With a slam of the brakes, we came to a jolting stop. The cabbie waited patiently for his fare as Ian's hands slapped against his shorts. "I swear my wallet's in here somewhere . . ."

When his search produced no results, I unsnapped my wallet and pa.s.sed the driver a few bills and threw the door open. Worst. Night. Ever.

A light breeze blew through, which somehow disrupted Ian's equilibrium, and I was forced to wrap an arm around his middle to steady him. The guy may have been a supreme jacka.s.s, but he felt amazing tucked up against my side. In sharp contrast with his balance problems, every part of him I touched was solid and firm.

We made our way carefully to the front door, past the doorman who tipped his cap at Ian, and rode the elevator up to the top floor. Trudging down the hallway, he paused outside a door to our left and shoved a key into the lock.

I debated bailing then and there, but I'd seen Renee like this more than a few times, and knew that he was just as likely to curl up in a ball and sleep in the bathtub as he was to actually make it to his bed. Not that it was my problem, but I was just that person. I shook my head; I should have just left him on the curb outside the yoga studio.

Kicking off his sneakers as he went, he zigzagged for what looked like the bedroom. I took a slower route, ambling along behind him while sizing up the place. For starters, it had a doorman, so that automatically told me it was a good place. Hardwood floors stretched out from the modern kitchen all the way to the floor-length windows that decorated the far wall. The walls were painted a color reminiscent of navy, and a well-worn brown leather couch sat across from a monstrously large television.

The place screamed bachelor pad, although I had to give it to him that it was surprisingly neat. A small wire wastebasket, nearly overflowing with crumpled-up paper, was the only sign of untidiness that I could see. With one last glance around me, I walked over to the door Ian exited through and leaned against the door frame. He'd already stripped off his shirt and hat. As I watched, he shoved his shorts off his hips into a puddle on the floor, leaving him standing in a pair of black boxer briefs.

My mouth may have watered-just a little. It stood to reason that a guy this hot, rocking that kind of body, just had to be an a.s.shole. If he wasn't, well then, there was just something plain wrong with the universe.

Two steps brought him to the edge of his ma.s.sive bed, and he flopped down face-first onto the gray striped comforter. At that point, I wasn't sure he was even still aware that I was there. Following my typical post-drunken roommate checklist, I relocated a trash can to the side of the bed, unearthed some Advil from the bathroom, and placed a full gla.s.s of water on the nightstand.

My hands found my hips as I stared down at him, pa.s.sed out with his face buried in a pillow. I had an absurd urge to run my fingers through his hair, just to see if it felt as soft as it looked. I shook my head at my own ridiculousness and went to step away.

The unconscious man was apparently not that unconscious, and as his hand whipped out toward me, fingers wrapping around my wrist, I let out a little yelp.

Other than his hand, nothing moved. He didn't even open his eyes. "Don't go."

He was kidding, right?

His fingers tightened, pulling me down on the floor so that I was sitting next to the bed. Tracing a finger down around my hand, he wrapped it in his, let out a deep sigh, and promptly started snoring.

What the h.e.l.l.

I waited a few minutes before trying to extract myself, but every movement I made only tightened his hold. This is why being a nice person sucks, because you get yourself into situations like this. Had I been any rational human being, I'd probably already be at home, asleep, in my own bed.

Instead, I shifted so that I could stretch my legs out and twisted my neck so that I could lay my cheek against the soft comforter. The trash can b.u.mped against my back, and I sent a silent prayer heavenward that I wouldn't be woken a few hours later by a hot gush of puke. Br.i.m.m.i.n.g with resignation, I willed myself to sleep.

Chapter 9: Bianca.

If I slept three hours, I was lucky, and I'd probably herniated one of the discs in my neck with the way it was bent all night. As the first fingers of dawn began to filter through the cracked curtains, I once more tried to extricate myself from Ian's grasp.

This time, his hold loosened a smidge, which was immediately followed by his eyes snapping open. His very red, very bloodshot eyes. He stared at me, then transferred his gaze to his hand where his fingers were still tangled up in mine. Releasing me, he rolled onto his back and scrubbed his hands across his face and through his hair.

I considered fleeing the scene-as in grabbing my things and literally running out of this place. But at the moment, I was annoyed, p.i.s.sed even. I wanted an explanation. No, I deserved one.

Freed from his grasp, I stiffly got to my feet, all the while rubbing my neck with my hand. I shuffled into the kitchen, desperately in need of some caffeine. I took it upon myself to make coffee, rummaging through his drawers and cabinets to find what I needed. For once, I didn't really care how rude that was. It couldn't have been any ruder than the stunt he pulled last night.

