

My mom is standing here, a baby’s car seat in her hands.

Her eyes are wide as she takes in Yuri’s bloody face, Jude’s tights fists, and my dropped jaw.

I was not expecting her to see me like this. Ever.

* * *

Chapter 17

Jude

The man who had pinned Catalina to her bed, ripped her clothes, caused her to scream for help—he holds his face and runs from the house. I follow him, pushing his body into the grass. I grab the collar of his shirt, screaming in his face to never come back.

The way he touched Cat—the way he spoke to her—if I see him again, I swear to god he’ll never speak again.

He raises his arms in surrender, and I forget restraint as I land a final blow to his cheek.

When he attempts to move, I push him off Holden’s property.

Good fucking riddance.

“Should I call the cops?” Cat asks, frantically looking around the place. “Jude, should we?”

She’s wildly upset, and desperate for answers. For help.

“You know who that guy is?”

I’m reeling, and a little shocked to see Cat’s mom here—with Etta, no less.

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Cat says, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I told him not to come here. I came to LA to get away from him.”

“What are you talking about, Catalina, what’s going on here?” Catalina’s mom, Tricia, asks. Tricia is a wonderful woman, and has babysat Etta lots of times when Rachel has flaked out. I try to help her out in return; when she moved to town, I got a crew of guys that were working on-set to come unload her U-Haul. But there’s little I can do to thank her for helping me out. She says it’s her pleasure considering she’s my best friend’s mom.

I reach for Etta’s car seat, needing to bring her close.

Tricia isn’t having any of it. She keeps a tight grip on the handle of Etta’s car seat.

“Jude, you’re bleeding.” Trisha shakes her head, scolding me. “You need to get cleaned up before you get your baby back.”

“I left her in the car because I heard screaming and shouting from Cat’s guesthouse, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring my daughter into the fray.”

“Well, that was smart, but we need to clean you up.” Tricia sets Etta down, runs a rag under the kitchen faucet, and hands it to me. I press it to my face then turn to Cat, who’s shaking on the couch.

“Holden called me to come check on my daughter,” Tricia explained. “Said she seemed really depressed this afternoon.”

We turn and look at Catalina, who’s sobbing into her hands now. She’s in a sports bra and sweatpants. Red marks still claw at her shoulders, where that man had pinned her down.

“Cat, what’s going on? Who was that?” Trisha asks again, her tone softer this time. Clearly, Catalina doesn’t need a guilt trip at the moment. She’s shaken up, with reason.

“Mom, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see me like that. I know it’s a mess. But he—but I… That’s why I’m here. Why I moved to LA. To get away from Yuri.”

“Sweetie, what are you talking about? You were running from that monster? And never told anyone?”

I shake my head as her story clicks into place. Of course she’d run without a plan, needing to get out of an abusive relationship. Of course she’s exhausted. Depressed. Lost.

“What was I supposed to say, Mom? Holden has his life completely figured out, you’re trying to get your life together after just moving out here from Tolling. The last thing you need is a daughter who’s a mess, a daughter who can’t do anything right. I’m a fuck-up, Mom, plain and simple.”

“No, Cat, you’re not,” I say moving toward the couch where she’s sitting. I rest my arm over her shoulder, going with my gut instinct to comfort her and make sure she’s okay.

Trish doesn’t seem so interested in my comforting tactics. She’s eyeing us, trying to figure out what the heck is going on between Catalina and me.

“Jude, where’s Rachel?” Trish asks, knowing the backstory here.

“Rachel’s gone.”

“As of when?” Trish presses.

“As of a few weeks ago.”

“Mom, let’s not do this right now. Jude is here for me, and thank God he was. Thank God he came over tonight. I don’t even want to know what would’ve just happened. Yuri is a monster.”

“Calling the cops isn’t going to do anything, unless you’re prepared to give a statement and apply for a restraining order,” I tell her.

“If I do that, I’m only asking for more trouble. His guys will come after me, and I don’t want to know what they would do.”

“What do you mean his guys?” Trish asks.

“He runs a whole crime ring out of Oakland. I don’t know, Mom; it’s a mess. I was one of his girls. Or his only girl. All I know is, when Yuri wants something he doesn’t let go easily. And I don’t want to call the cops, because I don’t want any more drama. I just want this all to disappear.”

“Guys like Yuri don’t just disappear,” I tell her.

“I know,” she says. “Why do you think I left? I was the one who ran.”

“Regardless of Yuri, I want to understand what Jude is doing here with his arm around you, Cat.” Trish gives me a hard look and I feel that motherly gaze that I know my own mother would offer if she were in this room.

Hell, my own mother has no clue what’s going on with Rachel right now. I wanted to keep the drama of Rachel leaving at bay, until I had a better clue of what was going to happen next.

After the conversation with Rachel this afternoon, I know it’s pointless to try to pretend that she’s coming back. I know that girl, and commitment isn’t something she’s ready for. And no, I’m not looking for a commitment to me; I need a commitment as a mother to her daughter.

“Etta stayed, Rachel split. And Catalina’s been helping me out. Nothing shady is going on here, Tricia,” I say. I want her to believe me—need her to—and I don’t know why, because Catalina and I are nothing besides this extended hook-up. But if we were … more, I’d want her mother to know I’m an honest man, a good man. Nothing like Yuri.

“So Etta’s mom left, and you and Jude got together?” Trish shakes her head. “Cat, this isn’t going to end well.”

“Mom, Jude saved me. He doesn’t need your flack tonight.”

“I know,” Tricia says, opening the freezer and filling a baggie with cubes of ice. She hands it to me and I press it to my jaw. “But, Cat, after everything I saw tonight, it looks like you have some things you should work through before you and Jude—”

Cat looks up at her mom, incredulous. “Mom, you have no idea. I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just … trying to figure things out. Jude is helping me do that.”

“Figuring things out with a man who has a baby is not exactly going to make things crystal clear. It’s just going to complicate things, complicate whatever’s going on in your head right now.”

“Mom, the last year has been really hard. Can you give me a break right now? You saw Yuri, what he was like.”

“You should have told someone about whatever was happening up in Oakland. You should have told someone why you really left Berkley. For six months straight, your brother and I have been worried sick about you.” Tricia holds us with the concerned gaze of a mother. “I just wonder about the timing of this….”

I’m not some cocky ass that believes I know better than everyone else in the world. I know that sometimes mothers do know best. Not that Etta’s mother knows best … but, damn it, maybe she does. Maybe Rachel left because she knows exactly what she should be doing: leaving her daughter alone.

Still, that’s not a reality I’m prepared to deal with. Not now. Not yet.

“You know what, kids?” Trish says firmly. “I think you could both use a night off. I’m going to take Etta, and you two are going to figure out what you’re doing.”

“What we’re doing?” I can’t help but ask, getting a little ticked off at Tricia’s tone. I’m trying to respect Catalina’s mom and all, but seriously—I’m not a child. “I know plenty. I know that Catalina and I have something, something real. That’s why I came over here tonight—to tell your daughter that.”

My eyes dart over to Catalina, who’s listening closely. Her tears have dried up, and she seems to be hanging on every last word I say.

“Believe me when I say this,” I tell Tricia. “I don’t take your daughter’s heart lightly. Just like I don’t take my own daughter’s heart lightly.”

That shuts Tricia up—because what is she going to say when a man steps up, when a man says the motherfucking truth?

“So, yeah,” I tell her. “I think it’s a good idea that I have a night off, that Catalina has a night off. I’m okay with you taking Etta; you’ve helped with her plenty of times before, and I appreciate the offer. The last few weeks have been rough. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in God knows how long. So if you’re able and willing to take Etta for the night, that means a lot.”

Tricia’s eyes are filled with tears, and I don’t know if it’s because of my speech, or what she saw her daughter going through tonight, or the fact that Etta is starting to stir and she sees a little girl who doesn’t have a mom.

It’s a lot to take in.

“Jude,” she says. “I’ll bring Etta back here tomorrow, around noon. That sound all right?”

“Thank you. Let’s go out to the car so I can help you get her stuff—her diaper bag, bottles and formula.” I pause, wondering if this is really okay. Looking over at Catalina, who still seems in shock from this evening, I know this time is going to mean a lot for her and me.

“She’s easy,” I tell Trisha, “the easiest baby I’ve ever known. But she still requires a lot of attention. You’re okay with waking up a few times tonight?”

“I’ve been to this rodeo, and I’m itching to be grandmother.” Then, as if realizing how her words could be taken, she shakes her head fast at Catalina. “Not necessarily anytime soon, but you know what I mean. And I don’t have anything else going on tonight. I was just coming by to check on you anyway.”

Catalina hugs her mom good-bye, but it’s tense, like their relationship has changed before they were ready for it to.

I walk Trisha out to the car, help her get all of Etta’s things and load them up into her Subaru. After I buckle Etta’s car seat in securely, she squeezes my arm. “You’re a good father, Jude,” Trish says. “And I’ll take good care of your little girl.”

“And I’ll do the same with yours,” I tell her, meaning it. Because, damn—I have one night to spend with Catalina, and I’m going to cherish every second of it.

* * *

Chapter 18

Catalina

When Jude walks back into the house, all I want to do is hide my face in shame.

I don’t know if that makes me the sort of girl other girls hate, the fact that I immediately feel small when someone tears me down.

I know there are other women who can respond to men like Yuri by being brave and whole and capable. But I’ve never been that great at taking care of myself.

I wish I were stronger, all on my own. That I didn’t need a man to help make my life make sense. But right now, as Jude walks towards me, all I can think is that if Jude were to pick me up and hold me in his arms and carry me to my bed and cover me in blankets and kiss my cheeks and tell me good night, everything would be okay.

The thing that’s so startling, the thing I don’t expect, the thing that brings tears to my eyes and causes my heart to beat fast and my shoulders to shake, is the fact that Jude nearly does just that.

He takes my hand, and I stand from the couch. He steps toward me and pulls me into the warmest hug I may have ever received in my whole damn life. He holds me like I’m breaking; he holds me like I’m something precious.

Then he lifts me up, cradling me in his arms. Arms that are fucking strong, hands that are so fucking capable. He holds me, and I’m clinging to him. Holding on for dear life.

He carries me—not to bed, that’s where my fantasy and his reality diverge. Instead, he carries me into my bathroom and flips on the light, casting a bright glow across the room.

Setting me down, he walks to the shower and turns it on, letting his fingers run under the water until it warms, then drying them on hand towel next to the sink.

It feels as if he’s been in a small space like this with me a hundred times before, but he hasn’t. This is the first time he and I have truly been alone, with Etta gone. It’s just us. But I’m not nervous to be alone with him.

I blink my eyes rapidly, and I might look a little maniacal but that doesn’t really matter right now—because what matters right now is the fact that Jude’s fingers are running up my spine, until his hands are cradling my neck and he lifts my chin ever so slightly and my eyes meet his.

“Catalina,” he says, his voice gravelly, low, his tone reflecting the seriousness that is him at his core. His effortless ability to help other people and take care of other people and rescue other people is born out of something deeper.

I see that intensity, that fire. Something is burning and driving him—his motivation.

“Yes,” I whisper, licking my lips, my eyes still locked on his.

“Tonight,” he tells me, “I’m going to take care of you.”

“Jude,” I say, shaking my head. My shoulders are shaking, too—my knees are probably shaking as well, but that doesn’t really matter. No one’s looking at my knees right now.

Jude sure as hell isn’t. Jude is only looking in my eyes.

“You can’t take care of me. That’s all you do, is take care of other people. What about you? Who takes care of you?”

“Right now, girl, I’m taking care of you. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

He kisses me then, hard on my lips, lips that I was so scared were going to be kissed by Yuri tonight. Lips I thought would be pressed against his skin tonight … and I am so glad Jude saved me, that he came when he did, that he punched the man who hurt my heart. I am so glad Jude was here for me.

As he kisses me, his lips part and my lips part, and my tongue finds his, inhaling all of him, wanting more of him, giving everything I’ve got.

He’s pressed against me, and I feel his hard, growing cock. I whimper in his hold, letting my mouth sink deeper into this unholy kiss. This kiss is raw, with rough edges. This kiss pushes all my memories of Yuri out of my mind.

