Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) - Patrick, Elyssa

Dream with Me A With Me Novel

Elyssa Patrick

About the Book DREAM WITH ME With Me, Book 4 There are a few things I, Evie Hart, thought I knew for sure: 1. That I hated Griff Sinclair ever since that night. You know, the night where he totally pulled a Mr. Darcy on me at the dance. 2. That Griff Sinclair hated me. I mean, seriously, would it kill him to smile at me. Just once. 3. That my life plan for post-

graduation was golden. 4. That I knew exactly what I wanted. 5. And none of that included Griff. But everything I thought I knew is thrown out the window by the biggest surprise of my life. All it takes is one touch, one kiss, one night . . . that leads to so much more. I need to know what Griff means to me, what I mean to him, and what really happened all those years ago. If we even have a future together. And I need to figure it out before we graduate in seven days. Before I move out of Vermont, hundreds of miles away from Griff. I’ve

taken risks, but this might be the biggest gamble of my life. Other info: Dream With Me is the final book in the With Me series. These are New Adult/Contemporary Romances. These novels are standalones, but the characters do make appearances in the other With Me books. There are no cliffhangers in any of the novels, and each one ends in a firm HEA. Stay With Me (With Me, Book 1) – Currently free! Go With Me (With Me, Book 2) Try With Me (With Me, Book 3)

Dream With Me (With Me, Book 4) Sign up for Elyssa Patrick’s newsletter to receive the latest book news.

For Kristen Callihan. If there was only one cupcake left in the whole wide world, I would give it to you.

Table of Contents Title Page About the Book Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Epilogues Newsletter Other Books by Elyssa Patrick Acknowledgements Copyright Page

Chapter 1 Through the Years ‡ First Impressions, Freshman Year MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE WORN a little black dress like almost every other girl chose to wear for the Freshmen Mixer. I’m from Manhattan. The go-to item for a night out is black. Except I’ve never been the kind of girl to conform. As it is, I stand out in my bright yellow dress. The straps criss-cross in the

back, leaving my skin bare, and the formfitting bodice shows off my breasts to the best advantage. And the short length displays my toned legs and makes them seem longer than they are. But that could also be because of my shoes. My shoes. I sigh as I stare at my strappy heels. With the stories I’ve heard about Vermont winters, I won’t be able to wear my high heels much longer. I try not to cry at the thought. But it does give me a very good excuse to go boot shopping. Cute boots will make everything better. Yesterday, I saw a cute pair when I made my first foray to Church Street with my roommate and other girls from the floor.

I look toward the two girls I had an instant connection with—Chloe and Taylor are dancing with two guys—and think how awesome it is that my gut instinct about going to Green College was proving to be the right choice. The song ends and after they talk to the guys for a little more, Chloe and Taylor head back my way. The place is pretty crowded, and the Freshman Mixer is the last event for us incoming freshmen. I smile at Chloe and Taylor and . . . That’s when I see him. Tall, dark, gorgeous. Built in a way that makes my mouth water. He’s got rich brown hair, and his eyes look dark from

this side of the room. I realize he’s looking in my direction—and not only just toward my way. He’s looking right at me. Something buzzes in me, sharp and sweet, a resounding bell of recognition. Heat swamps me, and I feel hot all over. My mouth goes suddenly dry. I can’t look away from this hot, sexy guy. Who is he? What’s his name? And how soon can I kiss him? Like, is five minutes too soon to do that? Yeah, I should probably learn his name first. I bet he has a sexy name. I don’t look away from his dark gaze and start to imagine what his name is. He’s wearing jeans and a navy shirt. His

arms—those strong forearms and fuckme-now biceps—make me want to touch him. So what name does he have? Anything that comes to me feels blah and not right. For now, I’ll have to call him His Hotness. “What are you staring at?” Chloe runs her fingers through her light blonde hair as she covertly glances around. “Ah. Not what but who.” “Who?” Taylor asks and follows Chloe’s direction. “Wow. He’s definitely hot, Evie.” I can only nod in response. “We can make our way closer,” Chloe suggests. “Yeah,” I manage to say, not looking

away from him. “Let’s do that, but we have to make it smooth and not be obvious or anything.” Because I have to play it cool—and not be a complete dork. I mean, it’s not like this is a new song and dance for me, but for some reason . . . it feels new. We make our way over—thankfully a table of punch and soft drinks are right behind him. He appears to be with a small group of guys. Two have dark hair and the other is blond. The blond guy keeps looking over our way and talking to His Hotness. I don’t get a drink but stand a little off to the side with my friends. I’m close but not too close.

We’re still looking at each other. No eye contact has been broken. It’s the sexiest stare-off I’ve ever been in. But then His Hotness looks away when the blond guy keeps talking to him. Another song starts to play, and my heart starts beating faster. Is he going to ask me to dance? Please, let him. I angle closer where I can hear His Hotness and the blond guy’s convo. The two don’t notice but keep talking. “C’mon, just ask her,” the blond guy says. “You’ve been staring at her the whole night, Griff.” Griff. His name is Griff. That is the HOTTEST name ever. And wait . . . Griff has been staring at

me the whole night? My smile softens as I glance over his way. “Stop, Jamie,” Griff says. “You haven’t danced with any girl tonight,” Jamie continues. “All you’ve been doing is staring at the pretty brunette in yellow all night. All. Night. Long. So ask her to dance, Griff. She’s hot.” “She might be hot, but she’s not hot enough to tempt me,” Griff says shortly and with a whole lot of disdain. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. What a jerk! To my horror, tears flood my eyes. My feelings are completely hurt, and wow, it’s been one of the rare times where my instincts have been wrong. I thought this

guy was special. It turns out he was just an asshole in disguise. What a waste of hotness. It’s not just what he said, but how he said it. Like he’s better than me. Chloe and Taylor wear matching expressions of horror and anger. For a moment, I think Taylor is going to stomp over and toss her drink in Griff ’s face. But my friends look at my face—and without saying a word—they take my hands and lead me away. For the rest of the Freshmen Mixer, I laugh, I dance with my friends and other guys, and I have fun. And afterward—only once I’m in my dorm—I cry my heart out to Chloe and Taylor.

I hate Griff. But at least I won’t have to see him ever again. Second Impressions, The First Day of Class, Freshman Year FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. The first person I see in my very first class—British Literature 101—is him. Griff. The guy who was a complete dick at the Freshmen Mixer. It’s only been a day since that happened, so the memory is still fresh and biting. And I still hate him. Look at him, sitting there, a perpetual scowl on his face. He’s all grouchy-

looking and his tee and shorts show off his hard muscles. Ugh. He’s so big. How did I even think he was hot or give him that stupid moniker His Hotness? I was obviously out of it. His scowl seems to deepen when he sees me, his full lips pressing together. Oh. Oh. I see. He hates me, too. I ignore the stab of hurt as I brush past him and grab one of the last few empty desks in the back corner on the opposite side of the room. Too late, I realize my mistake. I have a perfect view of Griff ’s side

profile. This class is going to suck donkey balls. Third Impressions, Beginning Second Semester, Sophomore Year

of

“EVIE, YOU WANTED TO SEE me,” Dr. Robinson says and motions for me to take a seat in her office. I’m an English and Business major, and Dr. Robinson is my English advisor. Dr. Robinson also happens to be Griff ’s advisor, a fact I discovered early in the first semester of my freshman year when our appointments got accidentally booked at the same time. “Listen,” I say, sitting down, “last

semester was horrible for me.” Dr. Robinson leans toward me. “But as I recall, you did amazing in all your classes last semester.” Yeah, I did. I’m a good student and I work hard for my grades, and I had extra motivation to work even harder last semester. Griff and I had the exact same schedule. As in, by some unlucky hand of Fate, all our classes were the same. I had to see him in everything I took. I never got a break. And it was HORRIBLE. Every time he looked my way, he sneered at me. He never smiles at me. He totally hates me, which is a good thing since I absolutely hate him. And he hardly ever talks to me, so I definitely don’t go

out of my way to talk to him. Since we shared every class together, it made me . . . competitive. As in, if I saw he got an A minus on a paper, I would oh so casually drop my paper, graded A, on the ground before his desk. It wasn’t one-sided. There were many times where he “accidentally” showed me his 100 on various tests and his straight A papers. Basically I felt like we were acting like children—and it had to stop. “It was just . . .” I bite my lower lip, trying to word it so I don’t seem like a big baby. “It was just a difficult schedule,” I finally say. “I felt like I had no time off to regroup. I know the second semester is

set, but I was hoping to change some times around, if that’s possible.” “Well,” Dr. Robinson says, “I’m not in charge of that, so you’d have to—” “Dr. Robinson?” Griff steps in the office and sees me. His dark brown eyes widen. “Oh, it’s you.” There’s a lot of hate in that Oh, it’s you. “I’m sorry,” Griff says to Dr. Robinson. “I saw your door was open. I didn’t realize you were with anyone. I can come back later.” Dr. Robinson has an open door policy and my chair is placed out of view, so it’s true that Griff wouldn’t have seen me. “That’s okay.” I grab my bag and get

up. “I was done anyway.” “Okay, thanks,” Griff says. I head out but I’m not that far away when I hear the beginning of their conversation. “I need to talk to you about last semester,” Griff says. “It was hard.” Yeah. I’m definitely not the only one in the hate camp. Fourth Impressions, March, Junior Year “YOU WON’T EVEN BELIEVE WHO I met in the bathroom,” I say as I reach Chloe and Taylor at the bar. “Who?” Chloe asks. “Yeah, who?” Taylor hands me a

fruity cocktail. Ohhh. It’s yummy. “Hailey Bloom,” I whisper. “No way!” Chloe says. “What is she like?” “She seemed super sweet,” I say. “And shy. Like, I was surprised that a big star like her would be shy.” “Most actors are shy,” Taylor says. “You’re not shy and you want to act,” I point out. “Most, I said. Not all.” I take another sip of my drink and glance around the bar. And I see him. Again. “Ugh,” I say. “Bad drink?” Taylor asks.

Chloe shakes her head, already seeing what I’m ughing about. “Look to your left, Tay.” “Ohhhhh.” “Seriously,” I say, “it’s like every time I turn around, he’s there. It’s bad enough we have to share classes together, but ughhhhhhhh on having to seeing him everywhere else, too. Do you see how he looks at me? No, don’t look now!” “I wasn’t going to,” Taylor says. “I was,” Chloe admits. “But yeah, he’s definitely making a grouchy face at you.” “He looks at me like he hates me,” I say. “All he does is frown and scowl. He never smiles at me. He hardly speaks to me and . . . and . . . and . . .”

“Why do you care?” Chloe asks, then holds out her hands defensively when I glare at her. “Okay, ease down on the Death Stare. I’m not trying to fight with you; I’m genuinely curious. Why does it matter if he hates you? You hate him. He hates you. So . . .” “Because it does!” I slam the rest of my drink back. “It just does.” When I glance back at Griff, he’s still frowning at me. I’m going to need a lot more alcohol. Lasting Impressions, Last Day of Class, Senior Year THE LAST CLASS OF COLLEGE. I can’t even believe it. And it’s not really a “class” day

as we turned in our Senior Thesis into Dr. Tucker a few weeks ago. It’s more of a good-bye class. Dr. Tucker brought in coffee and donuts. Seriously, I love this woman, and I’m going to miss her like mad. She’s my favorite professor, and she’s been encouraging of my dreams. But I have her email and I definitely plan on keeping in touch with her and my other favorite professor, Dr. Farnan, who taught a lot of the Business courses I took. The strawberry cream-filled donut is delicious, and I’m almost having fun, despite Griff being here. As “luck” had it, we decided on the same Senior Thesis class and shared a few

other classes this semester. Toward the end of sophomore year, I just resigned myself to the fact that I would see Griff in and outside of college. (But I totally still bitched about it, because it is annoying to always see the guy I hate!) We’re English majors, but there are a lot of classes to choose from—both in our major and outside. We always seemed to choose the same kind of classes. Which was disconcerting, because it would seem we would have similar interest in our educational studies. I look up to see Griff staring at me. Ugh. Why is he always looking at me? Why?! Maybe I have something on my face.

