"If Phil pulls through, they can work it out. If he doesn't, I don't know." Rule's voice sounded strained.

Cora kissed me on the cheek and wandered over to sit next to her friend. My brother arched one of his dark eyebrows and nudged me with his shoulder.

"So what was up with the hottie nurse? They know each other or something?"

"You guys went to school with her."

"Ah ... no, I didn't. If I went to school with a chick that looked like that, I would've remembered ... don't tell Shaw I just said that."

I snorted because that was typical Rule. "She's Saint."

He frowned in confusion. "She's a saint?"

"No, her name is Saint, but she might be a saint as well."

I sure hoped she was because it looked like Nash was going to need all the help he could get dealing with this particular mess. Sure, he had all of us in his corner and at his back, but there was no denying that a saint might come in handy.

Rome's Playlist

Deer Tick: "Twenty Miles"

(Do yourself a favor and listen to this song before you start reading the story ... This is totally Rome's song for Cora ... it's perfect!) The Gaslight Anthem: "Boxer"

(This song doesn't fit with Rome's cla.s.sic-rock theme, but when I was writing, for some reason every time I got stuck, or was wondering about what direction the big guy would go, this song made it make sense.) Creedence Clearwater Revival: "Fortunate Son"

The Rolling Stones: "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

AC/DC: "You Shook Me All Night Long"

The Weeks: "Sailor Song"

The Clash: "Should I Stay or Should I Go?"

The Eagles: "Take It Easy"

Neil Young: "Rockin' in the Free World"

The Kinks: "You Really Got Me"

Pink Floyd: "Comfortably Numb"

Tom Petty: "Free Fallin'"

Cora's Playlist

Nikki Lane: "Walk of Shame"

The Detroit Cobras: "Can't Do Without You"

Devil Doll: "You Are the Best Thing and the Worst Thing"

Sleater-Kinney: "You're No Rock n' Roll Fun"

Le Tigre: "Nanny Nanny Boo Boo"

Bikini Kill: "Rebel Girl"

Spinnerette: "Ghetto Love"

The Pretenders: "I'll Stand by You"

Naked Aggression: "Pros and Cons of Dying"

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

I have a bunch of people who help me do what I do on a professional level. My agent, Stacey; my editor, Amanda; an entire team at HarperCollins that is dedicated to making sure whatever I create gets polished and put out to the reader in the best way possible. It's been an interesting and often challenging process to learn how the publishing world works. I have a publicity team whom I work with to try to get my boys all the love and exposure they deserve. They are wonderful ladies, kind, easy to work with, fun, and a great source of information and support, and I can't tell you how grateful I am to be able to pa.s.s the ball occasionally ... remember I am a complete spaz. Check them out if you are in the market for some promo, marketing, have questions, and even if you want to venture a toe in the big bad writing water: http://literatiauthorservices.com/ At times I frankly want to run away from it all because it's new and can be intimidating. But it's also humbling and at times overwhelming to have so many different people believing that I have the talent to create something memorable and meaningful. I can never express how grateful I am for all the exciting experiences this journey has brought me and the fabulous people it has given me the opportunity to work with. I am very fortunate and I have to remind myself every day to take a minute and enjoy it because I am such a spaz, and I let all the good things that go with being thrust into a new experience pa.s.s me right by.

My usual cast of characters who I couldn't live without. My family, my bestie, my dear friend Melanie, who goes by many names and wears many hats but really is the kindest, most thoughtful person I have had the pleasure to meet. We don't always agree, but I trust her to be honest, and she is an awesome sounding board for all the crazy characters and stories rolling around in my head. She is and probably always will be my book bestie ... she just gets it. And she lets me borrow her husband and his awesome design skills.

I have to thank my mom specifically for being such a trouper. She's let me drag her all across the country this year as I get used to being in public and meeting readers. I hate to fly ... HATE it. So she's the best because she comes with me and that makes traveling less of a nightmare. She also tolerates me when my nerves get the best of me and I turn into a snappy, sarcastic monster. She's just the best mom out there and it's always nice to know after a long day working, meeting people, moving and shaking, that I always have someone to keep my head in the game and grab a drink at the hotel bar with. That's right: I'm totally a grown-up, a professional with a busy and crazy life of my own, but I still want my mommy at the end of a long day!