Jude pulls away from me, a slight smile crossing his lips, and I’m hanging onto every word he might say.

“Like I said,” he tells me, “right now I’m going to take care of you. But later, baby, you can take care of me.” He takes my hand, pressing it against his bulging cock, and that’s when I know I am completely and utterly his for the taking.

He reaches for the elastic band of my bra and pulls it over my head. My breasts fall, but he palms them quickly and pulls the nipple into his mouth, sucking it greedily, hungrily, like he’s never tasted something so sweet in his life. My nipples harden, and I suck in a deep breath. My eyes flutter as I remember to breathe.

The past six months, shut up in my brother’s house—that was not living. The year before, under Yuri’s gaze—that was not living.

But now? This? This is life. This is deep breaths and soft hands and honest kisses and a hard cock that knows what to do with my body.

I tug off Jude’s shirt. His pecs and abs are rigid, his body covered in ink, his jeans slung low on his hips. I unbutton them quickly, my hands no longer shaking. Right now, they know exactly what they want. They know exactly how to get there.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and jeans, and all at once I pull them down, because all I want is to see his hard length—and, damn, it looks so good.

Jude pulls down my sweats and panties; I step out of them, and the two of us are before one another, under the bright lights, the shower only steps away. His hands run over my ass and I shiver from head to toe at his touch, because his touch feels like magic.

I don’t need a magic lamp, or three wishes; I don’t need a fairy godmother. Because right now I have Jude, and maybe that is a fucking ton of pressure to put on one man. But Jude is more than one thing. He is a father. A man. A lover.

And, in this moment, he is mine. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or next week, but right now? Right now I have this.

And I know I have this crazy adrenaline pumping through my body because Yuri was here. Yuri, the man I hate. The man I ran from. The man I never wanted to see again.

But, adrenaline or not, Jude is here next to me and our bodies are touching and our skin is on fire and his hands are running through my hair.

We step into the shower. The water is hot, the steam surrounds us, and our mouths collide.

Like I said, this feels like magic. Like a fucking magic carpet ride.

* * *

Chapter 19

Jude

In the shower Catalina drops to her knees, and just like that her mouth widens around my cock.

She sucks me, her fingers rolling my tight balls in her hand as she moves her head up and down, up and down. The tip of my cock hits the back of her throat but she doesn’t stop; she just keeps going.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you right now,” I tell her.

She stops sucking, her eyes looking up at me, a smile spreading across her lips as she tries to talk, but her mouth is so fucking full.

She pulls my cock from her mouth, and her eyes brighten. “I couldn’t help myself,” she says, running her fingers up and down my shaft as she smiles at me.

“Damn, baby, how did I get this lucky?”

“You are my knight in shining armor tonight, Jude. Right now, I’d give you anything.”

“Anything?” I ask, knowing a smile is stretched across my face.

“Within reason,” she says. Then, as if she knows what I really want, as if she loves every single inch of me, she presses her mouth against my cock once again, filling herself up with my massive rod.

She sucks me off, her mouth moving tight around me, up and down, faster and faster, until I’m close to release.

Unable to stop, not wanting to in the least, I shoot my come into her warm and willing mouth. She swallows me as if she wants to drink my come every night, and damn, I’d never deny her a fucking thing. When I finish coming, she pulls me from her mouth, licking the tip of my cock, like she doesn’t want to miss a fucking drop.

She wipes her mouth, smiling—and, god damn it, she has the most gorgeous smile in the world. It’s soft and fragile, like she doesn’t know if it will last longer than this moment.

And maybe she’s scared it won’t. If she’s been with fuckers like Yuri, she’s probably terrified that the next man she’s with won’t know how to treat her right.

She doesn’t need to be scared with me. I wrap my arms around her so fast, unable to wait another moment to touch her.

“God, I want your pussy so fucking bad,” I tell her, my fingers grazing her opening. She whimpers at my touch.

“Then do it,” she says. “Fuck me, Jude.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve had a long night.”

“No, I had a shitty night. But then you came along, and you changed everything.”

“If I fuck you now, there’s no going back, baby. You and me, this is going to be more than a hook-up.”

“Good.”

Her eyes sear into mine, and I squeeze her ass before spinning her around. Her hands press against the tiled wall as she braces herself. I spread her legs with my hand, and reach between them, pressing a finger against her slick entrance. It’s not just the water—she’s so wet, so filled with desire for me.

My fingers dip into her folds, fluttering against her clit. She gasps for breath as I finger her softly. At first it’s slow, but then I touch her more aggressively, wanting to make her pussy gush, knowing what it’s capable of.

I press a second finger into her dripping gap, getting so fucking turned on by the way she moans.

“Oh, Jude, that feels so good. Don’t stop that, please,” she begs me. “Don’t stop, whatever you do. Don’t stop.”

“You like that?” I ask, my mouth hot against her ear. Our bodies are pressed together, but I want more. I want all of her.

I know exactly what she wants, and I press another finger inside her, then start moving—faster, faster, and faster still. I’m working her so hard that her knees knock against each other.

Her back is arched, and I run my hand over her spine, squeezing her ass. My other hand works her pussy up and down. She’s reaching climax; I can tell because her pussy is pulsing with life.

She’s moaning, her breath ragged, begging me to keep going. I pound her with my fingers. Harder, harder, until she tells me to stop.

“Just stop, Jude, don’t make me wait anymore. Just come in me. Now.”

I grin, and then I do exactly as she asks. I press my cock, still so hard and rigid, into her dripping pussy. She’s so ready for me after that finger-fuck, and I’m ready to plow into her willing cunt.

“Fuck me,” she moans. “I want it hard. I want to feel you in me.”

I lean against her, pressing my massive length into her.

“Jude, oh, Jude,” she moans. “Yes, yes, harder.”

“Oh, baby, you’re so fucking wet for me,” I tell her, pulling her hair as I push deeper into her. Just the way she asked for. Just the way I like.

I thrust deep inside her, rocking our world—or rocking whatever we thought was the world, because this is a whole new galaxy. We’re in completely uncharted territory.

“I’m so fucking close,” I tell her. “I’m going to come all over your ass.”

“Prove it,” she dares. “Prove how hard you’re going to come all over me.”

I push deeper against her, and she cries out. “Oh my God, oh yeah, oh yeah,” she groans, coming with me.

Her pussy is so tight around me, her juice running down her leg, the water washing it away. As I pull out of her, the shock of it causes her to press her cheek against the tiled wall, and she searches for breath.

I pump my come all over her wet ass. I cover her round butt with my milky come, and damn, it’s the most gorgeous sight in the world. Her, covered with me.

I finish, spin her around, wrapping my arms around her waist. With fingers grazing to her ass, I lift her up, onto me. She wraps her legs around me, squeezing tight, her wet pussy pressed against my still-hard cock. Her arms wrap around my neck, my hands holding her. The water rushes over us and our mouths meet.

But it’s no longer just our mouths—I swear, somewhere in the space of the shower, our souls motherfucking collide.

Chapter 20

Catalina

When I wake the next morning, I’m in Jude’s arms, in my bed. Sunlight streams through the window, and I nestle deeper into the crevice of Jude’s body.

“Morning,” he says, kissing the side of my head as he draws me closer to him. I find myself smiling despite the early morning hour.

Looking at the clock, I see that it’s just barely seven AM, but I know from staying at his place the other night that Jude’s biological clock has shifted now that he’s become a father.

“You sleep okay?” I ask.

“Still tired,” he says, suppressing a yawn.

“Then let’s try to go back to sleep.” I smile lazily. “We’re in no rush. My mom’s not bringing Etta back until noon.”

Jude pulls me closer to him. “Should we talk before she comes back?” he asks, kissing my collarbone.

“Sure you’re ready for that? I feel like there’s still a lot to figure out before we have any answers.”

He kisses my forehead again, then rolls on top of me, his morning wood demanding.

“I’m sorry that Yuri came here.” He kisses me fully on the lips, then pulls back. “You deserve so much better than that.”

“I deserve someone like you?”

“Baby,” he says, shaking his head, “you deserve much better than me.”

“Jude,” I say my eyes open, savoring this moment of his weight on top of my body, neither of us fully awake to the day, but present all the same. “You’re really fucking hot, but you’re wrong about a lot of things.”

“Maybe, but I’m right about one thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You being good for me.”

He rolls a condom onto his hard cock, presses himself into me, and then we fuck until we fall back asleep.

* * *

A few hours later we wake. Someone’s at the door. My first instinct is that Yuri is back. I don’t know if he’s that stupid, but honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. When he gets something in his mind, he’s determined to see it through.

“Catalina, open up,” Holden calls. He bangs his fist on my door, and a wave of emotions roll over me—at first it’s relief, but that quickly turns to fear.

“Shit, Jude,” I say, nudging him awake. “Holden’s here. Fuckity-fuck-fuck.”

“What?” Jude asks groggily as he sits up in bed.

I get out of bed and wrap a robe around my around me. Cinching the belt, I turn back to Jude. “Holden’s here. This is so not how I wanted this to go down this morning.”

“Oh,” Jude says, grinning. “I know how you wanted to go down this morning.”

I shoot him a dramatic look of disgust, but it’s poorly masked. Jude knows I would’ve preferred that, too.

“Well, Jude, you better be ready with an alibi.”

“I don’t think an alibi is going to cover the fact that I’m naked in his sister’s bed.”

I try not to groan in frustration as I walk toward the door, but I do. I hate that Jude has to come clean this way to his friend. I don’t care about myself, honestly; who cares that I’m sleeping with Jude? He’s happy, I’m happy. It could be a hell of a lot worse.

What I hate is that Jude has to come clean about Rachel this way. I know it kills him. And that kills me.

I unlock the door, swinging it open. “Morning brother,” I tell him. I can feel my fake cheeriness written all over my face. “I thought you were at some swanky bed and breakfast with your woman? She kick you out?” I try to be lighthearted, to cover the reality that Jude is in my bed.

“Yeah,” he says, his eyebrows raised. He’s clearly pissed. “I was having a really fucking great time, until some asshole shows up at my door a few hours ago demanding money.”

I pull back, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know? Sounds like you and he go way back, Catalina.” Holden walks into my—scratch that, his—guesthouse, and looks around. “A guy named Yuri? Ring a bell? He told me he came here last night. Looking for you. Looking for me.”

“Looking for you? Holden, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“About Yuri? Or the money? Because Catalina, what were you thinking, not telling us about this guy? He’s serious trouble. He pulled a fucking knife on me.”

“Holy crap, really?” I know a look of horror is written across my face, because Holden isn’t playing around. Taking a closer look at him, I see that his eyes are red, his jaw tense. Something happened.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Is Bexley?”

“Nice of you to wonder now. Yes, we’re both fine, thank God. She’s in our house showering. She’s pretty shaken up. Do you have any idea the damage he could’ve done?” Holden asks. “Catalina, this guy is dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know. Why do you think I ran away from him?”

“Fucking stupid, to not tell us a single thing about it. He came after me, he came after Bex. We could have both been stabbed.”

“What was he even doing looking for you? I don’t understand.”

Jude decides that this is the exact moment he should make his grand entrance. He’s slipped on his jeans, thankfully, but still—it’s ten AM, and we’ve clearly just gotten out of bed.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Holden asks, his eyes darting between Jude and me. His face is drawn with lines of confusion. “You sleeping with my sister?”

“I’m not just sleeping with her,” Jude says. “We’re—”

“We’re friends with benefits.” I cringe even as I say it, knowing it is not the truth. I don’t know what we are. Honestly, we’re not in any place to make something official. We don’t even know where Rachel is. My mom has his daughter. Yuri is coming after my brother with a knife?

What is my actual life right now?

“Friends with benefits?” Holden shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell is going on? Where’s Rachel? You’re cheating on her? I get that your past has given you some hero complex, where you want take care of everybody, save everyone—but it’s not cool. Not with my sister.”

“Jude has nothing to do with you or Yuri. It’s all separate.” I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts. “Holden, stick to the topic at hand. Give it to me straight. What did Yuri want from you?”