Crap, I’m eating a cream-filled donut, and I bet some frosting is on my lips. That’s the only reason why his eyes dipped down to my mouth. It’s not like he wants to kiss me or anything. I almost laugh at the thought. Griff kiss me? Yeah, that will be a cold day in hell. But when I swipe my mouth, there’s no frosting or powdered sugar to be found. Why was he looking at my mouth then? And why is he still looking at me as if I’m the donut he wants to eat? Oh my God. I’m being stupid. STUPID. I’m on this sugar high—thank

you, sweet, delicious donut—and it’s messing with my head. Griff ’s not looking at me like anything. And look, I’m right! He’s all grouchy and frowning at me again. Back to our regularly scheduled program of hate. Well, at least in a few weeks, I’ll never have to see Griff again. Thank God for that.

Chapter 2 Sunday, Seven Days until Graduation ‡ DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE measures. And if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss the boat. Literally. “Wait!” I wave my hands out the taxi window, trying to draw anyone’s attention on board. Hopefully one of my friends will see me and tell someone—preferably the captain—to hold off on leaving.

But who am I kidding? It’s seven fiftynine p.m., one minute away from launch time. The skies are already midnight blue and the dock isn’t well lit. No one is going to be looking in this direction anyway. They’ll be looking at Lake Champlain or they’ll be inside. Most likely, my friends are at the bar or grabbing food from the buffet. I should be with them—and not stuck in the backseat of this cab. I’m never late, but it felt like the Universe conspired against me. My car stalled, and to make matters worse, my cell died right after I phoned for a taxi. I’ve been unable to text my BFFs, Chloe and Taylor, to let them know I was on my way. And now,

the car is slowly winding its way through the crowded parking lot. “Stop!” We jerk to a halt a second later. “I’m going to make a run for it,” I say. “In those heels?” the driver asks me, disbelief heavy in her raspy voice. “I’ll manage.” I thrust the fare plus tip to the driver and step out. “Thank you!” And then I run. I don’t even like boats that much, but the dinner cruise is the kick-off to a bunch of events for Green College seniors. Graduation is next week. I still can’t believe that it’s so close, but I’m

definitely looking forward to receiving my diploma. I can’t wait for the next phase of my life to begin. I stumble in my haste but catch myself before I fall. Ugh, it looks like the driver’s disbelief was warranted. I’m usually good in heels, but I don’t want to risk a fall and have bloodied knees. The gold sparkly heels need to come off. Wasting precious time, I remove them and sprint—loose gravel is impossible to avoid, but I hardly notice. It doesn’t matter how fast I am because the boat sails off just as I reach the end of the dock. I drop my things to the ground and let out every imaginable curse I can think

of. I really can’t believe I missed it. I’m so mad at myself. “Evie?” I turn with my left arm pulled back, ready to punch, just in case the person is planning to attack me. When I see who it is, I let my arm drop to my side and unfurl my fist. Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any worse, I have to run into him. “Griff.” Griffin Sinclair is the bane of my existence. We haven’t gotten along since our disastrous introduction at a mixer our first week on campus. Green College is small, so I should have been able to avoid him.

Yeah. No such luck. Griff and I are both English majors, and while we both have double majors (Business for me and Library Sciences for him), we share the same English advisor. Since freshman year, we’ve also had at least one class together. One unlucky semester, we had the same exact schedule. Needless to say, I’ve had to look at Griff ’s no-nonsense, grouchy face for far longer than I’ve liked. And sure, Griff might be considered handsome if one happens to like the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed guy who doesn’t say much. He’s built, but not in the gym rat, steroid abuser kind of way. Naturallooking with all those big, hard muscles

that so many girls go crazy over. Me? Nope. Not interested. Sure, maybe there was a time when I thought he was hot and sexy. But it didn’t last long. Especially not after he insulted me and hurt my feelings. That combination killed any attraction I might have felt. It’s shocking to see Griff dressed up. He’s usually in jeans and T-shirt, the standard college guy fare. He’s not super fancy, but he’s also not in casual day to day wear. He’s wearing nice black pants and a collared hunter-green shirt. Our colors almost match—my dark green halter dress flares out. We look like we planned it.

I glance behind him to see that the parking lot has emptied, leaving us alone. Well, shoot. I’ll have to call for a new taxi. Except my cell is charging back at my apartment, so I’ll have to ask Griff if I can borrow his. Griff and I barely say one word to each other if we can help it. But he hardly talks to anyone, so it’s surprising when he clears his throat and takes a step closer. “You missed it, too?” he asks. “Yeah.” I feel foolish, standing there in my bare feet, with all my things scattered about. My gaze flicks to the dock and Griff follows the movement. At the same time, we bend and reach for one of my discarded shoes.

Our hands collide. It feels like I’ve just had a million static shocks. A distinct hum vibrates in every single nerve. My blood sings with awareness. I cannot freaking believe this. And from Griff ’s widened dark eyes, neither can he. I shouldn’t do this. I know I shouldn’t. But . . . “It’s probably a fluke,” I say. I touch his hand again. I jerk my hand back, cradling it to my chest. It’s the wrong move to make. I can still feel him. And now the feel of Griff is burning through my dress straight into my

pounding heart. I jump to my feet, needing distance . . . I don’t even like Griff. Why would there be any chemistry of the I-want-to-jump-your-bones kind? I don’t understand it. It has to be a mistake. It has to be. And it doesn’t escape my notice that Griff Sinclair has not said one word about . . . this. Whatever this is. Typical of him. I shouldn’t be surprised by his silence. And I shouldn’t be feeling this way about a guy who has made it very clear years ago that he didn’t like me. I turn my back on Griff and face

Lake Champlain. The water is calm and gentle, so completely at odds with how I’m feeling. When I glance up, the skies are clear. There are no storms on the horizon, no hidden currents of electricity that can explain away the shock of awareness. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I’m the only one who felt anything. The whole day has been off. And other than Griff ’s widened eyes, there was no other sign he felt anything. Maybe it was nothing. His hand curves over my bared right shoulder, his fingers settling onto my skin. His thumb skims my exposed shoulder blade, tracing the hard line of it.

My breath catches in my throat. And I stop thinking about why there shouldn’t be any attraction between us—how I should pull away and get my head back on straight . . . how I should forget everything. I know what the sensible thing is. I know what I should do. But another part of me—that part that always gets me in trouble—is telling me to stay. To not be sensible. To see what happens. Griff reaches the line of my shoulder, but he doesn’t stop. He moves. His fingers glide up, his touch rough yet gentle. He doesn’t have smooth hands;

they’re hardened by manual labor. I try to recall where he works outside of college, but I can’t. I’m focused on one thing. This mindless pleasure. He strokes the curve of my neck, then lifts my thin, rose-gold necklace. When he lets go, the chain lands like a soft whip. My skin burns, my breathing shallows even more. And I tilt my head so he can continue touching me. Griff takes the unspoken invitation. He starts where my neck meets shoulder line. His fingers briefly rest over my pounding pulse before resuming their heated caress. He reaches my jawline, but doesn’t go toward my chin. Instead, he plays with my dangling earring before

tracing the shell of my ear. He doesn’t touch my hair, the loose dark curls that spill down my back. But I can feel his fingers itch with the need to do so, to run through the wild strands . . . to tangle himself even more in me. I don’t want him to stop. He moves closer. His pants touch my bare legs, his chest presses against my back, his hand is still on my neck. And his other? His other hand rests on my left hip. It surprises me he doesn’t reach for my breasts, but every single thing about this so far has shocked me. Griff isn’t like any other guy I’ve been with—most college guys aren’t about the foreplay.

But Griff? Griff is all about the foreplay. And right now, I can’t even recall why we don’t get along, because it’s obvious we get along in the most important way. This is madness. I should think about this. I should be smarter. Pull away. Knock some much needed sense into me. A one-night stand goes nowhere . . . and we don’t like each other. But then, why do I want to have sex with Griff? Why am I burning with need for him? I’ve never been the kind of girl who thinks and weighs every option. I’m impulsive. Instinctive. I live for the moment. I don’t want to have regrets, so I go after what I want and—

I want Griff. I reach for his hand at my hip, and he stills behind me when my fingers touch his. I look down. My hand is so small compared to his; my olive skin darker than his light gold. He looks as if he’s been dipped in honey, and I’m tempted to find out if he tastes sweet or something much more sinful. But I hold off. I’m realizing that I don’t want to rush this along. I want to savor it. And I want to drive him wild. I sweep my thumb from his wrist bone to the top of his thumb. His chest expands as he lets out a long, slow breath. I tug gently, because he’s brawny, and

there’s no way he’s going to move unless he wants to. He lets me lift his hand away from my hip, and I slide it to my flat stomach, resting it there. I step backward, pressing myself fully against him so that no space remains. And I feel him, that hot, heavy insistent part of him. I let out a soft moan, because he’s so very big, and I picture him sliding into me, his fullness stretching me, filling me. I become wetter. Needier. Griff doesn’t move his hand. His breaths are heavy, short; it’s almost as if he’s waiting to make sure I’m on the same page he is. Not only am I on the same page, but I’m right there on the same

sentence. And since he’s not making the first move, I will. I raise his hand higher, just below the curve of my breasts. A mild wind blows from our right, brushing against me like a lover’s caress. The wind circles, spinning my need in a tight circle; the air simmers with desire. My pulse thumps fast, pulling the want deep in me. We’ve barely touched. We haven’t even kissed. It doesn’t make sense. And it doesn’t have to. I need more. I place his hand over my left breast and let out another shaky, achy moan, my eyes half-closing in bliss. He feels so good, holding me like this. He still doesn’t

move. Maybe he needs more encouragement? I arch into him, causing his other hand to slip into my hair. He goes very, very still. A heartbeat. Then two. And on the third, he lets out a low, rumbling groan that causes me to go weak in the knees. His fingers slide further into my heavy strands, wrapping around the dark curls, and he lowers his head next to my ear. I expect a word or two. Perhaps a hot whisper or a dark promise. But he doesn’t speak. His lips graze the shell of my ear, and this time it’s me who doesn’t move a muscle. I become even more aware of him—and of what he’s doing to me.

His teeth play with my earring, tugging on it—and that slight pull travels down my body to the growing need clawing at me. He lets go, and the earring swings like a pendulum against my skin. His lips move down and hover over the pulse point in my neck. My heart pounds fiercely in the silence, and I want to stretch up, make skin to skin contact with his mouth. But I can’t. His hand is in my hair; the other on my breast. He holds me in place. I’m tethered to him. And then his thumb grazes my nipple as he whispers a kiss on my neck. His lips are firm, hard, yet devastatingly tender.