Around the time I was pouring the steaming liquid into mugs, Ian emerged from his bedroom, his hair wet like he'd just gotten out of the shower, a pair of blue pajama pants resting low on his hips. My eyes reversed their direction from the delineated V of his hip muscles, to the bold tattoo of a raven that curled up his ribcage, to his face, firmly ignoring the hard planes and b.u.mps that made up his stomach.

"You made coffee? For me?" he asked.

"Technically, I made coffee for me. Coffee for you just happens to be an unintended side effect," I replied, raising the cup to my lips.

Circling around the granite island, he drew his mug to him and drank it as is. Well, that explained why I couldn't find any creamer in the refrigerator.

He cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, surprised you're still here."

I dropped my gaze to his hand, then back to his face with a raised eyebrow.

He had the grace to blush. "I meant this morning. I wouldn't have bailed for the shower if I thought you were still here."

"You bailing for the shower is hardly the worst thing you've done in the past twenty-four hours," I said into my coffee, not possessing the nerve to utter the retort directly to his face.

"Fair enough," he said, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck. The motion caused his chest to ripple and his biceps to bunch, and my traitorous body had the nerve to get all hot and bothered by it. I crossed my legs.

"Could you put on a shirt or something?" I scrunched up my face at him and waved a hand at his bare upper half.

He looked surprised by my request, but with the slight twinkle I caught in his eyes, I was sure he knew the reason. Kill me now. He was back a minute later, sporting a simple white T-shirt.

"Better?" He asked, his lips curving into a smile.

I ignored him. "So, I've been wracking my brain and hoping you can give me some insight, because I'm not really sure of the answer here. What happened last night? If you really didn't want to go that bad you could've just texted me or not agreed in the first place."

"I wanted to go." He shifted his shoulders underneath the T-shirt like it was suddenly uncomfortable. "I went for a drink because I was nervous, and one drink turned into two turned into three. I only meant to take off the edge."

"I see," I said, but I really didn't. What did he have to be nervous about? "I think I'm just going to go now." Slipping my purse over my shoulder, I headed for the door.

"Wait." He hesitated. "Do you think, maybe, we could . . . try this again sometime?"

My mouth dropped open, and his gaze followed its descent. Seriously? He wanted to hang out with me again? I was going to tell him no thanks, but as I went to say it, I caught the hesitance written all over his face and noticed the way his knuckles bleached white from how hard he gripped the counter.

Something was up, though I couldn't quite lay my finger on it. Maybe he had just as hard a time making friends as I did, or perhaps I wasn't the only lonely one in the room.

"Sure," I shrugged. "You've got my number."

Chapter 10: Ian.

8 Years Earlier "Alright, Rach." I slammed my locker shut and leaned a shoulder up against it. "What's your deal this morning? You grab your mom's espresso again by mistake?"

She shuffled her sneaker against the floor and rubbed a hand up and down her sweater-clad arm. "Do you like this sweater? I mean"-for the thousandth time in the past three minutes, she grabbed the edge of it and tugged it away from her body-"does it make me look fat?"

I shook my head at her. "The only thing that would make you look fat is about another fifty pounds or so. These things that you're all self-conscious about," I waved a hand in the general area of her b.o.o.bs, "had John Simms drooling over you. Literally, there was a puddle on his desk."

Her cheeks flushed red, nearly matching the color of her sweater. When she managed to pry her eyes off of the scuffed linoleum floor and tip her head back so she could look at me, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "John Simms, really?"

I spread my hands out in front of me. "Would I lie to you?"

She gave in and let the smile take over her face. "Maybe. If you thought it would make me feel better."

"I think you know me too well."

"No one knows you better, Ian Mathis, and don't you ever forget it."

I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder and grinned down at her. Rachel had practically grown up at my house and knew every single one of my dirty little secrets. She was my family, my best friend. If the occasion called for it, I'd do much more than lie for her.

Her backpack strained at the seams as she tried to zip it, the fabric nearly exploding from the press of three enormous textbooks and her slim silver laptop. "Packing light this morning, I see."

"Ha-ha." With a grunt, she finally got it closed and hauled it up and onto her back. She swayed to one side, and I put out a hand to steady her before she toppled right the h.e.l.l over.

I fell into step beside her. Students milled around us as we pa.s.sed through the hallway, some lounging on the floor hurrying to finish last night's homework, others too busy sucking face to notice the world continued on around them. Personally, I preferred a little less PDA.

As we turned a corner, Shanna peeked around the edge of her locker and fluttered her fingers at me. With her teeth sunk in her lower lip, her eyes took a leisurely stroll up my body. I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her and gave her my signature smirk.

Rachel dug the sharp edge of her elbow in my ribs.

"What? You jealous, Rach?" I dropped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her into my body.

She gagged. "Gross." With a firm hand, she pushed me off and wrinkled her nose like she'd just smelled month-old garbage. "You're like my brother. I will never think of you that way."