“He wanted money. Plain and simple,” Holden says, not the least bit amused by whatever is taking place here. Neither am I. “He said he wanted money or he was coming after you.”

“And what did you say? What did you do?”

Holden shakes his head. “Yuri is taken care of. What I’m really fucking confused about is my best friend and my sister.”

“I had no idea he would come after you,” I tell him. “I thought he wanted me.”

Holden shakes his head even harder. “Catalina, he never wanted you. He wanted to get to me.”

It feels like a knife to my own heart, and I’m ashamed that I even think this way, but I do. I thought Yuri actually came back because he wanted to control me … not because he wanted to rob my famous brother.

I’m more relieved than ever that Jude came when he did. If it had just been Yuri and me, he would have done whatever he wanted to get to Holden. I was a means to an end.

“Yuri’s a fucking clown. I have a bodyguard. He called the cops and Yuri got dragged down to the jail before he could do any serious harm.”

“He came here for me last night, I had no idea he was coming after you next.” I swallow my shame, hating that my mess with Yuri created a scary situation for Holden and Bexley. They don’t deserve that.

“Well, he did. And you can guess how confused I was, considering he was talking about his relationship with my sister. As far as I knew, my sister wasn’t in any relationships.” Holden snorts, looking at Jude and then me. “But I guess I was wrong on multiple accounts, wasn’t I?”

“Dude,” Jude says. “It’s not like that. Yuri came here last night freaking out. We had no idea he’d come after you.”

“You should have called the fucking cops. But both of you … I’m not saying you don’t realize the severity of a situation, but what the hell? Seriously, man—Jude, you’ve been in a fucked-up situation with Rachel for the last year and a half. Now you have her baby. And now, where is she?”

“She left, Holden,” Jude tells him. “She split town, high as a kite with no plans to change. So fuck you for judging Cat and me.”

“This is bullshit. I’m not the bad guy here. For a year, my sister is the hooker for some gangster, and then she sits here for six months pretending it never happened? And then, to top it all off, she starts fucking my best friend.”

His words hit so hard, and I try to hold back my tears. But it’s pointless to rein in my emotions now.

Holden isn’t done. “I don’t know what’s going on with either of you. And, honestly, right now I don’t give a fuck. I’m just glad Bexley’s okay.”

“And you’re glad that Catalina’s okay?” Jude asks coldly. “Right?”

“Yeah, of course I care that my sister is okay. But Jude, it looks like you got this all under control, don’t you? Like you always do.”

“What are you trying to say, bro?” Jude asks before Holden can walk away.

“I’m saying, Jude, you like being the hero, like fixing things for everybody else. Maybe it’s time you start fixing your own goddamn life.”

Holden leaves, slamming the door behind him, leaving Jude and me alone.

“Fuck,” I, say wiping the tears from my face. “I did not need to hear all that.”

“I didn’t need to either.” Jude exhales, but I know my brother’s words were cruel.

Still, I can’t help but wonder how much of what he said was true—because I know what he said about me was spot on.

I was Yuri’s plaything. I did run away and keep my lips tight, and that choice hurt everyone in the space of a day.

“Is Holden right?” I ask, biting my lip. “Are you just here because you want to swoop in and save the day?”

Jude shakes his head, adamant. He reaches for my hand, pulls my body to his. “No. When I met you, Catalina, I didn’t know you needed saving.”

His words are firm, but I feel the broken parts of me pushing him away. I want him to fight for me, but I feel myself pulling back.

“But I do Jude. I do need saving.”

My head is in a fog, feeling the weight of the words that Evangeline said at the beach yesterday, and the words of my brother, all of it hitting me squarely in the chest. Why does Jude want to save me, why did he want to save Rachel? What is he trying to prove by being a hero?

I don’t want to fight. I’m tired and confused.

I want to crawl back under the covers, go back to the early hours when Jude and I whispered in the breaking light of the morning. A few hours ago everything seemed possible. everything seemed like ours for the taking.

Now? Everything is heavy. The weight of everyone’s words bears down on us.

I hear a car pull up, and I look out the window, seeing my mom’s Subaru.

“Etta’s back,” I say.

Jude runs his hands through his hair, exhausted—the exact opposite of where he and I should be right now.

“Did you mean what you said to your brother, Catalina? Am I just a friend with benefits?”

I swallow, not knowing if I should say the truth. Because the truth seems like it’s just going to make things messier.

“I don’t know, Jude.”

He shakes his head, disappointment covering him. “I’ve got to get Etta home. When you’re done pretending this isn’t real, call me.”

He walks back to my room to dress, and I press my hand to my heart because it feels like it is breaking.

But how can it be breaking when I never offered it to anyone?

* * *

Chapter 21

Jude

Leaving Catalina’s is hard. So much was said over the course of the morning, and I don’t know what to think of Holden after he spoke his mind. I want to be pissed at him, want to call him out for being an asshole. For treating Catalina like crap, for treating me like shit.

But I don’t operate that way, don’t assume I know anything about anyone. Because usually the truth is a lot more complicated than that.

Maybe I should’ve explained my whole backstory to Holden a long time ago, let him in so he understood why I act the way I do. Why I give, give, give until there is nothing left.

I don’t think I’m a hero; I know I’m no saint. I’m just a man trying to make my wrongs right.

As I bring Etta into the house, I decide that right now I just need to focus on our life. If Catalina needs time to figure out what she wants, fine. I’ll let her. I’m not going to push someone to be with me. And she doesn’t want my help, even though I’m willing to give her all I’ve got.

Etta looks happy, well fed, rested. Cat’s mom did a good job with her, and I’m grateful for that. Still, it’s been a long morning, and after I feed her a bottle I bring her into bed with me, nestle her in the crook of my arm, and let her sleep.

Clearly I fucked things up with Holden—and hell, I feel awful that all that shit went down with Yuri this morning. And maybe I fucked things up with Catalina, I may have scared her away by assuming we could be more than what we were. And apparently I can’t keep Rachel here, can’t get her the help she needs.

But there’s a lot I can do.

I can be here for Etta. I can let her nap on a lazy afternoon. I can put her to sleep at night, and pull up my laptop, and work on the script. I can do the best damn job on this film. Maybe I fucked things up with my friends but I’m not going to mess things up with my family.

Speaking of family … I know I need to talk to mine.

With Etta asleep in my arms, I reach for my phone and call my mom. “Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice quiet. “You have time to talk?”

“Jude, I’ve been worried about you. I want to see my granddaughter. I think you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

My mom’s right; I have been avoiding her. I’ve been avoiding anything that would call out whatever is happening with my life. I need to talk to her. Maybe she can help me find a way to forgive myself for the things I did that made me into the man I am.

“Want to come over for dinner? I’ve got a lot on my mind and could really use the company.”

She’s happy I called, happier that I asked. She comes over, and I tell her everything about Rachel leaving, about the way Evie and Holden called me out and told me I have some hero complex.

She says it’s not my fault, that none of it is my fault. The stuff that happened when I was a kid, or the stuff that’s happening now.

But shouldn’t I own some of it? Any of it? At what point do you become the hero of your own story, and at what point do you admit to self-sabotage?

Mom holds Etta in her arms, wiping away tears. “Jude, you have to forgive yourself. You were just a little boy.”

“But he was just a little boy too, Mom. Your little boy.”

“Accidents happen, and that’s what happened. An accident.”

“I don’t know why you forgave me. If something ever happened to Etta, I’d never be able to accept someone’s apology.”

“But Jude, I may have lost a son, but I still had you. Still have you.”

“I want Rachel to get help, but I don’t want her back in my life. That makes me feel like a monster, Mom. Because she’s Etta’s mother.”

“What is a mother? What is a father?” Mom asks. “You never had a dad, but you became a man. Etta is lucky to have a father like you. If you’re the only parent she has, that will be enough.” She pats Etta’s back, pacing my living room.

“Evangeline’s pissed off at me.”

“Evangeline loves you, she loves Etta, she hasn’t walked in your shoes. You know what Evangeline’s life has been. She’s been sheltered, coddled—”

“Until she hooked up with Cassius. She’s not sheltered anymore. Her life changed, her eyes opened. Yet she still doesn’t understand that I’m not the enemy, that I’m not trying to do anything wrong here. I’m trying to make sure everyone is okay.”

“I know you are, sweetie, but sometimes trying to prove yourself is just going to leave you exhausted.”

“I’m already tired, Mom,” I tell her, taking Etta from her arms. “I’m going to go put her to bed and pass out myself.”

She leaves, kissing my cheek and Etta’s forehead. “I love you, Jude. Try to find a way to forgive yourself. You need to in order to move on.”

I know she’s right—but fuck, just add it to the list of things easier said than done.

* * *

Days pass, and I keep busy with the things I can control. Taking care of my daughter, taking care of my house, figuring out my script, and making to-do lists for when filming starts a few months from now.

Besides that, I try to keep my mind off things that give me so much trouble.

Rachel. Catalina. Holden. Evangeline.

I try not to get upset at the fact that Catalina hasn’t called. She sends a few one line texts, stuff like, Thinking of you.

I respond just as noncommittally: I send back a thumbs-up emoji like a fucking asshole. But what am I supposed to say?

She texts asking if Etta is doing okay. If she’s sleeping well. If I’m sleeping well.

Those ones are easier to respond to. I tell her, Yeah, she’s sleeping well. Or Just took a three-hour nap. Or just got back from a long walk. Etta is some safe middle ground, and I’m willing to take what I can get. Because if I don’t take that, I’ll be left with nothing.

Catalina is, without a doubt, in the forefront of my mind. I call Holden, but our conversation is short. There isn’t much to say, really. Sometimes guys just have to get over their shit before they can get back to normal.

I’m sure my mom has talked to Evangeline, because my cousin calls, emotional and flustered. Apologizing again for being a bitch when were at the beach, for being rude to Catalina. She says she tried to call Cat and fix things.

“I even offered to take her out to dinner,” Evie says.

“Oh yeah? What did she say?”

“She said she wasn’t interested.”

I smile to myself at that, liking that Catalina plays hard to get. Liking that she’s not going to take shit from anyone and doesn’t need apology dinners. Still, I appreciate Evangeline’s gesture, even if it isn’t one Catalina wanted to take her up on.

But when a few weeks pass, and Rachel shows up at my door, it’s the last thing I fucking expect.

Part of me thought, maybe in some twisted fucked-up way, that Rachel would never return. Not that it would exactly solve my problems, but it would at least give me space to move on.

Still, she’s knocking on my door. Time stops as I see who it is. All my energy drains the moment I see her familiar face.

When I pull open the door, Etta’s in my arms.

Rachel’s been gone a month, and even one month in the life of an infant is fucking huge. I know that, because I watch the way Etta changes every day.

I see her eyes deepen in color, her lashes lengthen, her toes unfurl a little bit more each day as she crawls across my hardwood floor.

Rachel doesn’t know these things. Because Rachel chose to leave.

And now, here she is.

“Hey, Jude,” she says. There’s a car parked in the driveway and I crane my neck to see if anyone else is with her. She’s alone. I don’t know if that makes me more nervous, or less. I guess it depends on if she’s sober or not.

Her eyes are clear and her hair is washed, and that gives me a little bit of hope for her.

“So, you back in town for a while?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet. But I’m here right now. Can I come in?”

I open the door, and Rachel walks back into the house she used to call her home.

“Where did you go?” I ask her.

“God, it’s always that line with you. Where did I go? Am I drunk? Am I high? Always so many damn questions, Jude.” She sighs dramatically, sauntering over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of white wine. She pours herself a glass without even looking at Etta, and takes a long drink.

“I’m not going to let you drink at my house if you’re planning on driving.” I take the glass from her hand, not caring if it pisses her off. Her behavior is pissing me off plenty.

“You’re such a fucking buzzkill, Jude. Just let me have a drink, and then let me hang out with my daughter. That’s what I came here for.”

“No, you can’t come here and act like this,” I say, knowing my tone is tight. I pour her wine down the sink. “But I’m glad you came here for Etta.”

“Great.” Rachel smiles insincerely, rolling her eyes at me. “Because that’s exactly who I came here for. God knows it’s not you, Jude.”