I whimper. My breasts grow heavier, fuller; my nipples strain against the fabric. I’m not wearing a bra—I didn’t need to with this halter dress. There’s not many layers of clothing separating us, but it still feels like one too many. I want nothing between us. His hand disentangles itself from my hair, and he moves it to the front of my body, over my hip, his fingers digging into the silky green fabric of my dress. The material rustles as he gathers it until my upper thigh shows. He touches me and lets go of the dress so it falls over him to cover us. Not that there’s anyone around. We’re all alone with no one to stop us. Griff caresses a path upward, and a

low sound of need escapes him when he feels the wetness coating me. There is no doubt how much I want him. And I wait, awareness drumming loud and insistent, because I know what he will soon discover. I’m not wearing any panties. He lets out a surprised grunt and kisses the side of my neck. It’s not a whisper this time. It’s hard, firm. And he keeps on kissing me as his thumb rolls over my nipple. Harder. Firmer. He keeps on kissing me, keeps on flicking my nipple, as he strokes the top of my pussy, as his thick, blunt fingers spread me, moving up and down, up and down. My vision blurs, and I shut my eyes, drowning everything out but the feel of

him surrounding me. My breath scatters to the four corners of the Earth when he skims my clit. He notices that, pauses for a beat, and then does it again. A mere whisper of the hard, rough pad of his finger on that tight bundle of nerves shoots sparks in me. I’m an unlit fuse, waiting for the flame to hit. One sure stroke, and I’m positive I will come hard. But he doesn’t give me that one sure stroke. He doesn’t place the burning match to my fuse to set the rocket flying into space. Oh no, that would be too simple, too easy. And when his touch slows to the barest of caresses, I know his plan is set on blowing the world we know to pieces.

I move into his touch, trying to ride him, to create more friction and get that release. He stops.

Chapter 3 ‡ I LET OUT A MOAN of frustration. And I grab onto his wrist, the one attached to the fingers inside me. His wrist is huge, and I can barely wrap my grip around him. My thumb and pinky finger are splayed wide, and I inch my other fingers up to his knuckles. I press them, causing him to push against me. Yes. Almost . . . There.

I slide a bit higher, grazing the middle of his fingers, and start to feel my wetness coating him, making his touch slick and sure. I move him against my clit, that hard, blunt, thick finger and my much slimmer one rolling over me. I rub us against me, circling tighter, harder, and faster, just the way I do it when I pleasure myself. His other hand leaves my breast and goes to my hand, clasping over my delicate wrist. He gently taps against it, an unspoken signal for me to let go. I pause for a moment, not so willing to let go—not so willing to trust that he won’t torture me some more and make me wait it out—but then he nips my earlobe,

and my grip slackens enough that he’s able to lift my hand away. He raises my arm up, and I bend it slightly, because I have an idea where this is heading. And if I’m right . . . If I’m right, I don’t even know how I’ll react. His teeth catch on the soft skin of my finger pads, striking a match to life. The flame flickers and pulses, the need drumming a loud, insistent beat. His mouth opens and his tongue swirls around my index finger, licking it clean. Tasting me. My eyes close, my pulse hammers away, and a moan escapes me. He takes my middle finger into him, sucking it, running his tongue around my

ring band, and he presses against my clit in a way that I’ve never felt before. It feels like the lit match is set to the path of gunpowder and sparks explode all the way down in me. I don’t have the words for this kind of release. It’s not the usual build. My orgasm doesn’t wash over me, or let the tension subside. At first, it’s slow. That first crash of pleasure, his finger so hard on my clit that my vision blurs. I think I’m done. That this release was more than enough. But then he runs his thumb over my swollen clit, a slow, hot burn. I go soft, pliant. Without Griff behind me, I’m sure I would have fallen to the ground. I feel

weightless, like an astronaut in zero gravity, and yet I also feel grounded. I don’t know what to make of all these contradictions. There is no either-or. No black or white. Just this. The release demands everything from me. No holding back or second-guessing or what ifs. It makes my world go crystal clear, the colors bright and vivid, but there is no Oz or yellow brick road; only the gentle lapping of the lake hitting the dock, Griff sure and steady behind me, and me coming undone again and again. I don’t just have one orgasm. I have five. And he only has his fingers in me. I

can’t imagine what it would be like with his— He slowly removes himself from me, and I shudder at the loss. I turn in his arms and look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are liquid brown, melted dark chocolate with flecks of caramel. His features are strained, the cords in his neck tensing. His jaw is hard, his rich brown hair slightly tousled from the breeze, and I have this urge to run my fingers through those strands and claim his mouth with my own. A muscle leaps in his jaw, and I stop fighting my instincts. I run my hands through his thick hair, marveling at the slight wave. His arms encircle my waist,

his hands resting on the small of my back. He presses me, urging me closer to him, and his eyes . . . His eyes promise me so much as long as we kiss. I want to do that—and more. I want to feel his hard mouth against mine, to see if it softens, to know how hot and silky his tongue is. To taste that heat, the dark promise in his gaze. I need to feel him. Touch him. Make him my own. It seems criminal that we haven’t kissed yet—that we’ve wasted all these years when we could have been doing this. But we have right now. And I’m not going to waste one more second.

I lean up on my toes, and he lowers his head to close the distance. Our mouths almost meet halfway. Not quite touching. Not yet. A moment, then two. Enough that our eyes meet. We both expel a mingled, shaky breath, then move at the same time. My eyes close, my whole being dances with anticipation. We finally kiss. There are kisses, and then there are kisses. Kisses are the ones seen in epic love movies, like when Rhett kisses the hell out of Scarlett before he goes off to war or when Ryan Gosling kisses Rachel McAdams in the rain. That full stop,

heart-pounding moment that changes everything. I’ve seen these kisses played out on the screen, read about them in romances, and while I’ve had some really good kisses . . . Nothing compares to this. Griff kisses me with infinite care. His mouth is tender. Gentle. There is no rush, no demand, no plundering, but he’s not timid or unsure, either. There’s a confidence in the way he moves, a surety I didn’t expect. He’s so quiet and growly that I’ve always assumed he’d be the kind of guy who would not put much effort into kissing or anything but his own release. I was so wrong. Because Griff is not just a kisser, he’s

the Ultimate Kisser. He should have all the gold medals, championship belts, World Series rings, Oscars, and any other award that exists. And we’re only kissing. Just our mouths, slowly opening, learning each other. No tongues have entered the picture. The mere slide of his lips against mine gets me all hot and bothered all over again. Griff Sinclair is totally something else, like a unicorn. I really, really need to taste him. I press myself closer to him, my breasts rubbing against the hard wall of his chest. My nipples are hot, tight, points; my dress is this unwelcome, abrasive barrier.

He opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to touch my lower lip. I briefly wonder if my red, cherry-flavored lip gloss is still on, or if it’s been smudged onto Griff. He licks me, just on the outside, and a shudder rips through me. I flick my tongue against his, getting my first taste of him. A tease, really. It’s not enough. It’s like when I had my first glass of red wine. It was heady and powerful, and if I had one too many glasses, I’d be a very happy drunk. But his kisses don’t make my senses go hazy or call my judgment into question. The mere taste of him brings everything into crystal clear focus.

And I want more. I need more. He sweeps his tongue inside, tasting me deeper, and there’s another low rumble that reverberates from his chest into his kiss. It’s utterly delicious, that rough sound of need, and I moan into him, soft and warm and giving. He tastes me. Thoroughly. Not as gentle, but still very determined and assured. This is a guy who knows what he wants and knows exactly how he’s going to get it. Griff wants me just as much as I want him. His kisses slow to a delicious crawl until he lifts his head. Not far. Just enough where if I leaned up, I could

claim his mouth once more. But I stay where I am, my heart beating hard and fast, because I know where this is headed. At least I hope I know where this is headed. Because if I’m wrong? It’s going to feel like a complete blow. And I’m not going to lie, I’ll feel devastated, because there’s something here, and I really want to explore whatever that something is. His eyes look almost black now, and he raises one hand to graze his fingers against my face, sweeping across the cheekbones, and then testing the plushness of my kiss-swollen mouth. He looks equally as kissed, his hair completely disheveled, and the heat in his expression tells me he wants more.

As if he can’t resist, Griff lowers his head, his mouth brushing against mine. A fleeting kiss that lingers into a simmering boil, hot and wild, robbing me breathless. And even when we try to stop kissing, like when he takes a breath as if to straighten, my hand curls into the slight opening of his shirt at his neck and I tug him back to me. But we have to stop, if only to go somewhere more private, where if we got naked, we wouldn’t be in danger of getting arrested for public indecency or worse. This time when he pulls away, I don’t stop him. I let go and wait as Griff looks at me. He holds out his hand to me. I don’t hesitate for a second. I take it.

We stop long enough to gather my spilled things, but I don’t feel like putting on my heels. I’m not even sure I can walk. Griff frowns, and then before I can say a word, he crouches with his back facing me. I hesitate for a brief moment, but then figure why not, and piggyback onto him. He straightens, and I tighten my grip around him and onto my shoes and clutch. There aren’t any taxis around now, but we don’t need one as Griff brings us to a truck in the parking lot. He unlocks the vehicle with a beep and walks to the passenger side. He opens the door and then briefly turns around so I can slip inside. He’s not even out of breath. Just

how strong is he? And how much stamina does he have? He leans in, bracing his hands on the doorframe. There’s a question in his expression. If I say the word, I have an out, and he’ll give me a ride back to my place. And while I appreciate the thought, there’s no way in the world that I’m not having sex with Griff. I run my palm along his cheek and look into his eyes. I don’t have to say it. He knows. He nods his head, then shuts the door and strides to the other side. I buckle myself in as he gets in and he does the same, then starts his truck. And then we drive off into the night.

Chapter 4 ‡ WE ARRIVE AT HIS PLACE, a cute yellow house, that has a dim porch light on. There are no other vehicles parked in the driveway. Once again, we’re completely alone. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for my door handle, but Griff lays a hand over my arm and gives me a look. He doesn’t say anything but gets out and rounds the truck to my side. He opens the door and then turns around. I gather my things and piggyback him

like I did at the dock. Griff seems to like to carry me, and it’s kind of thrilling to be lifted so easily. I’m not a big girl, but I’m also not skin and bones—I might only be 5’4” but my muscles are toned due to years of ballet. The only other time I’ve been raised so effortlessly has been by a male dance partner. But it’s different with Griff, because I don’t know him—not really—so the sensation of him carrying me makes my heart flip-flop in my chest. He’s big everywhere I touch him. My eyes close because soon I am going to see how big he is down there. My breasts press tighter against his back, and I feel the instinctive flex of

muscles in his arms that hold my legs. He’s not an overly hairy guy. The fine hairs on his forearms whisper along my smooth skin, tantalizing me. The back of his neck is just in front of me, smooth and strong. I can’t resist pressing my lips there. He pauses at the bottom of the porch steps, his grip tightening on my legs. He goes up a step, and I give his neck another kiss. His breath hitches, the rough sound carrying on the night air. I slide my hands from his neck to his broad shoulders, feeling the hard corded lines, before holding onto them. My mouth lands partway on his neck and collar, leaving the faintest trace of a damp

mark of my kiss. I dart my tongue out, tasting the slight salt of his skin and the inherent maleness of him. He hurries up the rest of the remaining steps and unlocks the front door with ease. The door is shut and locked behind us. No lights get turned on. He crouches down so I can climb off, and just as my feet touch the ground, he turns around. He grabs me, pushing me against the wall by the staircase leading upstairs. His hard body presses fully into mine, and he takes my hands, raising them above my head, holding me in place. My breath rasps in and out, my pulse jackhammering. And then he sets his mouth to mine.