I couldn't do what I do without my wonderful readers. I just think you're all spectacular, and there isn't a way to express my grat.i.tude to you without sounding like a complete sissy. Really the only part of this new career I've taken on that I understand inside and out is the role of an avid reader. I love a good book, great characters, and moments in a story that you just can't stop thinking about as much as the next book lover. Every time I start a book, or think about a story line, I run it through my reader brain and ask myself if it is a book I would read, is it a story that needs to be told? If the answer is yes, I tell it in the best way I possibly can. Those of you who have contacted me or left stunning reviews, it touches me every time and makes me feel like we are kindred spirits. I never thought I would be on the other side of the pages of a book. Have no doubt that all readers are invaluable to authors; we wouldn't exist without you, so thank you. You rule!!!

Last year at this time, I had no idea what a blog was. True story. Now I know that blogs and the bloggers behind them are a serious driving force behind the word-of-mouth success of a book. It seems pretty selfless to operate a blog just to share your love of reading and books with the world, because you love reading and interacting with other readers. It's where like minds can meet and collude, which I wish I had known about back when I wanted to talk about this book or that book and my friends looked at me like I was a nut. I cannot imagine investing my time and energy in something like that when I didn't get paid for it! Anyway, I thank all the bloggers who had a hand in taking my boys from the small time to the big time, for pimping the series out, and for wanting to have anything to do with me, frankly. It's been a delight working with and learning from you; those of you who had my back and supported me from the beginning know who you are and I hope my grat.i.tude is evident. If it's not, I heart your faces off and appreciate everything all of you have done for me.

Lastly I'm shouting out to my pack. It doesn't matter how long I'm on the road for, how long I'm sitting at the computer, if a walk gets missed or a ball doesn't get thrown, they just love me endlessly. They make my day and my heart smile, and really they are my fuzzy, furry little family.

If you wanna talk at me you can. I always welcome hearing from my readers: E-mail: Web: www.Jaycrownover.com Twitter: @jaycrownover Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorJayCrownover Loved Rome? Want more from Jay Crownover? Then keep reading ...

Opposites don't just attract ... They catch fire and burn the city down Click here to buy now or turn the page to read an extract

CHAPTER 1.

Rule

At first I thought the pounding in my head was my brain trying to fight its way out of my skull after the ten or so shots of Crown Royal I had downed last night, but then I realized the noise was someone storming around in my apartment. She was here, and with dread I remembered that it was Sunday. No matter how many times I told her, or how rude I was to her, or whatever kind of debauched and unsavory condition she found me in, she showed up every Sunday morning to drag me home for brunch.

A soft moan from the other side of the bed reminded me that I hadn't come home alone from the bar last night. Not that I remembered the girl's name or what she looked like, or if it had even been worth her while to stumble into my apartment with me. I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door swung open. I never should have given the little brat a key. I didn't bother to cover up; she was used to walking in and finding me hungover and naked-I didn't see why today should be any different. The girl on the other side of the bed rolled over and narrowed her eyes at the new addition to our awkward little party.

"I thought you said you were single?" The accusation in her tone lifted the hair on the back of my neck. Any chick who was willing to come home with a stranger for a night of no-strings-attached s.e.x didn't get the right to pa.s.s judgment, especially while she was still naked and rumpled in my bed.

"Give me twenty," I said, my eyes shifting to the blonde in the doorway as I ran a hand through my messy hair.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You have ten."

I would have lifted an eyebrow back at her tone and att.i.tude but my head was killing me, and the gesture would have been wasted on her anyway; she was way past immune to my s.h.i.t.

"I'll make coffee. I already invited Nash but he said he has to go to the shop for an appointment. I'll be in the car." She spun on her heel, and, just like that, the doorway was empty. I was struggling to my feet, searching the floor for the pair of pants I might have tossed down there last night.

"What's going on?"

I had temporarily forgotten about the girl in my bed. I swore softly under my breath and tugged a black T-shirt that looked reasonably clean over my head. "I have to go."