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” I ask her.

“Can I just hold my daughter?” Rachel walks toward us.

I feel myself pulling Etta closer to me, not quite knowing how this is all going to play out. Wanting to keep Etta close, but wanting Rachel to stay, because her staying is the only chance I can actually get this woman some help.

“Of course, come sit down on the floor,” I tell her. “Let Etta show you how she can crawl.”

“You can crawl?” Rachel asks in a high-pitched voice, reaching her arms out for her daughter.

Etta immediately starts crying—like, full-on bawling. She never acts this way around people. Hell, Catalina’s mom took her for the night and she didn’t so much as fuss one single second. Five minutes in her mother’s presence and she’s already sobbing.

“Why don’t we just sit?” I say, not wanting Rachel to reach for Etta if Etta doesn’t want her to.

The three of us settle on the carpet and I place Etta between us. She immediately starts maneuvering around the coffee table, pumping her legs as quickly as she can go.

“She’s so fast.” Rachel looks at her for a moment before pulling out her phone, which is apparently more important. “Damn.” She starts typing on her screen with her thumbs. “I’m not going to be able to stay long.”

I give her a terse nod, wishing she never came. If she was just going to come for ten minutes and then leave, what’s the fucking point?

“This isn’t cool,” I say, “coming here like this. You disappear for a month, and then just think you can stop by for a few minutes?”

“Jude, I don’t have time for a lecture from you. Mr. holier than thou, always got his shit together, St. Jude. I’m so glad to have you in my life. You know, there’s nothing like hanging out with someone who makes you feel like shit within five minutes of seeing them.”

“That’s not fair, Rachel. Making sure that you’re okay, wanting to help you, does not make me the bad guy.”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m the bad parent in this family unit,” Rachel says, waving her finger in a circle between her, Etta and I.

We stand.

Her words are so heated. “It’s such bullshit, anyways. You know as well as I do that none of this is real. Why are you even doing this? Why didn’t you force me take Etta when I left a month ago? You’re just so damn weak, Jude.”

I don’t want to talk about this, not right now, because I already feel my chest tighten and my fists clench. I don’t want to hear the words I know she’s so close to saying. Words she’s been waiting to spew for months. The one sentence she’s been holding hostage, knowing it’s the one sentence that’s going to cut me to the motherfucking core.

“Just say it—I know you want to. But it doesn’t change a thing,” I say, even though I’m scared it changes everything.

Etta has found a basket of blocks and is gnawing on the corner of one. I stand face-to-face with Etta’s mother, knowing she’s ready to drive away, but first she plans to drive her point home.

“You know you’re not Etta’s father,” Rachel says throwing her purse over her shoulder and reaching for a pack of cigarettes in her bag.

“Who is her father?” I say calmly.

“I don’t know.” Rachel shrugs, her eyes hollow and blank, and in that moment I know I will never see this woman’s eyes again. There’s no way she can look at me straight on after this. “I must’ve slept with a different guy every other night the month I got pregnant with Etta. I know for a fact I never slept with you. You weren’t even in town then; you were shooting in New Mexico.”

This isn’t news to me. I’ve done the math.

“But what the fuck do the numbers mean?” I ask. “None of it adds up to something that matters. Because all that matters is Etta having a family. A parent, maybe two, who care about her. Choose her. Love her. Forever. And right now? She has that in me.”

“Sounds like you’re kicking me out of this goddamn family.” Rachel’s mouth is tightly drawn, her head shaking. And I see her fingers shaking, too.

“You know I’m not kicking you out of anything. I would do anything for you, Rachel. And it’s not because I’m weak. It’s because I hate to see you hurt if I know that I can help. I want more for you, and more for Etta.”

“And you, Jude? What exactly do you want for yourself? Because it takes a real fucking piece of work of a man to choose to have a daughter that isn’t even his.”

I push back. “My name is on her birth certificate. As far she knows, as far as the law knows, she’s mine.”

“Is that enough for you?”

I blink back tears, scared Rachel’s going to try to pull Etta away from me right here, right now.

“Etta is more than enough.”

Rachel shakes her head, as if she’s disappointed that I’m not giving her a fight, that I’m not yelling or shouting or storming away.

My honesty seems to give her space to let go of some of the things she’s been withholding.

“I’m getting my shit together,” she says. “I have a place here in LA that I might rent. I have a few jobs that might come together. I’m hoping I get a spot in the new Calvin Klein campaign. And that means I’m going to be coming back. For good. For Etta.”

“You can’t just take her from me. I’m her father.”

“You don’t have any rights here, Jude. I can run a paternity test.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask. “Why would you put Etta through that?”

“Because I’m her mother. And I just need a chance to get my shit together, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what? Raising a child isn’t something you can do on the side. It’s a day-in, day-out job. Is that something you even want?”

She doesn’t answer, and I know the answer is no. Rachel never wanted to be a mother, and that hasn’t changed with the birth of her daughter. This is more than she bargained for.

But Etta is everything I never knew I wanted.

I don’t trust myself right now. I swear to God I’m going to lose it. “You need to leave, Rachel. Now.”

“I’m coming back for her.” Rachel walks to the door and swings it open.

“Why?” I demand. “Why are you coming back?”

“Because she’s all I have, Jude. You know how fucked up my life was. I want to do something right.”

I feel for her, I do. Rachel’s mom is an addict, and Rachel has fought for everything she has. But somewhere along the line, I swear she gave up.

“It’s too much to put on a baby, Rachel—to think that she’s going to save you.”

“She’s all I have,” she says again. “I don’t have any other choice.”

She leaves without kissing Etta good-bye. She drives away, and I think how wrong she is.

We always have a choice.

* * *

Chapter 22

Catalina

My mind is made up. I’m going to get my act together. I’m going to be a better person, not a lost cause.

I start by calling a last-minute family meeting. Mom, Holden, and Bexley are invited to the patio where I have a veggie tray and sparkling water waiting for them.

“I got snacks you’d eat, Holden,” I tell him.

“Wow, look at you, so thoughtful,” he says, rolling his eyes.

I take it in stride. Bexley gives me a hug, and I try not to compare myself to her effortlessly perfect wardrobe, impeccable red lips and flawless hair swept into a perfect bun, not a single strand loose.

I managed the carrots sticks, but looking down at myself, I realize I scrimped on using my time to make myself look like a grown-up. Once again I’m rocking cut-offs and a tank top, flip flops, and my unbrushed hair in a loose braid.

I take a deep breath, not wanting to be rattled.

Of course, that’s when Mom arrives.

With a date.

“Hey, Mr. Kendrick,” Holden says shaking his hand.

Mr. Kendrick? Evangeline’s father?

What the hell?

“What’s going on?” I ask, no longer insecure about my clothes.

“Hey, baby,” Mom says, pulling me into a hug. “Sorry about this, but I just got the message about your … umm, impromptu meeting, and I was already out with Marshall.”

“Um. Hello?” I raise my eyes, looking at him. “Are you guys like, together?

Mom smiles, and Marshall’s arm reaches around her shoulders. Oh, my God. They are.

“Well,” I say, biting back any words that might be unnecessarily sharp. “This is unexpected.”

Mom never dates. Well, I take that back—when I left for college, she told me she started an online dating profile, and I know she moved to LA hoping to meet someone. But this is not what I expected.

“We met at Holden and Bexley’s Oscar nomination party. Remember, he was there with Cassius and Evangeline?”

“I remember.” I smile tightly and watch as he shakes Bexley’s hand warmly, then stands on the perimeter of the tight circle I’ve created for my meeting.

“Trish,” Marshall says. “I’m going to give your family some privacy. Could you call me when you’re ready for me to get you?”

“Okay, Marshall,” Mom says, patting his arm. “Thanks for understanding.”

After Marshall leans down and kisses Mom good-bye on the cheek, Holden and I share a look, the kind we would have shared when we were kids. Like, we know the special kind of crazy our mom is. Claw-your-face-off protective, loyal, and worth her weight in gold. Marshall must be okay if Mom is bringing him here.

He leaves, and then all eyes are on me. Right. I called this meeting.

“So,” I begin. “I wanted everyone to come over so I could apologize. Mostly for not being honest about Yuri, and causing so much trouble because I hid that from you.”

Mom immediately reaches for my hand. “We love you, and hate that you felt like you had to hide that from us.”

“I appreciate it—but, like, I’m not looking for sympathy. For the longest time I’ve felt like I was in Holden’s shadow. And the last thing I wanted to do was let everyone know that not only had I flunked out of college, but I also had a creepy boyfriend who liked to threaten me. Not exactly news you write home about.”

“But we’re your family, Cat,” Holden says. “If not us, who?”

“Well, for the past six months, clearly my only outlet has been Netflix marathons.”

“What do you want to do about that?” Bexley asks.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know exactly.”

I see a collective sigh of disappointment wash over Mom, Holden, and Bex.

“Wait,” I say. “Hear me out. I don’t know exactly, but … okay, and I know this is the part that is going to fire everyone all up, but I want to see where Jude fits into my life.”

“Seriously?” Holden shakes his head. “That is such a bad idea. You’ve been hanging out with him for a few weeks, while you’re both on the rebound, and now you’re gonna make life plans with the dude? That’s so fucked up, Cat.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why is it so effed up? I mean, I know his life is complicated—”

“That’s not why it’s bad. Of course he has stuff with Rachel to work out, but it’s a bad idea because I can see it all play out. You’ll just move in there and be his … what? His nanny? His glorified girlfriend? Jude doesn’t say no to people. You’re totally floundering and that’s Jude’s bread and butter.”

I raise my eyebrows, shocked at his critique. “You’re kind of a crappy friend, Holden, to be throwing Jude under the bus like this.”

“It’s the truth. Look, I love the guy. But I also love you,” Holden says. “I just think hooking up with him before you know yourself is a terrible idea.”

I look at Mom for her input, but her eyes are on her lap, her lips tight.

“Say something, Mom. What are you thinking?”

“I think you always do exactly what you want.”

“I called this meeting because I wanted to hear from the people I love most.”

“I don’t want to say my piece and shut you out, Catalina,” Mom says.

“Well, that answers that.” I stand from my chair, frustrated that they aren’t even giving me a chance.

“Catalina, could you sit back down for a second?” Mom surprises me, and I do as she asks. “Have you thought about what you want out of all of this? Of, say, being with Jude?”

I swallow, determined to be honest. “I want to be happy.”

“Anything else?” she asks. “Do you have any other ambition?”

“No.” And I don’t. I never really have. And it isn’t because I’m a loser or suck at everything. It’s just that fighting to be my own person is hard enough. “What I really want is a partner, so that life isn’t so hard anymore. A person who wants to share in the simple parts of life with me. Be by my side.”

I want to love and be loved and I don’t want some fancy career or some lucrative position.

I want to smile.

I want to walk across Ireland and learn to drink whiskey well.

I don’t want the whole wide world. I just want to enjoy my slice of it.

But the people I’m around right now—like Bexley and Holden—they’re world class. Even Cassius and Evangeline and Jude. They’re bigger than life.

They came to LA and owned this city, and I’ve been here six months and haven’t left the guesthouse.

“Mom, does that make sense?” I ask, reaching for her hand, thinking maybe she’s the one person sitting here who might understand. Understand me.

“I understand what you’re saying … but it’s a risky choice.” There are tears in her eyes, and she wipes them away so fast it’s like she’s ashamed of them. “I thought, when I had you and Holden, that I had that kind of love … and I thought it would be enough. But you know how that ended. Your father left and never returned. And it left me broken for a really long time.”

Now I’m crying, too, and my tears streak my cheeks because the truth of it hits me so hard.

“Oh, Mom,” I say, pulling her into a hug. Holden stands and reaches around our mom, too.

After we hug it out for a second, we wipe our faces and sit down, slightly dazed by the intimacy of her words.

“I don’t want to watch my little girl get wrecked.”

“Were you wrecked, Mom? Are you ruined? Would you do it differently if you could?”

A tiny laugh escapes Mom’s mouth. She shakes her head, her eyes bright with fresh tears.

“No. I wouldn’t have changed it. Because that mess gave me you two. And you’ve both been my life.”