No gentleness this time. Strong lips slant over me. Hot, powerful flicks of tongue. Not demanding. A statement. Telling me with every kiss that he’s going to have me— and soon. That teasing time is just about over. I whimper with need, arching my back, and move my arms, a soundless plea to him. I want to touch him. Feel him. He lets go, then spins me around, my skirt flares out with the movement. My hands hit the wall, bracing my weight, and he sweeps my wild curls over my right shoulder. I glance at him, and there is enough light coming in from the windows that I can see him. And what I

see? This is one aroused male on the brink of ripping my dress off. My body goes liquid hot. I stop thinking when Griff presses his lips to my neck, his mouth covering my skin and the thin straps of my dress tied in a small bow around my neck. I instantly recognize what this is. Payback, pure and simple, for the kisses I gave his neck on the way into the house. His mouth moves lower, his lips lightly touching a delicate spot on the top of my spine, just where the strings dangle against my skin. He bites one string, and my breath catches, expecting him to pull

and undo the bow. But he merely lets go, and the damp string lands against me. Another kiss. And then another. A slow, meandering path of kisses down the bumps of my spine. A press of lips. A touch of tongue. Teases. Torturing teases that stop when he reaches my midback. I guess he decided it was okay if he teased me some more—I absolutely love it. I don’t think he can make me want him more. I’m so wrong. Kisses back up. Just as unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world to spend on me. His mouth lands on my neck once more, and his fingers glide up

my sides in a devastating caress. He moves away, and I blink my eyes open, staring at the wall before me. He reaches for the strings securing my dress in place. Anticipation pulls low in my belly, spooling out like a ball of thread unwinding down a staircase. Tumbling down, slowly at first, then picking up in speed. My pulse races, even as I draw in a tight breath of awareness. A tug. Slight. Short. Sure. It’s enough, just enough, to undo one bow loop. Another tug of the other string. Harder. The other loop falls, the tie gaping open. He pushes the strings away, and they fall down my front. My top loosens.

Not enough, though. I take a deep breath, holding my weight with one hand against the wall. It’s harder than I’d thought it would be to keep myself upright. Years of ballet training have fallen to the wayside with Griff ’s kisses. I put my other hand to my right side, where the hidden zipper is. Griff grabs my hand, puts it back against the wall, and then takes over the task. The zipper lowers. I exhale unsteadily. And then his strong hands turn me around. I don’t break his gaze, as I place his hands to the top of my dress. Silky fabric is pushed past my bared breasts. I’m not small, but I’m still pretty

big for my size. A perfect handful. I’m soft, aching. My nipples are pink, hard, and greedy for his mouth. He sharply inhales, his hands hovering, a whisper of a caress. He’s so close that I can almost feel him. But almost isn’t good enough. I step forward, pressing my breasts into his hands. Hot, massive masculine hands cup me whole. An expression that I can only define as wonder lights his eyes, and I get it. I totally get it, because I also wasn’t expecting this. His wonder is quickly swallowed by stark hunger. His features tighten, his gaze smolders. His thumbs brush over my nipples. Just over the straining tips. I gasp. His

smoldering gaze returns to me, his eyes glancing briefly on my mouth before returning to my breasts. His tongue wets his lips. His thumbs sweep back, and I can’t close my eyes, can’t shut him out. He runs a circle over one nipple. Tracing the areola, then rubbing the tip. Watching how it puckers even more, observing my short breaths. He’s studying me. Learning me. Discovering what makes me tick. He does the same to my other nipple, flicking against the tip. I bite my lower lip, not quick enough to stop the small whimper of need. Griff lets go, then lowers, kneeling before me. I clutch his shoulders, pressing him to hurry.

He gives me a look. A slight raise of brows. He’s not going to be hurried. He’s going to take his time. He kisses my left nipple first. A butterfly kiss, a flutter that echoes deep in me. He stays. Kisses me again. Not so much a butterfly, but like a dandelion blowing in the wind. Breezy. Gentle. His mouth opens on the next kiss, taking me in slowly. His tongue rubs against me, licking, tasting, then sucks me deep. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I’m dimly aware of digging my fingers into his shoulders, of his mouth tugging me, and him stroking my other nipple. Of how his hot kiss leaves me one second, only to switch places in the next.

A light scrape of teeth, enough to cause me to jolt, my body snapping with the onslaught of pleasure. He plays with my other breast, his lips hot and greedy on my nipple. I cry out in the darkness. My nipple pops free, red and wet, and he skims his lips down my torso, dipping his tongue in my bellybutton. He glances up at me and our eyes cling. He runs his hand down my left leg to my ankle, then repeats the motion on my right. He moves both up to right above my kneecaps; his thumbs caress the soft underside. He presses a little harder, and I widen my stance and step back to the wall. He takes my left leg, lifting it over his shoulder, the bottom of my dress

flutters over his wide shoulders. I’m expecting nothing more, and then he lifts me. My stomach dips, the air whooshes out of me, as my heart stills then jumps with flight. But I’m not scared that he will drop me. He’s strong. Hulk strong. Thrill and lust slam into me, and I have enough sense left in me that I grab my dress to raise it, exposing me fully to his gaze. He makes an inarticulate sound, his eyes hungry. He licks his lips, that plush, pink, thick, and long tongue darting out. I can picture him lapping me up, flicking against my clit, then thrusting inside me. He leans in, licking me from thigh to pussy. One hand leaves my waist to go to

the front, and his fingers run down my seam. He dips in, tracing the inner lips, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. Thick and hot. I moan, pushing into him, and he growls. I want to beg him with words, but I’m afraid to speak and break this spell cast over us. He circles my clit, light and sure, before suckling it into his mouth. Yes. That. There. My vision blurs, my body tightens. He lifts his mouth away, only to replace it with his thumb. He rubs it, and he lowers his head back to me. His tongue tests my opening with a shallow push. So thick,

and it’s just his tongue. He thrusts in and presses hard on my clit. My orgasm rushes over me. But I want to feel him inside me. He lifts his head, his mouth wet from me. He licks himself clean and heat rushes straight to my core. I don’t even know how he does it, but he stands and lowers me at the same time until my legs wrap around his waist. He turns toward the stairs, and I squeeze his shoulders, then nod to my clutch and shoes on the floor. He doesn’t sigh in annoyance, doesn’t let me go. He merely bends and grabs them, then faces the stairs once more. I hold on as he climbs the steps,

pressing my lips in desperate kisses along his neck. He quickly reaches the top and strides into his room. He pushes me against the door, effectively closing it. My stuff falls to the floor. His mouth seeks mine, his kiss just as desperate for me. I push my fingers through his hair, holding him tight to me, as I suck his tongue into my mouth. He draws us away to his bed where he carefully sets me down, covering me with his body. I skim my hands down his front, tugging his shirt free from his pants. He lifts up enough so he can take it off, and I get my first good look at Griff halfway undressed. Rippling, firm muscles. Thick arms

with bulging biceps and strong forearms. His chest is a work of art in itself, his nipples a dusky brown. His abs—oh God, his abs—should be the Eighth Wonder of the World, and that V-line of his hips that draws down to his pelvis is absolutely mouthwatering. I need to see all of him. I reach for his belt, hurriedly undoing it, then slide it free. I like that he lets me do this—and I like it even more when his abs tense when my fingers graze and linger. I lean up and kiss him, as I undo the button and carefully lower the zipper over his straining erection. Griff stands to remove his pants, only remaining in his tight, white boxer briefs.

I swallow. Hard. Kneeling on the mattress, I push my dress down over my slim hips. The green silky material pools on the bed, and I stand up long enough to step free of it. I settle back down and meet his eyes. Except for my jewelry, I’m naked as the day I was born. Griff lets out a low breath, the muscles in his arms and abs rippling with tension. I slowly take off my earrings, necklace, three rings, and my row of bracelets with charms before setting them on the nightstand. I point to my clutch on the floor. Griff grabs it and hands it to me. He

takes my dress from the bed and lays it over a chair by his small desk. My heart melts a little at the kind gesture. When he comes back to me, I reach for him, pulling his head down to mine and kiss him. I open my clutch, digging out the condom. From his erection straining against his boxer briefs, I’m not sure this average size will fit him. I glance questioningly at him, and he shakes his head. Griff holds up a finger, a signal for me to wait, and then he leaves the room. He returns seconds later, a few condoms in hand. He takes off his boxer briefs, and his cock is the biggest, most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. Thick and long, it juts

out, the plush head a blush red, already beading at the tip. He crosses to me, pulling me to him, as his mouth devours mine. We fall to the bed, his big, hard body covering me. I shiver with pleasure, from how safe and protected his strength and size makes me feel. His kisses just make me want him more, need him with a fever I’ve never known. He scatters kisses on my face, down my neck, my breasts. He suckles each nipple into his mouth, a slight graze of teeth, a soft slide of tongue. I gasp. I moan. I pull him back to my mouth. He lifts his kiss away, and our eyes meet. Yes.

Now. He leans up, ripping open the condom and sheathes himself, then returns to me. His cock slides along the seam of my pussy, spreading me open. I moan at the contact, the feel of him is utterly delicious. My hunger for him is undeniable, and then he starts a slow rub against me, not entering. Just a grind. His cock moves along my lips, making me shudder. His mouth devours mine, his hands firm on my breasts, those sinful fingers against my nipples. I’m so wet, so ready. It’s not only want anymore. It’s instinct, pure and basic, that drives me. I move my hands down to grasp his firm butt.