I clapped a hand to my heart and grimaced. "Ouch. A direct hit to my heart."

She chuckled, and I was glad to see that whatever cloud had been hovering over her this morning seemed to have vanished for now. I stuttered and stopped when she made an unexpected right turn, checking around me to make sure I had my bearings.

"Um, Rach?" I called after her. "You know homeroom is that way, right?" I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in the opposite direction.

She kept right on going, throwing her words over her shoulder, back at me. "I need to swing by the library first."

My long strides ate up the distance as I caught up to her. "Why?"

"To drop off some books?" She made a face at me and then pulled back her sleeve to peek at her watch. She sighed. "You haven't seen Ben this morning, have you?"

Ah, speaking of brothers. I shook my head. Weren't first-born children supposed to be the accomplished ones? The ones who had their heads on straight? It seemed my older brother, Ben, had missed that memo, leaving the full weight to fall on my shoulders. "Nah, he wasn't home when I got up this morning. Why?"

She tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and gave me a sad look. "It's nothing. He was just supposed to meet up with me this morning. I should've guessed he'd stand me up."

"I'm sorry, Rach." I thought about giving her another hug but knew it wouldn't help. It wasn't me that she wanted to hold her. Ben rarely managed to get his pants to match his shirt, and when it came to Rachel, he was completely blind to how she felt about him. Dumba.s.s.

I was pretty good about coming up with things to make her smile, but at the moment, my brain seemed to be malfunctioning. There wasn't anything I was going to be able to say that would make her feel better. She clenched her arms tighter around her stomach, one hand fidgeting with the dangling strap of her bag.

We pa.s.sed in silence under the yellowed lighting, our reflections rippling across the trophy case of football teams past. Wrapping my fingers around the gold doork.n.o.b, I pulled open the door, holding it open so that Rachel could duck underneath my arm.

She went straight for the counter, leaning her elbows on the faded wooden surface. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up with splinters in her hands. A movement off to my right caught my attention, and I turned toward it.

The table to my right was occupied by a girl I'd never seen before. She was focused on a sheet of paper that she held pinched between her fingers. A ma.s.s of chaotic toffee-colored curls shielded most of her face from my view, hanging about her shoulders in a soft cloud. My fingers fluttered against my jeans, imagining what it might be like to run my hand over them.

I let my eyes glide down her pet.i.te frame, over the purple long-sleeved shirt that hugged tight to her body, and down her lean legs that were encased in a pair of jeans. My gaze snagged on the white sole of her Converse sneakers, and it took a few seconds of squinting to make out the doodle of a hummingbird that was sketched there.

I'd been checking her out for a good two minutes now, so it was no surprise that I drew her attention. She glanced up from her paper, her bright green eyes twinkling with awareness, and smiled one of the brightest smiles I'd ever seen.

When this girl looked at me, it was like staring at the d.a.m.n sun.

Chapter 11: Bianca.

I rounded the corner with a bounce in my step, ready to run down the hall, through my front door, and throw myself into bed in a flurry of pillows. Maybe after some rest I'd be able to figure out what the h.e.l.l happened last night.

I paused when I saw a pair of jean-clad legs jutting out into the middle of the hall. A pair of canary-yellow stilettos waved back and forth like windshield wipers. Harper turned her head in my direction at the sound of my footsteps, shifting the neon pink box in her lap as she stood.

"There you are. You never called last night, so I was starting to worry about you." She let her eyes travel over my day-old clothes and grinned. "Please tell me you're doing the walk of shame."

"Definitely not in the way you mean." I shouldered past her and unlocked my door.

She grimaced and dropped what I now identified as a box of donuts on my kitchen table. "Couldn't get it up?"

"You realize we weren't out on a date, right?" I scowled at her and dumped my purse on the table next to the box. "Either way, he was too drunk to do much of anything last night."

"He showed up last night wasted?" Harper rummaged through my cabinets like she owned the place until she found a gla.s.s, pouring out a drink of milk for herself.

"Yup." I glanced at the box of donuts, but all I could see were the nutrition facts-sugar, carbs, calories! Regrettably, I pa.s.sed on them and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. "Made a scene at the yoga studio, shoved me into a wall, and get this"-I sucked the yogurt remnants off the edge of the spoon-"forgot his wallet so I had to pay for the ride back to his apartment."

She joined me at the table, dropping down into a chair. The chair legs squeaked in protest. "Explain to me why you went back to his apartment at all."

"I didn't just want to leave him there. I wanted to make sure he got home alright."

"Aw." Harper pinched my cheek. "Aren't you just the sweetest?"

I swatted her hand away. "I know. I have a big, fat, bleeding heart."

"So, you just slept there and hoped he'd be so grateful this morning that he'd do you?"