I nod, hearing her. Seeing her. Knowing that in my heart, I need to see if there’s still a chance with the only man I’ve been able to think about for the last few weeks.

“Then, Mom,” I say, “let me make my own mess with Jude. Our own lovely mess.”

* * *

Chapter 23

Jude

After Rachel leaves, I’m wrecked and ruined. Raw.

I need to get fucking lit.

But I know I need to be a responsible adult. A father.

I call Evangeline, because over the course of a month she’s offered a thousand times to help.

“Can you watch Etta tonight?” I ask.

“Everything okay, Jude?”

I laugh under my breath. “I sound that bad?”

“No,” she says softly. “You just never, ever ask for help.”

“I’m a mess, Evie,” I admit.

“It’s okay Jude.”

“It’s not. Rachel came by. It was bad,” I tell her, knowing if I stay on the line for another minute my voice will crack.

“Cash and I will be there in half an hour. And let us keep her for the night.”

* * *

I think they must have understood my intentions for the night—mostly because Cassius hands me a bottle of forty-year aged bourbon when he walks in the door.

I’m grateful they don’t stay to ask details. Instead I help them get all of Etta’s gear loaded up, give them instructions, walk them through her sleep schedule.

“We got this,” Cassius tells me, clapping my back. “It’s going to be okay.”

I tighten my jaw, nodding my head. Not believing his words, but also not believing in much of anything.

After they leave, I pour myself a solid three inches of the bourbon, and head out to my back porch. The night is still early—it’s just after seven PM—and I look up at the sky, wishing it were dark, wishing I could see the stars. They would remind me that my existence in the universe is so small, give me perspective on what really matters … and what doesn’t.

I take another sip of the bourbon, the burn of it rolling down my throat, and close my eyes, fighting back the emotions rising to the surface.

I’ve feared that I wasn’t Etta’s father. I can add up dates and weeks as well as a doctor. But I also knew that if I confronted Rachel about my apprehension, she would have left. And the last thing I wanted was for a pregnant Rachel to be roaming Los Angeles without a home, without a job, without anyone.

I know some people don’t understand a woman like Rachel. They think she’s selfish, a cheat, a liar. They see her and believe that’s the sum of her. But I know that isn’t Rachel in her entirety.

Yes, she is those things. But she’s also broken. Part of me can relate to that. I understand those parts of Rachel because I’m broken, too.

I pour more bourbon, drink it. Pour another. My eyes are red, and the sky is a faded blue. My future? It feels so damn dark.

Rachel’s threats cut me.

I don’t know what I’ll do without Etta.

I finish another tumbler of the bourbon and set the glass on table. I run my hands over my face, trying to get a grip on myself, on reality, on the situation.

I hear someone walking around the side of my house, and my first thought is that it’s Rachel, back for Etta.

Thank God it’s the exact person I want to see: Catalina.

“You didn’t answer your door,” she says. “But I saw your car out front, and after knocking for a while I figured you either fell asleep or … didn’t want to see me.”

“Yet you still came around to find me,” I say, standing. I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her into a hug, not let go. She’s the one who said she wanted space, not me. I wouldn’t have left her if she’d told me I could stay.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not very good with boundaries.” She laughs lightly. Once again I’m reminded of how damn beautiful this woman is. Her lean legs, long and bare in her tiny cut-off shorts, her tits so perky in her flimsy tank. Her hair long around her shoulders, and her eyes so bright. So alive. So hopeful.

“So did you come back to tell me you’re leaving for good or that you want to stay?” I ask.

For a moment, I wonder if my words are slurred. Too strong. My eyes roam to the half-empty bottle and the empty glass on the table. Catalina’s eyes seem to follow mine.

“Had enough to drink?” she asks.

“Not for the kind of day I’ve had.” I shake my head, worn out.

“Want to tell me about it?” She walks over to me and laces her fingers through mine effortlessly, pulling me back to the loveseat on the patio as if this is the way we spend every night. Together.

“Rachel came back.”

Cat’s eyes look around the patio, narrowing in. “Did she take Etta?” Her voice is ragged, as if the idea of Rachel really coming back for her daughter scares her.

“No, but she said she’s coming back for her. I’m going to lose my girl.”

“She can’t just take your daughter. You can get a lawyer, make a case. Even if she does want Etta part-time, you can make a custody agreement. You’re not losing Etta. You’re not losing anything.”

I shake my head. My chest is tight, thinking about Rachel taking Etta from me.

“I’m not her father. I always wondered, but never wanted to believe it. You know that out of sight, out of mind mentality? It doesn’t work that well. Obviously there were a lot of reasons to doubt that I was really Etta’s dad—but, damn, Rachel knows how much I love that girl. How I’d do anything for her. She says that if I try to pull anything, she’ll have a paternity test, and then I’ll have no rights.”

“Oh, God,” Catalina says, raising her hand to her mouth, covering it in disbelief. “That’s so fucked up. Do you think Rachel would really have the balls to do that? Or the desire? Like, does she even really want to be a mother?” She blinks, biting her bottom lip. “Sorry if that was out of line to ask—but Jude, this can’t be happening.”

She reaches for my hand again, her face covered in worry.

“I don’t know what to do. Evangeline took Etta tonight, because I just wanted—needed—to get fucking smashed. I want to forget, because I can’t imagine waking up tomorrow with the threat of Rachel coming back for her.

I pour more bourbon and offer Cat the glass, but she waves it off. “One of us should stay sober tonight, in case something happens with Etta.”

“Does that make me a shitty dad? Getting drunk?”

“That means you care. Care so much you can’t face the facts.”

“I never thought about being a father.” I run a hand through my hair. “I mean, before Rachel showed up saying she was pregnant, I never really considered the next part of my life. You know … getting married, settling down, having a baby or two. I spent the last decade figuring out my career. But the moment she told me she was having a baby—our baby—everything made sense.

“I know people don’t understand Rachel’s and my relationship, and I know people assume the worst with Rachel. And yeah, she’s a train wreck, but I always saw something in her. And I think she saw something in me. Deep down, she knew I would be a good dad; that’s why she decided to stay. She knew I’d always be here for her little girl. Even if she wasn’t my little girl at all. And, damn it, Catalina, if I lose the one thing that gives life meaning, I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”

I’m in tears now, a motherfucking man sobbing on his back porch, with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen sitting beside me, watching me with tears in her own eyes because the reality is just too damn bleak.

The sky is dark now, the stars are out. The black sky I was hoping for earlier—when I was looking for a sense of wonder, awe, the reminder of how big and beautiful the world is—can fuck off.

Right now, the world doesn’t feel very beautiful.

Right now it’s a giant cluster fuck. And I’m in the middle of it.

And I’m going to lose it all.

I thought I had everything, but I’ve got nothing.

Etta is my everything.

“Jude, Rachel isn’t going to take her. You’re right; she does know that you’re a good dad. It’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I could believe that’s true, but Rachel isn’t thinking with her brains. Fuck, she’s not even thinking with her heart. I don’t think she’s thinking at all. And that’s what’s scary. That’s when people do stupid shit. Like Yuri the other night, not thinking when he came after you, came after Holden. He lost all sense of self. He went over the edge, and he was going to take anybody with him. Now that fucker’s in jail.”

“Rachel’s not going to jail,” Cat says.

“I know she’s not, but for some reason I feel like I’m the one who’s been put in a cell and someone tossed the key. I’m behind bars.”

“Let me find the key,” Catalina whispers. “Let me unlock the door.”

My head falls back, and I wipe the tears from my eyes. My vision is blurred, but somehow I see Catalina so clearly.

* * *

Chapter 24

Catalina

My heart breaks for Jude. So much of him is shattered, but there’s more to him I don’t know, more broken glass.

I’m willing to pick through the shards to get to his heart.

“Oh, baby,” I say climbing into his lap, running my hands over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. I’ve seen a man cry before, but not like this. Not like him.

Jude is tender, a real man. “I’m a lost cause,” he whispers.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to read the lines on the face of the man who’s captured my heart in ways I barely comprehend. “Help me understand.”

“Evangeline and Holden were right,” Jude says, shaking his head. “I do have some complex where I feel compelled to save people. Be the hero. But you know why, Catalina? Do you know why I can’t let someone walk away when I know they need help?”

“Tell me.” I watch him watch me, not letting anything get in the way of this moment.

“Growing up, we lived by the water. The ocean. We played there every single day. One day when I was thirteen, my little brother Nolan was with me. He was eight.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t anymore. I was with him at the ocean that day. I told my mom I’d watch him. He loved the sand. He could dig in it for hours.”

Jude shakes his head, his lips twisting at the memory. And I can see it, too. I can imagine Jude as a boy by the water with his little brother, kicking sand, their feet covered in foamy white waves.

“I left him there when I went to get buckets and shovels back at the house. I told him to stay far from the waves, and he always listened. He knew the ocean was dangerous … but something drew him to the waves that day.

“I was gone a few minutes, and then I heard him screaming—screaming for help. I ran to the water so fast, wanting so badly to get to him before it was too late. But he was gone. I went after him, but quickly realized I’d never make it and swam back to shore. The current was stronger than I could swim, and I didn’t want my mother losing two boys that day. My brother was pulled under. I let him die. Instead of saving him, I let him go.”

“Jude,” I say, my voice cracking, my heart cracking—which is impossible, since everything between Jude and me is already fractured. His eyes are full of tears again, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this pain he carries.

I see so clearly why Jude wants to fix everything, as a way to repay what happened when he was so young. He’s looking to save everyone, because he couldn’t rescue his brother.

“It’s ironic,” he says. “My name. The idea of me being the patron saint of lost causes. When I’m the lost cause. I always have been. Ever since that day when Nolan died—when I let him die. Ever since then, I’ve fought to forgive myself, but I don’t think it’s possible, Catalina. I don’t think I will ever get over what I didn’t do. And nothing I ever do will be enough.”

“That’s not true. You can’t try to repay a debt you don’t owe. Waste your life trying, but it will never work.”

“Catalina, he died because of me.”

“No. That’s not true. This is a tragic story, but it isn’t a story to be ashamed of. What happened on the beach that day is so sad, but it’s also the reason you’re the man you are today. Loving. Kind. Generous.”

“I would trade all those things if Nolan could be alive.”

“I’m sure you would,” I tell him. “And I’m so sorry you can’t.”

“Maybe this is why Rachel is taking Etta This is another way I can pay for what I did.”

“Jude, Rachel keeping Etta from you does not bring your brother back.”

“Catalina, I know that.” Jude swallows, looking at me dead on. “Nothing can bring Nolan back. But having Etta gives meaning to my life. She’s this precious, daily reminder of how beautiful it all is. Nolan didn’t survive when he went into the ocean, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t swim.”

“Do you forgive yourself for what happened to Nolan?”

“I thought I had. But then Rachel left, and it brought back all those memories. That’s why I have such a damn hard time watching people walk away. I walked away.”

Hearing his words, I realize how hard it must have been for him when I walked away, when I told him that I didn’t want his help, that I didn’t want to be in it with him.

Especially now.

Especially now, when I know exactly what I want.

Him.

“I’m sorry I left you,” I tell him.

“I know why you left me. This life of mine is pretty damn complicated,” Jude shakes his head. “Too messy for a girl like you. You’ve already had too much to deal with the last two years with that asshole; you don’t need someone new to walk into your life and make it a bigger shit show.”

“Too bad, Jude,” I tell him, gripping his face with my hands. My mouth is so close to his, our breath hot, our hearts beating hard.

Both of us desperate. Both of us needy. Both of us wanting what is right in front of us.

“Too bad what, Catalina?”

“Too bad that this is complicated. I like complicated. I love complicated. I love you.”

The sentence just falls from my mouth, but it’s exactly the truth.

“I love you, Jude. And you may be a complete mess right now—sort of drunk and sort of sobbing. But I’m sort of a mess too.”

“You’ll be my mess?” he asks me. His arms wrap around my waist as I move to straddle him on this chair.

“Your mess to clean up? No. Your lovely mess? Your completely delicious, fuck-you-until-we-fall-asleep mess? Your over-my-head and head-over-heels mess? Yes. That’s the kind of mess I am. That’s the kind of mess you’ve got.”