His brown eyes go black as night, his jaw clenching tight, his arms shake just a little on either side of me. He needs to be inside me. And I need this with a desperate fervor. His cock slides down, the tip poised at my opening. His gaze meets mine, and my breath holds at the look in them. At the desire. At the promise. He enters me, pushing slowly, letting me get used to his thickness that stretches me to a sharp, biting pleasure. It’s so good that I feel a sting of tears fill my eyes. His brow deepens in concern, and he stills in me. I put a hand to his face and caress his cheek. Letting him know that I’m good—

more than good—with a simple touch. I blink the unshed tears away, so easy to do when they were brought on by such incredible pleasure. And I can’t help it; I start to smile, and the most incredible, unexpected thing happens. He smiles. A small one. Just a turn of his lips at the corner, a dimple flashing in one cheek—just slay me now!—and those dark brown eyes of his warm. And seeing that I’m okay, he keeps going until he’s fully seated in me. It’s . . . it’s incredible. My hand slips down to his huge biceps, my other slides to his neck, and his go to my waist, holding on tight. He pulls out all the way, then thrusts deep. My fingers dig into his skin, my hips

raise to meet his sure, hard, relentless strokes. He’s not harried or impatient, and there are definitely no awkward moments where we try to figure out the pace or what turns the other one on. It’s natural how we come together, like we’ve been having sex for way longer than just now. And sex is not like this. It’s never like this for me. It both excites and scares me how right this feels. His hips swivel, and his cock hits a spot in me that makes me see shooting stars. I raise my legs to wrap around his waist, causing him to press even deeper inside me, and he grunts, his eyes slitting half-closed, long eyelashes creating half-

moon shadows on his cheekbones. His thrusts turn harder, more determined, and . . . He. Does. Not. Stop. Not once. His stamina is out of this world, his power awe-inspiring, and his control is unbelievable. And me? I’m the total opposite. I grip him tighter, my back arching, and my touches are frantic. I’m not remotely in control. He leans down, his mouth capturing a nipple. My fingers sink into his hair, holding him there, and then, impatiently, I tug

him up so I can kiss him properly with tongue, teeth, and a heavy dose of sin. He lets go of my mouth, looks into my eyes, and then he lets himself go. Yes. Yes. YES. He doesn’t falter, not once. His thrusts quicken; that super fine cock of his knowing exactly what to do. Deep. Hard. Demanding. And I can’t hold on. I can’t. Not anymore. Not any longer. I come with a keening cry. The release is so intense and strong that it feels like my body is a series of fireworks going off. I

can’t stop coming. It’s endless and mindblowing, and I need him to come like I need air. My pussy clenches him tight, milking him. And he lets out a harsh sound, wringing out my last orgasm when he comes. He rests on top of me, his weight heavy and welcoming, his cock still inside of me. His heartbeat drums against mine, both of us slick from sex. He raises himself off, his cock leaving me, and I feel the tiniest twinge of soreness, but it’s so worth it. He sits on the edge of the mattress, removing the condom, his back to me. I lean over, my hand half-raised to touch that gorgeous back of his, when he stands to toss the

condom in the trash. I hastily drop my hand back to the mattress before he turns around. His breath saws in and out, as he takes in my naked, replete form. His cock jumps, growing thick once more. My body starts to ache for him. I reach for a wrapped condom on his nightstand and toss it his way. He easily catches it, and I beckon him with my finger, with my eyes, as I lie back on the mattress and spreading my legs. Inviting him to play once more. And he takes me up on it with the best kind of RSVP ever.

Chapter 5 ‡ IT’S HALF PAST MIDNIGHT WHEN we finish with the last condom. Four times. Four. And that’s not even counting the five orgasms that happened on the dock. This time when Griff gets up, I don’t pull him back, and he doesn’t turn around and give me that look that says I’m going to fuck you. Pleasure has been wrung out of me. I’m satisfied and happy, and it’s been the best night of my life so far. Thank God I missed that boat cruise.

Griff tosses the last used condom into the trash and goes to his door. He glances at me once before heading out. Clearly he’s going to the bathroom, and I need to get up anyway. I’m not fooling myself here. I know this was a random kind of thing. And I don’t want to have an awkward morning after. It’s not as if I’m even looking for a relationship. No way. It’s exactly one week until graduation. Getting serious about any guy would lead to disaster. I make myself get up and call for a cab from Griff ’s cell as I put my dress and jewelry back on. I’m zipping up the side of my dress when Griff returns. We pause briefly. I break first and tie the thin

strings around my neck, and he steps into his room to grab a fresh pair of boxer briefs and gray sweats from the dresser. He puts them on along with a white tank. I try to smooth out my messy, just had sex hair. I know I have a hair tie in my clutch, but I don’t want to search for it right now. Griff drags a hand through his equally disheveled hair. “You’re going?” he finally asks, his voice that deep, rough gravel. “Yeah,” I say. It’s the first words we’ve spoken since our hands accidentally touched at the dock. “You don’t have to.”

As tempted as I am to stay over, it wouldn’t be smart. I don’t even know what this was exactly. A one-night stand? A random hook-up? Something else? I’m not even sure it needs a classification other than BEST SEX EVER. “I kind of do,” I say. Griff glances away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used your cell and called for a cab.” I turn his cell over in my hand, looking at the black phone case, and hand it over. “It should be here shortly.” “Of course I don’t mind, but you didn’t have to do that—call for a cab, I mean. I could have given you a ride home.”

“This just seemed easier.” And wiser. “So . . .” “So.” “Well . . .” I’m at a complete loss for words. I’m never like this. I could tell him I had a fun time, but this was fun seems lame and not exactly the whole truth. It was fun, but it was something else, too. I clear my throat and pick up my gold sparkly heels from the floor. “I’m definitely not looking forward to wearing these, though.” “Don’t.” “You’re right. I won’t. The cab is going to pull up to the front anyway, and it’s not like I’ve worn these much tonight. They’re pretty uncomfortable, actually.”

“Why do you even wear them?” I hold up the shoes. Glittery. Gold. Gorgeous. “Um . . . hello, have you seen them? These shoes are worth the pain. Any good pair of heels is.” “If you say so.” I open my clutch, because his eyes are so sure and steady on me, and find the hair tie. I pull my hair back in a low knot and meet his gaze. “I need to freshen up and, after that, I should head downstairs.” “I’ll go down with you.” I don’t attempt to argue that it’s unnecessary. From the stubborn set of his jaw, he’s already made up his mind and I’m not going to change it. I gather my things and brush past him on my way out,

then stop in the bathroom to use it. “Do you want anything?” he asks once I reach the main level. “A bottled water would be great.” He nods, then goes to the kitchen. I glance at my heels and decide that I’m going to wear them, so that Griff doesn’t try to carry me to the cab when it arrives. I sit on the stairs and put them on. “I thought you weren’t going to wear those.” I look up and grab the water from him. “Thanks for this.” I take a healthy sip before answering. “I changed my mind.” I stand easily, my legs steadier than they should be after a sex marathon. My

five-inch heels bring me almost to his shoulders. “Well,” I say. For some reason, this makes his lips twitch, a ghost of a smile appearing. “Well.” I’m flummoxed. I have nothing to say. Nothing clever or flirty. I just have me— and what I want to say and what I should say are very different things. So I don’t end up saying anything. I just do what I want. I lean up and kiss him softly. And I end up lingering. He grabs my waist, and he kisses me not so softly back. A car horn honks, and we break apart.

I peek out the window. “The taxi’s here. I have to go.” “Evie.” My name in that low, rough, rumbly voice. My name will never sound the same again. “Griff.” His eyes darken at the sound of his name from my lips. “Don’t go,” he says. I gesture to the door. “But the taxi —” “Don’t go,” he says again. “Spend the night.” I briefly shut my eyes, because I really, really want to do exactly that. But what would happen tomorrow morning? We’ve

spent the last four years not liking each other, and I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we did . . . this. I need to actually think. Process. Not jump into things for once. I let out a sigh. “I can’t. I have to go.” He nods, but the disappointment in his eyes just about kills me. I head to the door and open it to wave to the cab so the driver knows I’m here. I turn back to Griff. So many questions flit through my mind. So many things I want to say. So many kisses I could give him. Instead, I hold back. “Thanks for this,” I say, and before he can respond, I hurry to the cab where I give the address to my apartment.

Griff watches us pull away from the opened doorway, and it’s only after the cab turns the corner, his house far out of sight, that I let out a moan of frustration. Thanks for this. Really? Thanks?! I’m such an idiot.

Chapter 6 Monday, Six Days until Graduation ‡ THE SMELL OF COFFEE AND bacon wakes me up. Bleary-eyed, I glance at my phone. 10:52 a.m. Much later than I would have liked to wake up but I did have a very tiring night. Just thinking about it gets me all hot and bothered. And I can’t help but remember how Griff invited me to stay over and how I walked away.

Smart decision, but I let out a groan, because Griff Sinclair is a sex god, and if I had stayed . . . it would have been a huge mistake. Morning after convo would have been ten times more awkward than the one where I thanked him before leaving. Not my greatest moment, for sure. And, truth be told, I’m confused by everything that happened. We hate each other. At least that’s what I’d always thought. I still remember our disastrous first meeting, what I overheard, and every single time afterward where we did not click. And then . . . last night happened. So, I’m confused. Does he hate me? Do I hate him? And does it even matter

anymore? I’m not sure, but I’m not going to figure it out—not without some caffeine in my system. But first, a shower is in order. I’m not heading out to the kitchen looking like I’ve just spent the night having sex, especially when my best friends and roomies, Chloe and Taylor, are out there. My cell was fully charged by the time I got back, and I just saw their many texts asking me why I wasn’t on the boat. I didn’t respond, too tired, and beyond thankful that they were still out partying. I have to get up. I want to create new nail polishes and a honey green tea cleanser before we head to the BBQ at

Green College later this afternoon. Sad that I can’t be lazy, I make myself leave my comfy bed and head to the door. I let out a curse after I open it. Taylor and Chloe are outside. Chloe takes one good look at me and does a little victory dance. “I knew it! You had sex!” “You so have,” Taylor says gleefully. “Who? Where? What?” “And how big?” “Oh! Yes! How big? And was he good?” Chloe laughs. “Taylor, look at her! Evie’s barely alive. Of course he was good. She’s been well and truly fucked.” I hold up a hand. “I need to clean up

—” “You can clean up after you tell all.” Chloe takes my right arm and Taylor grabs my left, and they pull me out of my room. We head into the kitchen where breakfast awaits. “Coffee. Bacon. Scrambled eggs with extra cheese. And, yes, if you’re a good girl, there are even hash browns.” I pour myself a huge steaming cup of coffee, adding a dollop of cream and two sugars, and drink. Ahhhh. Sweet coffee. So good. So very much needed. I open my eyes to see Sherlock and Watson, aka Chloe and Taylor, watching me. There is no hope for me. I’m not going to be able to avoid the Best Friend

Inquisition. Chloe, Taylor, and I met during the first week of our freshman year. We all had different roommates, but lived next to each other with my room being in the middle. We’re still really good friends with those first-year roommates, too—we all lived in a townhouse last year together —but Chloe, Taylor, and I just clicked on a different level. We all have similar personalities and get along really well. They’re my girls, and I love them to pieces. But they’re nosy as heck. I can’t blame them, though. If one of them looked like me, I would be asking them prying questions, too. I glance at them both. Chloe’s long

light blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she has wide blue eyes. She’s tall, fine-boned, regal-looking, and even in her Hello Kitty pants and tee, she looks like she could be a real-life princess. Taylor’s also tall with curves that go on for ages. Her thick, shoulder-length jetblack hair, blunt bangs, brown eyes, and bronze skin give her a Cleopatra meets Victoria’s Secret model feel. I grab my coffee and sit at the small round table. I’m not surprised when they join me. Chloe, the one who always looks out for us, gives me a plateful of food. “Eat. Drink. Spill.” Taylor shakes her finger at me. “And do not leave one single detail out.”

“Okay,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “I had sex.” “And?” Taylor prompts. “It was out of this world awesome,” I say. Chloe smiles wide. “Good! You should only look that awful because of out of this world awesome sex.” “Hey! I don’t look that bad.” Chloe and Taylor snort at this. “Fine, I look a little rough.” “A little?” Taylor laughs. “Maybe more than a little,” I admit. “It’s hard having sex with a sex god.” Chloe perks up. “A sex god? Do tell. And does this sex god have any sex god friends? Just asking for selfish reasons.”