"What?"

I frowned at her as she lifted herself up in the bed and clutched the sheet to her chest. She was pretty and had a nice body from what I could see. I wondered what kind of game I had thrown at her in order to get her to come home with me. She was one I didn't mind waking up to this morning.

"I have somewhere I need to be, so that means you need to get up and get going. Normally my roommate would be around, so you could hang out for a minute, but he had to go to work, so that means you need to get that fine a.s.s in gear and get out."

She sputtered a little at me. "Are you kidding me?"

I looked over my shoulder as I dug my boots out from under a pile of laundry and shoved my feet into them. "No."

"What kind of a.s.shole does that? Not even a 'thanks for last night, you were great, how about lunch?' Just 'get the f.u.c.k out'?" She threw the sheet aside and I noticed she had a nice tattoo scrawled along her ribs that curled across her shoulder and along her collarbone. That was probably what had attracted me to her in my drunken stupor in the first place. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

I was a whole lot more than just a piece of work, but this chick, who was just one of oh so many, didn't need to know that. I silently cursed my roommate, Nash, who was the real s.h.i.t here. We had been best friends since elementary school, and I could normally rely on him to run interference for me on Sunday mornings when I had to bail, but I had forgotten about the piece he was supposed to be finishing up today. That meant I was on my own when it came to hustling last night's tail out the door and getting a move on before the brat left without me, which was a bigger headache than I needed in my current state.

"Hey, what's your name anyway?"

If she wasn't p.i.s.sed before, she was downright infuriated now. She climbed back into a supershort black skirt and a barely there tank top. She fluffed up her mound of dyed blond hair and glared at me out of eyes now smudged with old mascara. "Lucy. You don't remember?"

I slimed some c.r.a.p in my hair to make it stand up in a bunch of different directions and sprayed on cologne to help mask the scent of s.e.x and booze that I was sure still clung to my skin. I shrugged a shoulder at her and waited as she hopped by me on one foot putting on heels that just screamed dirty s.e.x.

"I'm Rule." I would have offered to shake her hand but that seemed silly so I just pointed to the front door of the apartment and stepped in the bathroom to brush the stale taste of whiskey out of my mouth. "There's coffee in the kitchen. Maybe you should write your number down and I can give you a call another time. Sundays aren't good days for me." She would never know how true that statement was.

She glared at me and tapped the toe of one of those awesome shoes. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

This time, even against my throbbing brain's wishes, my eyebrow went up and I looked at her with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. I just stared at her until she screeched at me and pointed at her side. "You have to at least remember this!"

No wonder I liked her ink so much; it was one of mine. I spit the toothpaste in the sink and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like h.e.l.l. My eyes were watery and rimmed in red, my skin looked gray, and there was a hickey the size of Rhode Island on the side of my neck-Mom was going to love that. Just like she was going to fall all over herself about the current state of my hair. It was normally thick and dark, but I had shaved the sides and dyed the front a nice, bright purple, so now it stuck up straight like a Weedwacker had been used to cut it. Both my folks already had an issue with the scrolling ink that wound around both my arms and up the side of my neck, so the hair was just going to be icing on the cake. Since there was nothing I could do to fix the current s.h.i.t show looking back at me in the mirror I prowled out of the bathroom and unceremoniously grabbed the girl by the elbow and towed her to the front door. I needed to remember to go home with them instead of letting them come home with me; it was so much easier that way.

"Look, I have somewhere I have to be, and I don't particularly love that I have to go, but you freaking out and making a scene is not going to do anything other than p.i.s.s me off. I hope you had a good time last night and you can leave your number, but we both know the chances of me calling you are slim to none. If you don't want to be treated like c.r.a.p, maybe you should stop going home with drunken dudes you don't know. Trust me, we're really after only one thing and the next morning all we really want is for you to go quietly away. I have a headache and I feel like I'm going to hurl, plus I have to spend the next hour in a car with someone who will be silently loathing me and joyously plotting my death, so really, can we just save the histrionics and get a move on it?"