“I love you, too,” he tells me. “But Catalina, what if my mess becomes too big for you?”

“Then we’ll have to clean it up together.”

I mean it, the things I said tonight to him. I mean them.

And so I kiss him.

I kiss him hard. A salty, tears-on-our-faces kiss. A filled with fear and desire and lust and love, all wrapped up in one mouth on mouth perfect kiss. A kiss where our lips part and our tongues entwine. Our hearts? They are one.

In this kiss, I’m not scared. Even though I’m completely terrified.

In this kiss, I’m not hurting, even though I know Jude and I are broken.

In this kiss, I see a blue-sky sunshiny day, even though stars light up the sky.

In this kiss, I feel more whole than I ever have before.

In this kiss, Jude carries me away.

* * *

Chapter 25

Jude

I pull her off the loveseat, needing more of her skin against mine, needing all of her to be pressed to me.

Needing her in a way that’s demanding and true, in a way that will not take no for an answer.

Which is good, because right now both of us are begging for a yes.

Begging to be together.

Deeply.

Completely.

“I love you, baby,” I tell her, my mouth on her ear, breathing hot air against her skin.

“Is that just the booze talking?” she asks, a teasing smile playing across her lips.

“It most certainly is not. But damn, my cock is speaking loud and clear right now.”

She reaches her hand to my raging hard-on, feeling the outline of me through my jeans, and she wraps her other hand around my neck as she does, pressing against me into another kiss that’s full of heat, our mouths melting against one another as we sink into the kiss.

She moans into my mouth, and her hand reaches below the waist of my jeans, taking hold of my throbbing cock.

“Oh, baby,” I tell her. “I’m gonna fuck you now. Right here.”

“Do it.” Her hand fumbles with the buttons on my jeans, and I pull down her tank, wanting to take her bare nipple into my mouth, wanting to lick her hard nub. My tongue rolls around her tight nipple. I suck her perfect breast, wanting my face to be buried in her chest, because she’s so fucking hot.

My cock strains against my jeans as she pulls them down, but damn, I just want to bury my cock against her tits, too. Titty-fuck her until I come all over her face. See my jizz coating her mouth, watching as she licks it off her swollen lips, imagining her swallowing my motherfucking seed.

“Oh, baby, I need to fuck you bad.”

“Good,” she moans. “Because my pussy is so wet for you, Jude. It’s been too long since you took me and did what you liked.”

“You know you liked it, too, Catalina. You know you liked it when I came all over your perfect ass.”

“I want you to come in me and come all over me. I want to suck you off, Jude, and I want you to lick my pussy clean. I want you to lick me until I soak your face. And then I want you to fuck me again.”

I pull off her tank top, take off my tee-shirt, let her run her hands greedily over my chest as we stand on my porch, under the star-lit sky, ready to fuck until we beg.

I step out of my jeans, let my hard cock spring to life. And I swear, the sight of me gets her panties soaked.

I watch as she unbuttons her shorts, then she stands before me with her hand dipping below the waistband, reaching for her own fucking mound. I watch as her hand moves up and down, petting her pussy like a good girl.

“Oh, baby,” I growl, stroking myself, stepping toward her, ready to flip her up and over and then fuck her left and right. Fuck her good. Fuck her forever.

“You’re so hard,” she pants, her hand moving faster as she watches me touch myself.

“I need to see your pussy—and I need to see it now.” I lay her down on the chaise lounge, her head propped with a pillow, and I tug those tiny little cut-offs down to her ankles.

She’s not wearing any panties—and, fuck, that gets me harder than I thought possible.

“Spread your legs,” I tell her. “Drop to your knees. I need to see your perfect tits.”

She does as I tell her to, and her tits are round globes, reflecting the light of the moon. She bites the corner of her lip, spreading her little pussy apart with her fingers. I think I’m gonna come just from the sight of her fingers rubbing in circles over her gap.

“Baby, you’re so fucking hot.”

She moves her fingers faster, and I do, too, stroking myself as she nears climax.

“Can you get yourself off?” I ask her.

“No,” she says. “Not without a vibrator. I want to, though. I want to make myself come.”

“Keep moving your hand like that,” I instruct her. “And come sit on the edge of the chaise.”

She scoots where I tell her to, her legs spread apart. I stand between them.

“Now touch yourself. Touch your pussy like you were before, but suck my cock, too. That will make you come.”

“I want that so bad. I want to taste you so bad, Jude.”

“Good, then put my cock in your mouth and suck like you were made to do.”

She opens her mouth and takes me. Her lips tighten around my raging cock, and I move her head up and down.

“Touch your pussy, and keep sucking. That will make you gush.”

Her mouth is too full to answer. She’s sucking me so fucking good. My cock is going to explode. I don’t hold back. Instead, I thrust my cock against her, knowing she likes it, likes it so damn much—because her hand is moving fast as she works herself raw.

Finally, she stops sucking, and that’s good, because I’m about to fucking explode. She pulls back, her lips draped open, her middle finger circling her clit nice and fast. My cock is ready to burst.

“I’m gonna come all over your tits, and then you’re gonna come too, understand?”

“Yes, baby,” she moans. “Come all over me. Come on my tits, on my face. Come in my mouth.”

I pump my cock nice and hard, ribbons of my come spurting against her perky tits, coating her neck, her chin, her lips with my milky cream.

“You like that, don’t you?” I ask her.

“Oh, God, I love it.” She licks her lips, panting as she rolls her fingers over her hard nipples, rubbing my come all over her skin.

“Lay down so you can finish,” I tell her, wanting her to reach climax completely. My come is coating her just like I wanted, just like she needed.

“Touch me,” she begs. “Touch my pussy like you did before. Touch me until I’m coming all over you.”

“You want me to finish you off?” I ask her, not wanting to take away any pleasure she might find in her own personal finger-fuck.

“Fuck me like you love me, Jude,” she tells me, a smile of utter and complete happiness playing over her face.

“Oh, boy—I’ll fuck you like I’ll marry you.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Oh, I mean it. I’m going to marry you before I’m done with you. And you better believe it.”

“Jude,” she says, covering her face, laughing at my incredulity. “We can talk marriage and babies later. Right now, let’s just talk about your cock in my pussy. Let’s just talk about fucking until we fall asleep.”

“Fine,” I tell her, not pushing her into anything she isn’t ready for. But hell, neither of us are ready for any of this. No one is. Because there’s no user manual, no Wikipedia page telling us the facts. The whens or the whys. All we’ve got is the nows.

The right now.

And right now, I love this woman.

And so I tell her that again.

“I love you, Catalina. So hard. And I don’t know what our love will look like, but that doesn’t fucking matter. Right now, I think our messy love is enough.”

She has tears in her eyes again, and I feel bad, because she still hasn’t orgasmed. And what kind of fucker am I to tell a girl I love her but not get her completely off?

So I do.

I fuck her pussy all night long. My cock pounds her until she is pouring her sweet juice all over my cock, until her legs are slick with her pleasure, and my fingers pound her little pussy until she’s screaming in ecstasy.

We fuck until we fall asleep in one another’s arms, and we’re in a cocoon of love all night long.

We’re in a cocoon of love right up until the morning, when Rachel finds us naked on the back porch.

* * *

Chapter 26

Catalina

I wake to screaming. A woman screaming.

Specifically, Rachel screaming.

I’ve only met her in passing.

And damn, right now, I wish she would just keep passing through. Because seriously, this is awkward as fuck.

“Really? You’re fucking a new girl?” she yells, as Jude and I scramble to put on yesterday’s clothing.

But I’m not ashamed. Not one tiny bit. I can’t think of when I’ve ever slept all night, under the stars, naked, in my lover’s arms.

I loved last night.

But I don’t love Rachel right now.

“Don’t start with me,” Jude says, shaking his head as he tugs on his pair of jeans. “Seriously, Rachel. You’ve been sleeping with other people since the day we met.”

“Oh, fine.” She relents more easily than I expected, swatting at the air. “But seriously, this is not cool. To see you fucking some girl at seven AM.”

“She’s not some girl. This is Catalina. She’s my girlfriend. And we weren’t even fucking.”

“Wow. One month away and you already found someone new.”

Her eyes rake over me and I make an effort to swallow my insecurity. Rachel is drop-dead gorgeous, model thin—because, hell, she’s a model—tall as fuck, with piercing eyes.

“Don’t start, Rachel,” Jude tells her. “After yesterday, I have no room for your judgment.”

The way he speaks, so controlled, so utterly as a man, I feel my core tighten, remembering the way he touches me, loves me. Remembering that he and I … we’re a thing.

Maybe more than a thing.

Did he say the word marriage last night?

It may have just been in passing, in the heat of the moment, but the word rolls around in my head as I follow Jude and Rachel into the house.

Jude heads to the coffee pot and starts adding fresh grounds to the filter. My eyes blink open, as I was awoken so suddenly. This is not how I expected this day to go.

“Where’s Etta?” Rachel asks. She drops her purse on the kitchen island as if this is her house.

And with an uncomfortable realization, I remember that, not so long ago, it was. She and Jude were together a long time.

“Etta was at Evangeline and Cassius’s house for the night. We needed a night off.”

I expect Rachel to have a lot of opinions about this choice but, surprisingly, she doesn’t press. She just nods in understanding. Once again, I realize how much has passed between Jude and Rachel, how much I don’t understand.

Of course they have a long history. They have a daughter together. No matter what happens between Jude and me, Rachel will always be a part of this family history.

“Well, I came back to ask if you could go with me to my lawyer’s office later today. I need you to sign some papers, and I don’t want to wait on it.”

Jude’s back is toward us as he pours water into the coffee pot. I see all the muscles in his back tighten as he absorbs Rachel’s request, and I’m amazed at his ability to remain so in command of himself, when I know how much Etta means to him. His restraint is a sign of strength.

Lashing out would be a sign of weakness, and him not yelling at Rachel and cussing her out doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want Etta. It means that he’s not going to drag Rachel down.

Jude’s not that sort of man, a man who needs to make people small in order to make himself feel big.

Damn, I love him. I love him. And his back, with those muscles tensing—it makes me want to reach out and ease every strain. Makes me want to run my hands up and down his spine, over his shoulder blades, over his shoulders, and work out all of the pain and tension that he’s carrying. All the tension that was brought upon him the moment Rachel showed up.

He doesn’t speak, and Rachel seems to think she needs to fill the silence.

“Jude, I know I could have texted before I came, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to make things so cold and so … uncomfortable.”

Jude turns around. “This is pretty damn uncomfortable. Wouldn’t you say?”

Rachel stands. I notice she’s in last night’s clothes too, or else she’s just in really dirty ones now. Her tee-shirt is stretched out; her ripped jeans have a ketchup stain on the knee. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and her eyes are red and tired, even though she didn’t have a baby keeping her up all night.

I don’t understand her at all. How could anyone walk away from Jude?

“Look,” Rachel says. “I know I haven’t been fair to you, at all. I haven’t been fair to Etta, either. That’s what I wanted to tell you yesterday. But I’m trying to get my shit together. That’s why I want to go the lawyer’s together.”

“Fine, Rachel.” Jude’s jaw is so tense he could crack a fucking walnut with it. And besides that, I know he is on the verge of tears. Rachel seems to have no idea what she’s doing to him.

“This is the address. The appointment is at one. And could you bring Etta?” she asks, placing a business card on the kitchen island.

“Whatever you want, right?”

“Right, Jude, whatever I want.” The lilt in her voice unnerves me. I watch her walk to the door with so much resolve I’m convinced she doesn’t want to leave. As if every single step she takes is made with intention … like all it would take is one slip, and she’d fall back in Jude’s arms.

But I know Jude. I know that he loves me. And I know there’s not a choice to be made here—but if there were, I know I’m his.

Rachel leaves, and Jude and I drink our coffee in silence, because what do you even say? How do you prepare your heart for the most tragic good-bye of your life?

When Evangeline and Cassius bring back Etta, Evie insists on giving me a hug, squeezing my shoulders tight and apologizing once again for being a total bitch.