“Um . . . I think his friends are all in relationships.” I eat some eggs, cooked exactly how I like them. Maybe they won’t notice that I didn’t tell them who I had sex with. “Evie,” Chloe sing-songs. “Who did you have sex with?” Damn. They noticed. How can I tell my best friends that I had sex with the guy that they know I hate? They’re not going to believe it. They’re going to think I’ve lost my mind. They might even stage a Sex Intervention. “I don’t want to kiss and tell—” “Since when?” Taylor asks. “Yeah, since when?” “My food is getting cold. I should

eat.” “Uh oh,” Taylor says. “It’s bad.” “It has to be bad,” Chloe says. “Like maybe it wasn’t a sex god, but a sex alien.” “Or a lizard. He was probably a lizard.” “Or a serial killer.” “A lizard serial killer,” Taylor says. “Or”—Chloe leans in—“it’s someone even worse, because Evie is never, ever this quiet.” “She isn’t.” “I had sex with Griff,” I blurt out. They stop. Stare. And start laughing. Full-out belly laughing. “Griff?” Chloe hoots with laughter. “As in Griff Sinclair Griff?”

“As in the guy who dissed you at the Freshmen Mixer when you asked him to dance?” “I didn’t ask him to dance. His friend said dance with that hot chick over there, and he said—” “‘She might be hot, but she’s not hot enough to tempt me,’” Taylor and Chloe say at the same time. So, I’ve told this story a lot, but it hurt me at the time when it happened. It wasn’t just what Griff said, it was how he said it. Like he was better than me. “Well, I guess I was hot enough to tempt him last night,” I say. “Because we had sex—and more than once.” Chloe’s laughter dies away. “Wait.

Wait. Wait! You’re serious?” “Deadly.” Taylor quiets then, too. “For real?” “For real.” “HOLY. SHIT.” Taylor gets up. “You did it with him?! You hate him. He hates you.” “Well, apparently not,” Chloe says. “Or they fucked the hate out of each other.” “I have no idea how it happened,” I say. “One minute, I’m cursing myself because I missed the damn boat last night. I was running late, and it left just as I arrived. And I was mad, because I really wanted to go, and hang out with you two and all our other friends. And

then the next minute, Griff is there and we lean down to grab my things—” “What happened to your things?” Taylor asks. “Who cares,” Chloe says. “Skip to the good stuff. Sex, Evie.” I ignore Chloe and answer Taylor’s question. “I dropped them when I missed the boat. I’d taken off my heels to hopefully make it, but I didn’t. So, we lean down and our hands accidentally touched, and . . .” “And?” This from Chloe, her voice breathless. How can I adequately describe it? Explain it when I can’t explain it to myself?

“It was . . .” I swallow, my heart thumping at the memory. “It was something out of a movie. Romance, not horror. When we touched, it was that moment where I felt incredibly alive. I felt something undeniable about him. And nothing mattered—not what happened in the past or how we never talked. None of that mattered because I needed him. I’d never experienced that. And then Griff touched me like . . .” “How?” Chloe asks softly. “Griff touched me like he couldn’t believe his good luck.” I bite my lower lip and look at the two girls who know me better than even my sisters do. “And now I wonder if I was wrong all along. What

if . . . what if Griff doesn’t hate me? What if he never did? What if I was just nursing a lot of butt-hurt feelings and didn’t give him a chance because of what he said?” “To be fair, what he said was incredibly jerky,” Chloe said, her eyes narrowing. “You cried when we got back to the dorm.” “One hundred and ten percent jerky.” Taylor finishes the rest of her coffee. “Also, he was never nice to you, and you had tons of classes with him. You ran into each other a lot. He could have apologized. Cleared the air. He doesn’t get a pass, even if he is a sex god.” “But I didn’t try either,” I say, then

fall silent for a moment. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” “Um, why doesn’t it matter?” Chloe glances at my half-empty plate and grabs it to put more food on it. A heaping pile of hash browns are on one side that I quickly dig into; I’m absolutely starving. But I need something other than this coffee. I get up to grab a bottled water from the fridge and take a healthy sip. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t know what last night was. Even though he did ask me to spend the night, but—” “He did?” Taylor jumps up. “Why didn’t you?” “Um, because it seemed kind of foolish.”

“Oh, more foolish than hooking up with a guy you’ve hated since freshman year, you mean?” I narrow my eyes at Taylor. “Touché.” I take my seat at the table and sigh. “It was just so unexpected. What happened between us, I mean. And I didn’t want to have to deal with waking up next to him, or thinking this was something more than it was. It was a once in a lifetime thing. And even if it isn’t, we graduate this Sunday. I don’t want to get involved with anyone when I’m moving to New York City the day after graduation.” “Don’t remind me,” Taylor says with a small cry. “You’re going to New York. And we’re headed to Los Angeles.”

“At least you two will be in the same city,” I say. “I’m not going to have anyone —and my family in Manhattan does not count.” “You should come, Evie. We have a place, and you can crash with us,” Chloe says. “I bet that other makeup internship in L.A. is still open. They loved you. Or you could start your own company, like you want to.” This is an old argument that I wave away. “You know why I turned that down. And it’s too risky to start my company now. I was going to take that in the first place, but then Lily Harlow herself called me up to offer me a paid internship.” “No, I know,” Chloe says. “It’s a great

opportunity for you. Lily Harlow is famous, rich, beautiful, and the media loves her. We’re just sad you won’t be with us, that our let’s-move-to-L.A.-once-wegraduate isn’t happening.” “But she’ll visit.” Taylor rubs her lips together, worry creasing her forehead. “Right?” “Of course,” I say. “And you’ll both visit me. Think of it this way. We’ll have the best of both worlds. You’ll come to the city when you get sick of all the sun and gorgeous weather.” We all laugh at this, because who would ever grow tired of that? “Well,” Taylor says, “you’ll have to come out for your birthday in July.”

“I’m confused,” Chloe says suddenly. I turn to her. “How so?” “Why can’t you get involved with anyone before we graduate? It doesn’t mean it has to be a situation where you fall in love and then you break up because you’re both going separate ways. But why couldn’t you be together just to be together? Explore this not hate thing that you two have.” “But it was a one-night stand.” “Do you know that for sure?” “No, but given past experiences . . .” Chloe waves her hand in the air. “Forget those. You’re looking at this the wrong way. You’re seeing the short deadline as an oh-no kind of thing.

When, really, it’s a blessing in disguise. It’s a way out. Keep it casual. Have fun. Nothing has to happen other than hot sex. And, personally, I think you’d be crazy not to see what happens with the sex god. Even if you do hate each other.” “She’s right, Evie,” Taylor says. “I know you’re scared about getting hurt, but if you go into this with your eyes wide open, with no expectations that it’s going to last, and if you keep your heart safe, then you’ll be fine. Think about how you just said you might have made a mistake about the whole hate thing with Griff. Do you really want to think you made a mistake in not having some fun with him?”

“Plus,” Chloe says, “it’s not like you to not go after something. You’re the fearless one. You always take risks. Except for starting your company, that is. Oh, don’t give me that look. I promise not to bring it up again. But . . . why not take one more with Griff? At the very least, you know you’ll be coming.” “By the way, how many times was it?” Taylor asks. Chloe gives me a good look over. “Easy. Five times. Definitely.” “That many?” Taylor purses her lips. “I’d say two. He is our age, Chloe—” “But he is a sex god,” Chloe points out. “There is that. We’ll find out soon

enough. Evie?” I smile and put down my fork, then raise my hands and hold up nine fingers. “Nine?” they both cry out. Chloe throws down her napkin. “That’s it. The decision is totally taken away from you. Sorry not sorry. But there is no way in the world that we are going to let you walk away from a sex god.” “It’s in the Best Friend Manual,” Taylor says. “Rule Seven: Thou shall not let thy best friend pass up sex with a sex god.” I laugh at that, but quickly sober because I’m not being completely honest. “It was great sex, but it felt . . . different. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t even

know what it was. It feels super cliché to say we had a connection, but that’s what it was. Can I really keep myself unattached?” “Evelyn Grace Hart,” Chloe says sternly. Uh oh. I know I’m in for it. Chloe only says my full name when I’m about to get a lecture. “You are fearless. Fun. Smart. Confident. And sexy as hell. You are going to conquer the world with your makeup line one day. You can do anything you set your mind to—and that certainly includes not falling for a guy in six freaking days.” Taylor nods her head. “What she

said.” “He might not be interested,” I say as a last attempt. They both snort and roll their eyes. “Puh-lease.” I’m out of arguments. Why am I fighting this? I wanted Griff last night; I still want him now. Why can’t we just have a one-week fling? We’ll say good-bye when we graduate with no hurt feelings. We can be mature and adult about this. It can be easy. And do I really want to pass up more sex with a sex god? I abruptly stand. “Where are you going?” Taylor asks. “I have to get ready.” I wave a hand at myself, dressed in my sleepwear of tiny

shorts and a thin tank, my hair in its messy bun, and my makeup free face. “I have a sex god to proposition.” “That’s our girl!”

Chapter 7 ‡ A HUGE OPEN TENT FOR the BBQ is stationed on the main quad just before the class buildings, and the delicious smell of food wafts toward us in the parking lot. Even though we arrived on time, it seems like everyone is already here. We luckily found a spot, although it is farther away than we all would have liked to walk in our shoes. We aren’t the kind of girls who wear flats.

My bright blue espadrilles, unlike last night’s, are actually comfortable. I adjust the thin straps of my light, cotton yellow tank top and make sure my itty-bitty jean shorts look good, and then run my fingers through my loose hair, so that some of the curls fall over one shoulder. Chloe and Taylor look equally amazing— both are wearing tanks and shorts, too. Chloe in hot pink and white and Taylor in coral and navy. Both of them tower over me, even though my wedges are four and a half inches tall. Right after this, we’ll return to our place and change into something different for the bars and dance clubs. We reach the tent, and sure enough,

it’s crowded. Just outside on a makeshift stage, an indie band made up of all college senior guys is playing. A lot of people are already dancing while others are in line for food. I lift my sunglasses up and don’t look around for Griff—I’m trying to be cool, not totally obvious. But it’s hard to not glance around, to wonder if he’s even here. “Let’s grab food, then find a table,” Chloe says. This seems like the wisest decision, and we stand in line. Thankfully, the college people running this particular event keep the food line going. Soon enough, I grab a paper plate and utensils wrapped in a napkin.