By now I had maneuvered Lucy to the entryway of the building, and I saw my blond tormentor in the BMW idling in the spot next to my truck. She was impatient and would take off if I wasted any more time. I gave Lucy a half grin and shrugged a shoulder-after all it wasn't her fault I was an a.s.shole, and even I knew she deserved better than such a callous brush-off.

"Look, don't feel bad. I can be a charming b.a.s.t.a.r.d when I put my mind to it. You are far from the first and won't be the last to see this little show. I'm glad your tat turned out bada.s.s, and I'd prefer you remember me for that rather than last night."

I jogged down the front steps without looking back and yanked open the door to the fancy black BMW. I hated this car and hated that it suited the driver as well as it did. Cla.s.sy, sleek, and expensive were definitely words that could be used to describe my traveling companion. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy yelled at me and flipped me off. My driver rolled her eyes and muttered, "Cla.s.sy" under her breath. She was used to the little scenes chicks liked to throw when I bailed on them the morning after. I even had to replace her windshield once when one of them had chucked a rock at me and missed while I was walking away.

I adjusted the seat to accommodate my long legs and settled in to rest my head against the window. It was always a long and achingly silent drive. Sometimes, like today, I was grateful for it; other times it grated on my very last nerve. We had been a fixture in each other's lives since middle school, and she knew every strength and fault I had. My parents loved her like their own daughter and made no bones about the fact that they more often than not preferred her company over mine. One would think with all the history, both good and bad, between us, that we could make simple small talk for a few hours without it being difficult.

"You're going to get all that junk that's in your hair all over my window." Her voice-all cigarettes and whiskey-didn't match the rest of her, which was all champagne and silk. I had always liked her voice; when we got along I could listen to her talk for hours.

"I'll get it detailed."

She snorted. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I was all set for a silent ride, but apparently she had things to say today, because as soon as she pulled the car onto the highway she turned the radio down and said my name. "Rule."

I turned my head slightly to the side and cracked open an eye. "Shaw." Her name was just as fancy as the rest of her. She was pale, had snowy white-blond hair, and big green eyes that looked like Granny Smith apples. She was tiny, an easy foot shorter than my own six three, but had curves that went on for days. She was the kind of girl that guys looked at, because they just couldn't help themselves, but as soon as she turned those frosty green eyes in their direction they knew they wouldn't stand a chance. She exuded unattainability the way some other girls oozed "come and get me."

She blew out a breath and I watched a strand of hair twirl around her forehead. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I stiffened when I saw how tight her hands were on the steering wheel.

"What is it, Shaw?"

She bit her bottom lip, a sure sign she was nervous. "I don't suppose you answered any of your mom's calls this week?"

I wasn't exactly tight with my folks. In fact, our relationship hovered somewhere around the mutually tolerable area, which is why my mom sent Shaw to drag me home each weekend. We were both from a small town called Brookside, in an affluent part of Colorado. I'd moved to Denver as soon as I had my diploma in hand, and Shaw had moved there a few years later. She was a few years younger than me, and she had wanted nothing more than to get into the University of Denver. Not only did the girl look like a fairy-tale princess, but she was also on track to be a freaking doctor. My mom knew there was no way I would make the two-hour drive there and back to see them on the weekends, but if Shaw came to get me, I would have to go, not only because I would feel guilty that she'd taken time out of her busy schedule, but also because she paid for the gas, waited for me to stumble out of bed, and dragged my sorry a.s.s home every single Sunday and not once in going on two years had she complained about it.

"No, I was busy all week." I was busy, but I also just didn't like talking to my mom, so I had ignored her all three times she had called me this week.

Shaw sighed and her hands twisted even tighter on the steering wheel. "She was calling to tell you that Rome got hurt and the army is sending him home for six weeks of R and R. Your dad went down to the base in the Springs yesterday to pick him up."

I bolted up in the seat so fast that I smacked my head on the roof of the car. I swore and rubbed the spot, which made my head throb even more. "What? What do you mean he got hurt?" Rome was my older brother. He had three years on me and had been overseas for a good portion of the last six. We were still tight and, even though he didn't like all the distance I'd put between me and my parents over the years, I was sure that if he was injured I would have heard it from him.