Of course I forgive her, brush her off. This is Jude’s cousin, and all the things that she said to him, said about me, she was saying out of love. And if I know anything, I know this: love is fucking hard, and love can break your heart … but love is all we have.

Jude tells Cash and Evie about what happened this morning with Rachel. About going to the lawyer’s later. Everyone is in tears, looking at Etta crawling around on the floor. This is her home. How can she leave it?

Evangeline is sure we need to get an attorney involved. She talks about calling her dad’s lawyer, about bringing in the big guns. But after her spiel, we all kind of stand in a collective silence. Because the truth remains that Jude has no claim over Etta’s life. One blood test will prove that. One blood test will change everything.

After they leave, Jude calls his mom and she comes right over. Through tears Jude explains the situation, and his mom cries, squeezing him in a tight hug, giving Etta a bottle even though she doesn’t need one.

Etta made her a grandmother. And now she’s going to say good-bye to her only granddaughter. A granddaughter that was never hers.

Jude tries to make promises, but everyone knows they’re for naught. We have no idea what Rachel is going to roll out today at the lawyer’s. We’re preparing ourselves for the worst.

And then Holden and Bexley stop by to let Jude know how they’re here for him and support him, giving me side-long glances the whole time. It’s like they realize that yes, Jude and I, with our laced fingers and eyes on Etta, are in this together. One hundred percent.

Then the only people left in the room are Jude and Etta and me.

“I don’t know how I’m going to go to this meeting,” Jude says as he puts a pair of moccasins on Etta’s feet. “Rachel is going to … what? Pack up all of Etta’s things and deliver them to her undisclosed apartment complex? My daughter is just going to move into some rented room off Craigslist? I have no rights. I have … nothing. Catalina, if I didn’t have you right now, I don’t know what I would do.”

Crying again, I want to scoop all his tears up and put them in a bottle and place it on the shelf so that we can always remember this moment. Not for the sorrow, but because of the love. These tears are born of love. That makes them precious—as is every second we have right now with Etta.

“I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.” I squeeze Jude’s hands. “And we will face whatever comes next together. I know those aren’t the words you want to hear, and they aren’t the words I want to say—but Jude, right now all you need to focus on is Etta.”

“You should come,” Jude says, picking Etta from the floor and kissing her cheeks. “Come and be moral support.”

“Jude, I don’t think being there is the right thing. I want to be there. But I think this is about you and Etta and Rachel.”

“I think you’re right,” Jude agrees. “But I want to hold your hand the whole time she’s forcing me to sign papers and telling me to go.”

“You don’t need my hands, Jude. You already have my heart.”

I give Etta the warmest hug I could’ve ever bestowed upon another human being. I drink in her baby-powdery smell, her lavender lotion and clary-sage shampoo. I smooth down her dark hair and kiss her cheeks.

I memorize her completely.

I memorize her forever.

I don’t know what will come next, but for this baby girl, I hope for the best.

* * *

Chapter 27

Jude

Arriving at the lawyer’s office, I shake as I unbuckle Etta from the car seat. I throw the diaper bag over my shoulder and scoop Etta up in my arms, wanting her to stay there forever.

I don’t know what I should expect when I walk through those doors. I feel like Etta coming into my life was a gift I didn’t deserve, a gift that changed me.

But a gift I am not ready to lose.

I’ve always felt responsible for Nolan’s death, even though I put more weight on my thirteen-year-old self than I ever deserved. I understand that in theory, but in practice it’s a hell of a lot more complicated.

Because it turns out it’s hella hard to forgive yourself for the things you have no control over.

If only I had done things differently.

If only I had reacted stronger, better, more.

If only I were a different sort of person.

If I’d never left Nolan that morning on the beach, never gone back to the house to grab fucking shovels and sand buckets, he never would have stepped into the ocean and been swept away.

Likewise, had I never embraced Rachel, let her into my life, even though I knew there were a thousand reasons why she was bad news, I would never have met Etta.

And Etta has been a salve for my wounded soul—for this tortured motherfucker, who needed a way to let go of some of the shit weighing me down.

Etta was that for me.

I thought she was my forever. Even though ever since I knew about her existence and Rachel’s uterus, I knew she wouldn’t be. I wanted it, though. So fucking bad.

Etta claps her hands, unaware of the severity of this meeting. I adjust her weight on my hip. Her eyes are so bright, her small teeth glistening with drool. She is perfection.

And now I’m going to walk into this office and offer her to a woman who doesn’t know her favorite food, or the way she likes to drink her bottle, or the way she likes to fall asleep at night. I’m going to hand her over to a woman who knows nothing about her, but who has more claim to her than I do.

In the office, the receptionist tells me to wait. She goes and tells a clerk that I’m here. Soon enough, Etta and I are walking down the hall toward a lawyer’s office. The name Ed Schultz is on the door, and we’re let into his office.

Rachel’s here. She looks much better than she did this morning. She’s showered, and her clothes are clean, but she looks tired.

Her eyes brighten, matching Etta’s, as we walk through the door. She doesn’t reach for her daughter, and that makes me angry. If she’s going to take Etta from me, I want her to do it with a heart so full, so excited—with a heart that can’t contain its own joy.

Instead, her hands are clasped and she sits in a leather-back chair. Her eyes dart away as quickly as they meet mine. She wears resignation on her face.

Etta deserves more than that. More than this.

I know I have to say something. And I will. But before I do, Mr. Schultz begins to speak.

He shakes my hand, smiles genially at me, pats Etta on the head. He seems like a nice man, in his rumpled suit and tortoiseshell frames. He isn’t a threat; he’s not some big-shot lawyer who’s ready to play hardball.

“It’s so good to meet you,” he says. “I’m Ed, and you must be Jude. And this little darling must be Etta.”

“Yes, this is Etta. Good to meet you too—though, to be honest, I’m not all that pleased to be here today.”

“Sorry to hear that, Jude, but I’m glad you’re able to make it fit into your schedule. Rachel and I have been in touch for the last month, but it wasn’t until last night, when she contacted me again, that she had made her decision about how she wanted to proceed.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, on the edge of every single emotion.

“Yes. And had last night been the first time I heard about her plans, of course I would have encouraged her to pause before making such a drastic decision. But she’s sober, in sound mind, and is making this decision with a clear conscience.”

Mr. Schultz sits, and indicates for me to sit as well. I’m fucking furious at the moment. I want to pace the room.

I want to get the hell out of here.

With Etta.

Still, I sit, wanting this to stay civilized for Etta’s sake.

“Oh, yeah? So Rachel told you everything about us? How does this work exactly? You just take the baby that I love?”

Ed narrows his eyes, confusion written on his face.

But I keep going.

“Rachel, you know I love Etta. I love her more than the air I breathe. Are you seriously going to tear her from me? From my arms? For what? You know I care about you, want the best for you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But I don’t think this is the best thing for Etta. And I don’t understand why you would be okay with this. Why would you want to break her heart, too?”

“Too?” Rachel asks. “Who else has a broken heart?”

“Me.” I run my hand over my jaw. “I’m the one with a broken heart.”

“Jude,” she starts, softly. Now that I’m sitting across from her, I see the tears in her eyes, the pain etched on her face.

She’s not tired, she’s emotionally exhausted. But she also has a look of serenity. A look of absolution. A look of no going back.

“I think you’re wrong about who has a broken heart. You don’t. Or at least, you don’t need to.”

“Losing Etta will destroy me.”

“I know,” Rachel says. “I know it would destroy you.”

“Would?”

“Would. Jude, you’re wrong about why I called you here. I wanted you and Etta both here. So we could share good-byes.”

“Yeah,” I say, scoffing at her word choice, “I got that. I got that part. I got that you called me here to tell my daughter good-bye. I get that you called me here to end the life I wanted. I get that, Rachel.”

“No Jude, you’re not saying good-bye to Etta. And Etta is not saying good-bye to you. I’m saying good-bye to both of you.” She’s crying now, wiping tears from her eyes, and I see for a moment the way Etta will look when shes twenty-five years old.

She’ll be a mirror of this fragile, beautiful, woman. Rachel’s wearing her emotions on her face, and she’s doing the hardest thing she’ll ever do in her entire life.

“You’ve always been right for Etta,” Rachel says. “I think I latched onto you so hard when I found out I was pregnant because I knew you’d be the sort of father I would want for my daughter. But I was fooling myself, fooling you, to ever think I was the right mother for her.”

I start to move, make her stop her words, because I don’t want Rachel to ever think she’s not good enough. She brushes me off, and keeps talking.

“This isn’t a way for me to have a pity-party, or to beg for something that I don’t have. I’m choosing this for me and Etta and you. I should have done it a long time ago, the day she was born, but I was selfish and scared. I’m not scared anymore. I’ve been gone a month, and the truth is, I’ve known that for every second of it Etta has been with her family. You, Jude, are Etta’s family. It isn’t me. Maybe I brought her into this world in some crazy messed-up way. Maybe she came to life after growing in my womb, but she isn’t mine. I don’t think she ever was. She’s yours.”

Rachel reaches for papers on Mr. Schultz’s desk.

“These are the papers we need to file. It’s the termination of parental rights. I’m relinquishing my rights, for Etta. I don’t want to stay in LA. I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want this life.”

“Rachel, can you really do this?”

“I can. I am. You are already her legal father, on her birth certificate. And nothing I’m doing is going to change that. Now you’re her sole guardian, and I’ll have no more claim to her for the rest of her life. If you ever marry, you can certainly have your wife legally adopt her, but for now you’re her parent. And Etta is the luckiest girl in the world for that.”

For years, I’ve wondered if I was being punished for what happened to Nolan on the beach. For years, I’ve been trying to save other people as a way to forgive myself. But now I’m being given the most selfless, loving gift in the entire world.

I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. But I want it so badly.

I squeeze Etta tighter in my arms. She’s small enough that she doesn’t understand a single thing that’s happening.

This momentous occasion in her life. The moment I will never forget for as long as I live. The moment Rachel gave me. The moment Rachel gave us all.

“Do you want to sign the documents?” Mr. Schultz says.

I hand Etta to Rachel, knowing that they have good-byes to share, and begin reviewing the papers. It’s all straightforward, and Rachel has already signed her pieces.

After I sign my name, and Rachel kisses Etta’s cheeks again and again, squeezing her tight, I shake Mr. Schultz’s hand. Rachel, Etta, and I walk outside.

In the sunny afternoon, Etta squeals and begins pointing at nonsense, delighting in her world.

“I love you, Jude. I love you, Etta.” Rachel smiles. She looks around, as if not knowing where to go from here. Despite that, she doesn’t look lost. She looks relieved.

“How does this work, then? Do you want me to call you?” I ask. “Do you want me to send you updates? Are—”

“Jude, now you can just let me go. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m not your responsibility. Etta is. I’m a grown-up. Or, at least, trying to figure out how to become one.” She leans over and gives me a hug, gives Etta another kiss on her forehead … and then she walks away.

* * *

When I pull up to my house, I can’t smile yet. There’s too much heartbreak wrapped up in what just happened to smile or celebrate.

Catalina opens my front door, leans in the doorway, watches me get out of my car. I know she can’t see Etta buckled in the back, and she watches me nervously, as if not knowing how I’m going to be, in the swell of losing Etta.

When I open the back door of the car, Catalina calls out. “Etta’s here?” She runs to me, the car.

“She’s here.”

“You didn’t see Rachel? You ditched the meeting altogether?”

“I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t consider that. But no, Catalina. I went.”

“And you came back.”

“I did. I came back with Etta. I came back with my daughter.”

Catalina shakes her head, not understanding why I’m not a sobbing, heaping mess. Why I’m suddenly standing in front of a beautiful woman, holding a beautiful baby, and not falling apart. She doesn’t understand that I wasn’t the person who walked away empty-handed today.

“Rachel relinquished her parental rights. I’m Etta’s only parent. I’m … her father.”

Catalina gasps, flinging her arms around me, kissing Etta’s cheeks over and over again and then kissing my mouth. She’s holding me tight and I’m holding her tight, and somehow all the brokenness that I held at the lawyer’s office isn’t the only thing I hold.

I don’t only hold Etta, a baby without a mother. I hold Etta, my daughter with a family.