There is so much to choose from, and I can eat a lot. All of us can. We may be thin, but we have fierce appetites. I fill my plate up with a hamburger, corn on the cob, and potato salad. The drinks are on the other side of the desserts, and we all opt for the iced tea. We’ll be drinking plenty of alcohol later on, and I don’t want to get too drunk anyway. We turn and face the sea of tables. “Do you see anything?” Taylor asks. I shake my head no. “We’ll find something.” I lead the way with Chloe and Taylor close behind. It really is crowded; I’m not sure if we will find any open spots. I glance toward my left where the band is

playing, thinking that there will be something available since so many are dancing. I hear Taylor and Chloe cough behind me at the same time I feel someone step in front of me. This time I don’t jump in surprise, because I instantly know who it is. “Griff.” He looks hot in a black tee and shorts. Those muscles go on for days, and he smells even better, something fresh and clean and natural. Soap, I think. It’s not cologne. Just soap and water and him. It makes me want to burrow into him and lick him all over. I smile at him. “We’ve got to stop

meeting like this. You stepping out of nowhere like a superhero.” His lips twitch, and then he notices me adjusting my hold on my plate and drink. “Here, let me take that.” “Thanks,” I say, as he takes my stuff with ease. “We were actually looking for a place to sit. Oh, I don’t think you know my best friends, Chloe and Taylor.” Griff nods at them and gestures to a table in the distance toward the right. “We’ve got a spot. Join us.” “That sounds great,” I say and ignore Chloe’s pointed jab in my back. The table is not in full view of everyone, which explains why we missed it. And I can see why Griff and his

friends decided to sit there, away from prying eyes. Hailey Bloom is sitting next to Caleb Fox. I remember when they started dating—it was all we could talk about. I know of Griff ’s other friends, of course. Nick Brady and I had a math class our freshman year, and Jamie McAlister was in my philosophy class when we were sophomores. And we’ve all seen each other at various games, bars, and college parties. We quickly introduce ourselves to the girls we really don’t know. I end up next to Griff with Chloe and Taylor directly across from me. Chloe has Daphne Fox, Nick Brady’s girlfriend, on her other side. Daphne is also an English major and

we’ve had a class or two together. The only time I’ve run into Hailey has been in a bar bathroom. The tiny blonde, Zelda, who is Jamie’s girlfriend, is completely new and seems nice but quieter than all the rest. Jamie, who is on the other side of Taylor, leans over, a devilish smile lighting his face. “Evie.” “Jamie,” I say. Jamie was the one who tried to get Griff to dance with me at the Freshmen Mixer. Obviously Jamie is recalling the same thing, and he’s no doubt wondering why I’m at the table with Griff beside me. “Mystery solved,” Jamie says. I lay a napkin over my lap and glance

at Jamie. “Huh?” “Griff said we needed to save extra spots. And he kept looking around until a few seconds ago when he suddenly got up and hurried off. Silent but Deadly never hurries anywhere.” “Silent but Deadly?” I reach for my iced tea, ignoring the knowing looks on my best friends’ faces. Warmth is spreading through me that Griff not only saved these chairs for us, but was looking for me, too. “You’ll have to forgive him,” Jamie’s girlfriend says. “Jamie’s had too much sugar.” Jamie turns to her, his eyes dipping to her mouth. “I definitely have not had too

much sugar.” He kisses her, a loud, teasing smack that softens. “We try not to let him out much,” Caleb says. Jamie pulls away from his girlfriend to look over at Caleb. “Aw, Fox, you love me. You all do.” Chloe rolls her eyes and reaches for her cheeseburger. “So, are you all going to The Tavern?” “I also heard Blue Oyster is having a special,” Taylor adds. Soon they’re talking about plans for tonight, and I shoot Chloe and Taylor a grateful smile. They totally have my back, and the conversation allows me to turn

slightly to Griff and have some amount of privacy. “Thanks for saving us seats,” I say quietly. “How did you know to grab three?” “You’re always with those two, so I figured you’d be coming with them.” That’s simple enough. I know who his friends are, too. “You were right about that, but thanks for thinking of Chloe and Taylor. You’re not eating?” “It’s too hard,” he says. I stop from grabbing my hamburger. “Why?” “I’m a vegan,” Griff says. “I’m also Jewish.” “Are you Kosher?” I ask.

Griff shakes his head no. “And he’s a health nut.” Jamie leans over. “Constantly on the move, whether it’s running or working at the mechanic shop with his older brother.” Ah. That explains the workroughened hands. “You should also know one more very important thing, Evie,” Jamie says. “It’s about his brother.” “What about his brother?” The whole table, with the exception of me, Taylor, and Chloe, let out a sound that, if said, would be: not this again. “McAlister, let’s not go there,” Griff says. Jamie ignores him. “His brother, Jack,

says he’s a mechanic. But I know that he’s a secret spy. Like James Bond.” I blink, not sure I heard Jamie right. “You’re joking, right?” “Not joking. He’s completely a spy,” Jamie says. “I might not have proven this, but one day I will. Somehow.” “Sure, you will,” Nick says. I laugh, because surely Jamie isn’t serious. But then I catch a look at Jamie’s face. He totally is! “You’re unbelievable,” I say. “Thank you,” Jamie says. “I like to think outside the box.” “McAlister, you’re so outside the box, you might as well be in—” “Now, Brady,” Jamie says to Nick,

“don’t say anything you’ll regret.” Nick just looks at Jamie, then points to Zelda. “I have no idea how you put up with him.” “He’s a catch,” Zelda says, her voice soft and so full of love that it sets off this longing in me. I want that. I want to look at some guy and be so much in love with him that nothing else matters, because I know that he’s completely in love with me, too. I glance at Griff and feel this jolt when I see that his attention is on me. His eyes don’t leave mine, and the air suddenly feels . . . Hot. “But don’t mind me. Continue the

flirt fest you have going on. I’ll just sit here and look pretty,” Jamie says with a wink, before turning his attention back to his girlfriend. “Really,” Griff says under his breath, “we shouldn’t let him out at all.” “He’s funny, but his theories are definitely out there.” I gesture toward my hamburger. “Does it bother you if I’m not a vegetarian?” “Of course not.” Griff leans closer to me. “Everyone else eats meat but Zelda.” “Does your brother?” “Jack’s a vegan, too.” “Oh,” I say, then take a bite of the burger. It’s delicious, but I’m conscious that Griff isn’t eating and I’m more

interested in him than the food. I should ask Griff if he has any plans. I’m definitely not going to ask Griff if he wants to hook up again in front of his friends—they might be talking to each other, but I have a feeling they’re also paying close attention to what’s going on with us. “Are you going out tonight?” Griff nods. “Are you?” “Yeah.” I think over what I should say next; I should play it cool. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” “Maybe.” Ah, so he’s playing it cool, too. I deflate a little. Last night felt so easy between us, but it’s all sorts of awkward right now. And I just don’t want to play

these games. This is a mistake. I should have just left it alone, sex god or no. Griff clears his throat. “Or . . .” I put my burger down and see that he’s turned in his chair to face me, so I do the same. “Or?” “Or we could just go together.” I lick my suddenly dry lips, and his eyes go to my glossy coral lips. “You mean, we can meet somewhere tonight? Plan a certain time and place?” “No, I mean, we can go together.” Griff leans in, his gaze darkening. “As in a date.” “A date?” I can’t help repeating him again, so stunned by his statement. A date is not in the plans. I’m supposed to keep

this casual. Keep it fun. But . . . but . . . a date can mean those things. A date can just be a date. I’ve had plenty of dates that have gone nowhere before. “A date,” Griff says. “Go out with me, Evie.” The more I look into Griff ’s deep brown eyes, the more I want to say yes. And why shouldn’t I? It’s only a date. Nothing serious. “Yes,” I say. “It’s a date.”

Chapter 8 ‡ MY BEST FRIENDS DON’T LAUGH at me when we head back to the car and I tell them of my change of plans. And when we reach our apartment, they gamely sit through me modeling various outfits. Because even though this date doesn’t have to mean anything, I still want to look good. I catwalk back out to the main area in yet another outfit—this one a super short tangerine dress—and strike a pose. Chloe

and Taylor give me a thumbs up, but they’ve pretty much given the previous five outfits their seal of approval. “So, this is the problem,” I say. “I can wear a dress. A skirt. Or I can do skinny jeans.” “No to jeans,” Taylor says. “I could do a new pair of tiny shorts.” Chloe shakes her head. “No. Wear a dress. Not this one, though. You’ve done sexy. You’ve done casual. What about something flirty?” “Definitely flirty,” Taylor says. “And something that will also drive him wild,” I say, thinking of the dresses in my closet.

Chloe and Taylor share a look. “What?” I ask. Chloe smiles wide. “I’m pretty sure that whatever you wear will drive Griff wild.” “Did you see how he looked at her?” Taylor fans herself. I can’t help myself. I need to know. “How did he look at me?” “Like he wanted to eat you up.” “He probably is going to eat her,” Chloe says with a laugh. “Dirty,” I say. “Very dirty.” Chloe just laughs more. “Those looks were hot,” Taylor says. “Super hot. And that’s why you should go with flirty. Teasing. Maybe even

something slightly innocent.” “Slightly innocent.” I tap a finger to my chin, mulling it over. I do have a few dresses that are more on the flirty side. “I could do that new dress, the delicate white with lace-scalloped edges.” “Try it on.” I hurry back into my room and find the dress and shoes. The dress is a basic A-line shape with tank top straps and a black bow around the waist. The shoes, black peep-toes, have hot pink stiletto heels and soles. I love this outfit already and show it off. “Love!” they both yell out. “Now, what will you do with your hair?” Chloe asks.

“I’ll pull my hair back into a high ponytail, and I’ll make sure to keep my makeup simple.” “Not too simple, though,” Taylor says. “I’ll have a pop of color.” I glance at my nail polish and frown. “I have to redo these.” “Like that’ll be a hardship for you,” Chloe says. “You make nail polishes. I’m sure you have something in your arsenal.” “I totally do.” I have not made it a secret from anyone that my ultimate dream is to have my own makeup line one day. I make most of the stuff I wear—I started with nail polishes and name some of the colors after lines from books or

book titles or other fun stuff. But a lot of them come from one of my favorite authors, Jane Austen. “I’ll use the shimmery brown, A Pair of Fine Eyes. Now, what about you two?” “The blue wrap dress. Silver heels. And maybe you can do my nails in a fun way?” Chloe bats her lashes at me. “You know I will. I’m thinking orange and teal. Don’t Call Me Carrot and Fled is that Music will be perfect,” I say. “I know Don’t Call Me Carrot is from Anne of Green Gables. But what is Fled is that Music from?” Chloe asks. “John Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale. You have to read it, you plebe.” I duck and miss the pillow that Chloe tosses my way.

“Taylor?” “Black and white striped skirt and red tank. I’m good with my nails, though.” “So, Taylor and I will head out a little before Griff arrives,” Chloe says. “I’ll text you to see where you’re at, and if we’re not already there, we’ll make our way.” “Griff said he was one of the designated drivers,” I say. He texted me an hour ago to let me know about this. “Won’t he have his friends with him?” “Doubtful. Either he’ll drop them off before he picks you up or they’ll get another ride or call a cab,” Taylor says. Chloe nods her head. “The important thing is that he’s coming to get you, so I wouldn’t worry too much about anything

else.” “You’re right. This is supposed to be fun. Only fun and casual. The date might suck.” “You’ll be able to get your drink on if the date goes into that territory,” Taylor says. “And if it doesn’t . . . just text to let us know not to wait up for you.” I laugh. “I was home before both of you last night, but I’ll let you know where I’m at.” “Good. Now, get your stuff and make my nails pretty.” I mock salute Chloe. “Yes, ma’am.” AT 8:51 P.M .,

MY CELL

phone rings and

Griff ’s name pops up on the screen. I take a moment to take a sip of water so my voice doesn’t emerge as a squeak before answering it. “Hey.” “Hey,” Griff says. “I just parked but I forgot to ask earlier, does your building have one of those buzzers to let people in?” “It’s to the right. But you don’t have to use it. I’ll come down and meet you.” “Evie.” “Yeah?” “This is a date. I’m going to ring your buzzer. And then I’m going to come up to your apartment and pick you up.” My intercom buzzes seconds later, and I let him in. I take the time to give

myself one final check. My cheeks are flushed and rosy, my eyes bright with excitement. I slick on some more pink, strawberry-flavored lip gloss and smooth my hands down my dress, then twist the silver knotted ring on my middle finger back and forth. I’m nervous. I’m never nervous. I just have to get myself under control. It’s a date. I’ve dated before. This is familiar territory. The doorbell rings, and my pulse jumps. I take another deep breath, then make myself slowly walk to the door and open it. As expected, Griff is there. But not at all expected . . . He has flowers.