We walk inside. There’s so much to explain to Catalina, but also nothing to say, because somehow Catalina seems to understand. Seems to understand me.

We walk through my front door, and I turn to Catalina. I ask, “When are you moving in?”

“Oh, Jude, I never plan on leaving.”

We smile at the perfect simplicity of her words. Of our choices.

“I love you, Catalina.”

“And I love you.”

She takes Etta from my arms, carrying her into the living room, where she sits down on the floor with my little girl and begins tickling her tummy until she rolls in laughter.

I watch them, wondering how I got so goddamn lucky.

Wondering how I got it all.

* * *

Chapter 28

Jude

Five months later…

I thought falling in love sucked, because it meant letting go and surrendering everything I fucking knew.

Turns out, doing that shit—the surrendering—makes for a life better than I could have predicted.

I know I’m getting pretty damn sentimental, but shit, I’ve got reason to be.

Today is Etta’s first birthday, and the day I plan on putting a ring on my woman’s finger.

Catalina has no idea … and hell, I’m ready to surprise her. To make promises to her. To be her man forever.

“I got Etta dressed,” Cat tells me, walking into our kitchen in dark denim and a flowery blouse. “She’s on the patio with our mom’s.”

“You got dressed up, huh?” I tease her, knowing Catalina prefers tank tops and cut-offs to anything dressy.

“I know, right? I’m such a grown-up.” She laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You can’t get mad, but I think Holden and Bexley are gonna trump Etta’s birthday.”

“What do you mean?” My hands are on her waist and I have about a dozen ideas of where else I’d like to rest them.

“Well, Bexley called, telling me she had some big announcement. I think she’s gonna tell us she’s engaged.”

I pull back, look in her eyes. “Really? You think? No way would Holden have kept that from me.”

But even as I say it, I realize I haven’t asked his opinion on my own proposal this afternoon.

“I know. I think Evangeline is gonna be all weepy.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, suddenly feeling like a total guy, out of the loop on everything.

“Because Cassius has been hinting at a potential engagement for months, but he hasn’t gotten down on one knee. I think she’d like to get a ring on her finger first, is all.”

“Well, this day is about Etta,” I say. “And if our friends are happy, I’m happy. I’m just glad everyone is coming over to celebrate.”

“And to spoil our girl rotten,” Catalina says, smirking. “She doesn’t need anything.”

As if on cue, Cassius and Evangeline walk through the front door. Evie carries a bouquet of balloons and Cassius has a toddler-sized piano in tow.

“What’s that?” I ask, stepping away from my girl to give him a fist bump.

“It’s a piano. Evie and I thought it was apropos.”

“She’s gonna love it,” Catalina says, grinning. “She’s on the patio; should we take it out?”

“And I’ll get us some drinks,” I say, headed to the fridge for beers and a bottle of white.

Out on the patio, drinks in hand, we stand around listening to Etta pound viciously against the keyboard.

“She’s a natural,” Marshal says, his arm around Cat’s mom’s waist. “I’ll be signing her to KMG any day.”

“No way,” Holden says, walking out the sliding glass doors, Bexley behind him. “My niece is gonna be a movie star.”

Bexley is grinning, and with her classic black-and-white attire, her hair swept up on her head in a bun, and her ruby red lips, she looks like a million bucks … which is more or less the truth. This girl won an Oscar this year, putting her—and my film—on the books for being a completely unexpected break out.

“What has you so happy?” Cassius asks Bex, handing her a glass of white wine.

“Oh. Um. Well. Okay.” She looks up at Holden, then, as if unable to contain her excitement, she throws her hand to the center of the circle, displaying a gorgeous solitaire diamond on her ring finger. “We’re engaged!”

Everyone starts talking, offering their congratulations.

“Oh, my god!” Evangeline says, dropping her jaw. For a moment I think she’s about to burst into tears, but instead, she tosses her hand into the center of the circle, too.

Another diamond ring.

Another engagement.

“I had no idea you were proposing,” Cassius tells Holden, and the two of them clap one another on the back.

“This is fucking great,” I say, congratulating them both. I look over at Catalina, who’s smiling graciously, asking the right questions—if Holden and Cash got down on one knee, and what the moment was like. The moms are animated, and Etta is just throwing her fingers over the piano keys, giving the moment the perfect pint-sized ambience.

“Sorry to trump your girl’s big day,” Holden says. “But we knew we couldn’t keep it a secret.”

“No. It’s awesome,” I tell him, meaning it. Etta won’t remember this day, but Cat will. And I’m currently more worried about her big day being trumped.

Her engagement being eclipsed.

Catalina pulls on my arm, “We should bring out the cake, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I tell her as we walk into the kitchen. “And later you can blow out my candles.”

“I don’t want to start a fire,” she says coyly. “But don’t worry, I will certainly blow on something.”

* * *

Later, everyone has watched Etta unwrap more presents than any child needs, finished their cake, posed for pictures, and told us the details of the proposals. Holden took Bexley on a private helicopter ride, where they looked over the Hollywood sign. Cassius wrote a song for Evangeline, and sang it to her on the beach as the embers from their bonfire faded.

No fucking pressure.

Still, a big flashy proposal is not what Catalina would want. She would want to be here, in her home, with the people she loves. That is all—to her, that is everything.

“It’s just so crazy,” Evangeline tells Bex. “Being engaged together.”

“It is,” Marshall says, “You kids should have a double wedding.”

“Can you imagine?” Bexley says, staring at the ring on her finger. Then she laughs. “Though, honestly, it’s not the worst idea. I mean … half the work, double the fun.”

Evangeline grins. “Seriously, and the guys would be happy, they wouldn’t be flying solo on their big day.”

I know my opening when I see it. “But you know what’s better than a double wedding?” I ask.

“What’s that?” Cat asks, taking the bait. Etta is in her arms, with frosting on her upper lip, her party dress rumpled and her eyes blinking slowly as she heads toward sleep. Catalina kisses her forehead, rubbing her back.

“A triple wedding.” I fall to one knee, pull an antique ring from my pocket and present it to her. “Catalina,” I say.

She’s completely caught off-guard and shakes her head in shock. I reach for her finger, holding her hand.

“You make me a better man, a better father. And more than anything, I want to be your husband. I want to be yours. Marry me. And make me the happiest man on earth.”

“Jude.” Her word is an echo, her face flooded with tears. “Jude, of course I’ll marry you. I love you.”

I slip the ring on her finger and stand, wrapping her and my baby girl in a hug, feeling like the goddamn luckiest man in the world.

“This is insane,” Cash hollers. Everyone’s clapping, laughing, surprised.

Trish pulls us into a hug, and my mom does, too. Everyone exclaims their surprise. Bex takes Etta from Cat, and I pull Cat into my arms.

“Jude,” Cat says, her arms around my neck. “You planned this?”

“Of course I did. I just didn’t plan on the other two engagements today.”

“I love you,” she tells me, kissing me, and the world around us disappears for a moment as we melt against one another.

“I love you more.”

“Do you love us, too?” Evie asks, breaking the stolen moment. “Because we want to know if you’re in.”

“In what?” Cat asks, laughing. She turns to face our friends, but her eyes are on the engagement ring. Precious stones in a rainbow of colors, set against gold. There’s no other ring like it on the planet.

“In for the triple wedding,” Bexley asks. “It’s a go.”

“What are you talking about?” Cat asks, laughing.

“Are you in? Or are you one of those bridezillas who needs things perfect?” Holden asks, teasing his sister.

“I do not need things perfect,” Cat says. Looking up at me, she adds. “I mean, I already got pretty damn lucky.”

“So it’s a go?” Evie asks, laughing. “I mean, it would be pretty epic.”

“And pretty….” I trail off, not wanting Catalina to feel any pressure about this crazy idea—an idea I happen to like. I mean, my two best friends, their women, and the start of our lives? Pretty epic, actually.

“Pretty cool,” Catalina finishes. “I mean, only if the wedding was as crazy as this concept.”

“Right,” Cassius adds. “Like, it would have to be in Vegas or Monte Carlo or something insane.”

“A Vegas wedding?” my mom asks. “That sounds like … exactly what I’d expect from you three.”

“Is this for real?” Holden asks, laughing. “I mean, on a bullshit scale, how much bullshit are we talking?”

“I’m not bullshiting,” Evie says. “I think it sounds fun.”

Cash pipes up. “And my buddy Jack Harris has connections in Vegas. His best friend Ace owns a hotel. We can get married there.”

“This is bananas.” Catalina shakes her head.

“Like, good bananas or bananas-bananas?” Bexley asks.

“Like banana splits with a freaking cherry on top,” Cat says. “I mean, who does this?”

“Apparently, we do,” Holden says, laughing, raising his glass.

“To a triple wedding in Las Vegas,” I say, pulling Cat close to me.

“To us,” she says, the rim of her glass clinking against mine. “To us all.”

❤❤❤❤❤

A Note From Frankie!!!!!

Hello Lovely Readers!

I wanted to say hello and share a little but about what I have planned for you in the upcoming months!

◦ 8/10 CRAVING OUR VIRGIN (Frankie Love writing as Charlie Hart)

◦ 8/17 Mountain Prince Box Set (titled Crown Me, Prince!!)…Oh, and the cover is smokingggg!

◦ 8/24 Mountain Man Candy (an Over The Top SUPER SMUTTY READ! Mountain Man + Best Friend’s Sister = TOO HOT TO HANDLE!) And this is the book that has a hero that one of my lovely reader’s named. Her pick? Clive Arthur! She said this about how she decided on it: “I am so in lust with Clive Owen in the 2004 version of King Arthur.” LOVE THAT! I am totally going to do this game again!

◦ 8/31 AUCTIONED VIRGIN: KIDNAPPED (I can’t wait for this one !!! Super hot mountain man named Rex is in it!! You can add to goodreads now!)

◦ 9/7 Frankie Series Starter Box Set (I thought this would be super fun for new-to-Frankie-readers! What do you think?!)

◦ 9/14 FOREVER OUR VIRGIN (Frankie Love writing as Charlie Hart and the final book in this series)

◦ 9/28 Mountain Man Babies 1-5 Box Set with all new bonus content !!!! EEK!!

◦ 10/5 Mountain Babies Book #6 title to be decided …. debating BUILT or ERECT … any opinion? You can email me at frankieloveromance@gmail.com if you have a suggestion for the next book on our favorite Fertile Mountain!!!

◦ 10/12 Mountain Man Mail Order Bride box set (Claimed, Ordered, and Wifed) with some exclusive content because I always wanted to know what happened to the woman who was the match maker …. :)

So I am going to keep putting these lists in my books so you know what is what!! I want YOU to be the first to know anyways!

I was wondering if you have any opinions on other projects? Anything you are dyingggg to read? If you have an idea please email me!! I want to write what YOU want more than anything else.

Keeping my wonderful readers happy is one of the reasons I love this job (reason #2 is that I love a feel-good-romance … life is hard enough as it is and I love that I get to write stories that make people smile!).

I hope you have had an awesome summer! My kids are going back to school at the end of August which means lots more writing time for me! I can’t wait.

xoxo, frankie

Also by Frankie Love

THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION:

NEW RELEASE: HIS BILLION DOLLAR SECRET BABY

Stand-Alone Romance:

HIS MAKE BELIVE BRIDE

HIS KINKY VIRGIN

WILD AND TRUE

BIG BAD WOLF

MISTLETOE MOUNTAIN: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S CHRISTMAS

Our Virgin:

Protecting Our Virgin

F*ck Club:

A-List F*ck Club

Small Town F*ck Club

From the HIS Collection:

HIS Everything

The Mountain Man’s Babies:

TIMBER

BUCKED

WILDER

HONORED

CHERISHED

The Modern-Mail Order Brides:

CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

An Arranged Marriage Romance:

COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE

CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE

CROWNED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE

Las Vegas Bad Boys:

ACE

KING

MCQUEEN

JACK

Los Angeles Bad Boys:

COLD HARD CASH

HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN

SAINT JUDE

THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

❤️❤️❤️

About the Author

Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.

Find Frankie here:

www.frankielove.net

frankieloveromance@gmail.com

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