And not the kind of flowers a girl usually gets—they’re not roses or lilies or anything fancy. They’re wildflowers. Untamed. Vivid colors. Bright purple, poppy-red, sunshine yellow, cobalt blue, vibrant pink, and neon orange. The colors should not go together—not in the slightest—but, for some odd reason, they do. Everything just fits. They’re beautiful. Breathtaking. Stunning. And I haven’t said anything. I haven’t even greeted Griff. But when I force my gaze away from the flowers to Griff ’s eyes, I find that I can’t speak. He’s looking at me as if I’m this undiscovered wildflower.

Griff looks amazingly hot in dark jeans and a white T-shirt. We’re wearing the same color—white—and I bite back a smile at how we almost match again. “You’re beautiful,” he says. Not you look beautiful. But you’re beautiful. I have always been a confident woman—I know I’m beautiful, smart, and creative. But his words make me want to swoon. “Can I come in?” he asks. I nod and step back. I should say something. Break the ice. “You’re early.” That’s what I decide to say? I need to smack myself. “Only by a few minutes,” Griff says, following me into the kitchen.

I reach for a vase and fill it with water, aware of Griff standing by the counter a few feet away. He’s still holding the flowers. I didn’t even take them from him. I blush furiously and reach for them. “Thank you,” I say softly, “for the flowers.” “You’re welcome.” I find a vase in one of the cupboards and arrange the flowers in them. “And thank you for the compliment.” “It wasn’t a compliment.” I stop arranging the flowers to meet his dark gaze. My heart pounds fiercely when he rounds the corner and comes toward me. “It’s a fact,” he says. “You’re beautiful,

Evie.” “Oh.” My face feels like it’s on fire, and I look away. His hand cups my cheek, turning me back to meet him. “I really want to kiss you.” “Okay.” I tilt my head up to oblige him, try to ignore my racing pulse. “Kiss me.” “But . . .” His hand drops away, and he takes a step back. “I’m not going to.” I’m not sure I heard him right. “You’re not?” “This is a date. I’m not going to start off the date by kissing you. That happens at the end.” “But we can start the date off on the

right foot—or on the right kiss.” “Evie—” “Kiss me, Griff.” “Here’s the problem with that.” “I’m listening.” “When I kiss you, I don’t want to stop.” His eyes dip to my mouth and darken. “I want to keep kissing you.” “I don’t have any objections.” He smiles at me, and I practically melt into the floor. I’ve never seen him really smile—a flash, a turn of lips—but he’s never let go. Until right now. I want to taste his smile, to feel his lips curve against me. “But,” he says, “I’m going to remain firm on this.” And then he gently pushes

me away, his gaze still heated. “No kissing until the date is over.” “No kissing?” “None. Not even a brush of lips.” “You’re serious about this?” “Very.” “We’ll just see how long you can last on that one.” “If you know anything about me, then you know that I can last a very, very long time.” Oh boy. He definitely can. But can Griff really resist all my attempts at kissing? I’m not so sure about that, but I’m going to have fun trying. He holds his arm out to me. “Let’s get going.”

I eye his arm, then take it. “Let’s go.” Griff waits for me to lock up, and then we walk down the stairs to his truck outside. I let him open my door for me again and wait for him to get in on the driver’s side. “I didn’t say this before, but you’re hot,” I say. “I want to do way more than kiss you. And my panties? Imagine the tiniest scrap of fabric possible.” He stops at a red light, and a muscle leaps in his jaw. “You’re not going to play fair, are you?” “Are you?” He leans in, his lips a whisper away from me—so close that my eyelids flutter closed and my breath shortens . . .

And he pulls away. “Not at all,” he says. “You’ll get kissed, but not until the end.” He really means it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun and tempt him to kiss me a lot sooner. Because I have plans to kiss him way before the date ends. And I have no plans on stopping until very, very, very late in the night. “So, where are we headed?” I ask. “Church Street, right? That’s what everyone was talking about earlier. And it’s Jamie’s last night working at The Vermont Pub & Brewery, so I figured we’d go there. Eventually.” “Eventually?”

We stop at a red light, and Griff glances at me. “We can go there sooner, but I was thinking about dinner. Unless you’re stuffed from the BBQ?” “I can eat.” Another thought occurs to me. “Earlier, you said you were the designated driver . . .” “I still am.” Griff starts driving again. “But Jamie’s not drinking, and Zelda doesn’t drink. And Jack said he’d help with rides, too.” We crest down a small hill that leads downtown. “What about you? Any siblings?” “No brothers. Two sisters. Meredith is the oldest. She’s twenty-five.” “That’s how old Jack is, too. Until his

birthday in September.” “Mer’s birthday is also in September. Hers is on the twentieth.” “Jack’s on September first. So, it’s Meredith, you, and—” “Vanessa is the youngest and just turned eighteen in April. Mine is on July seventh. When’s yours?” “November eleventh.” Griff slows down to let a car pull out from a gas station. “Is Vanessa still in high school?” “She’s a senior. Her prom is the same weekend of my graduation. My family won’t be here until graduation day.” Griff glances over at me. “Are you okay with that?” I nod, but think it’s sweet of him to

ask and show concern about my feelings. “Of course. It’s only a dinner and a senior prom is a big thing. Even though I puzzle them at times, my family has my back.” “Why do you puzzle them?” “Oh. Well.” I nibble on my lower lip. Griff really does catch everything I say. “It’s nothing bad or anything. Mer and Vanessa are very logical thinkers. Mer’s a stockbroker and Vanessa is going into engineering. It’s not as if I’m bad at science; I actually like science and math. But I love reading more. I guess it just makes me the quintessential middle child. Mer always follows the rules; Vanessa breaks them. And me? I make my own.”

Griff smiles. “But,” I emphasize, “just so you know, middle kids get the worst rap.” “So do the babies in the family.” I laugh. “Please. You babies are spoiled.” “And you middle kids are supposedly attention hogs.” “Me? An attention hog?” I snort. “Never.” “You’re really not, though. An attention hog, I mean.” “I do have a big personality, though,” I say. “I talk a lot, as you clearly know.” “And I talk too little.” Griff pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “It’s just . . . I’m not like that. I won’t ever be

talkative. I’m not outgoing like you are.” I’m not sure why I didn’t see this before or make the connection that Griff ’s not talking was a sign of being shy. Mer’s the same way. Quiet and shy that sometimes comes across as aloofness. “That’s okay. And trust me, you’ll be wishing in no time at all for me to shut up,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Not at all. I like hearing you talk. I always do,” he says, pulling into an offstreet parking lot where he finds an empty spot and pulls in. My brain freezes on one particular part of his sentence. He always liked hearing me talk? From the very beginning? He kills the engine and gets out,

hurrying over to my side. Griff opens the door and I step down. “Besides,” he says, “the more you talk, the more I don’t have to.” I laugh. “Nice try. But now that I know that’s your plan of attack, I’m going to counter it. Prepare yourself. I’m going to ask questions over dinner. And drinks. And probably later on . . . if you get lucky, that is.” “I’m only going to kiss you, Evie. At the end of the date. Nothing else.” “So you’ve said. Many times, in fact.” I smile as he takes my hand in his much bigger one. “I don’t know who you’re trying to convince when you say that you’re only going to kiss me at the end and

not a moment before—me or . . . yourself.” “You can try to tempt me otherwise, but I’m very good at resisting.” Challenge accepted.

Chapter 9 ‡ SINCE GRIFF PARKS AT THE bottom of Church Street, we don’t immediately hit the marketplace. We pause at the walkway, and down past a Greek gyro shop, I see college-aged students going in and out of a dance club. The air is humid and there’s no breeze, but it’s not completely uncomfortable. After the long winter, any sort of warm weather is welcomed. Griff tugs on my hand, and we cross the street, passing a pizza joint and a

tattoo parlor. Rounding the corner, we hit the familiar cobblestoned streets of Church Street. “It’s busy, even for a Saturday night,” I say. “All the colleges graduate around the same time, so there’s that,” Griff says. “And it’s still pretty early.” “And it’s a typical date night.” His fingers tighten on mine. “It is.” “We might not be able to get into any of the places.” “We’ll find something,” he says confidently. Most of the shops have already closed, but music streams out from the various bars and restaurants we pass. It’s not cacophonous in the slightest.

It somehow all flows together in an unexpected way. “So, what are you in the mood for?” I ask. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I thought we’d walk and see what our choices are . . . and then pick whatever we liked best.” “No firm idea?” “None whatsoever.” Griff and I stop as a family comes out of Sweetwaters, one of the restaurants on Church Street. “You sound surprised.” “I am. I always thought that you seemed like you’d had a plan and weren’t . . . a ‘let’s just go with the flow’ type.”

“I’m usually not,” Griff admits, turning to face me. “I do have a routine, but I think most of us do. You always came into class with your iced coffee— five minutes ahead. Not too early, not too late. There was one week you missed sophomore year when we had American Lit in the fall. I think you had the flu?” I nod in response. He noticed me like that? He remembered when I was out? “I do like my coffee,” I say with a laugh. “And every time I arrived in class, you were already there, Mr. Punctual. I’m surprised you didn’t make the boat cruise.” “I’m glad I didn’t,” he says with quiet intensity.

My throat goes tight with longing; my heartbeat buzzes in my ears. “Me, too.” “See anything you like here?” I look at the menu posted outside, even though I’m pretty familiar with it. “Sweetwaters is always great. It looks crowded, though.” And I don’t want to go into a restaurant just yet. “Why don’t we keep walking? Maybe we should look at all the options and then decide like you suggested.” “Sounds good to me. I do have some good ideas.” “True. You do have some good ideas,” I tease back. Griff playfully nudges me, and I can’t help but grin in response. Everything

about him is surprising me. Who knew that Griff had a sense of humor? What else don’t I know about him? And does he think this about me, that I’m not like he expected? We don’t know each other—well, we know each other that way, in the carnal sense. But every preconceived notion I had of Griff is being shattered, and I can’t help but think about that night freshman year. It seems like Griff likes me presently, but why did he say that about me back then? Why has he acted as if he doesn’t like me every time our paths have crossed? Why did it take one week until we’re supposed to graduate, to . . . talk? More

than talk, really. I don’t have any of the answers, and I’m not sure I will ever get all of the answers. But I know one thing: I’m not going to bring up the past and ruin this date. Maybe . . . maybe I just don’t want to know that all of this—whatever this is— is just some dream. And I don’t want to wake up. CHURCH STREET HAS ALWAYS BEEN one of my favorite places in Burlington—and not just because of the shops. Although that is a huge point in its favor. But there’s a feeling about this place, one of vibrancy and warmth and fun that I’ve always been drawn to.

When I’m having a bad day or need to clear my head, I’ll often come here and spend a mindless few hours wandering through stores. Some people go to the spa to relax. But me? I love shopping— both buying of actual things and just browsing. During the four years I’ve been at Green College, I’ve gone to Church Street on numerous occasions, both with my friends and by myself. There’s a familiarity about the place that never gets old or tiresome; I love coming here and rediscovering favorites and finding new ones. And, wow, I might actually— “What are you thinking about?” Griff asks as we stop in front of the busy Ben & Jerry’s.

I move away from the ice cream store as people leave and step closer to a nearby bench. “I was just thinking how much I love Church Street, and I kind of realized that I’ll miss it. It’s funny . . . in a way.” “How so?” “Because I’ve been dying to get back to New York. I hardcore love that city. It’s in my blood. And it’s so . . .” “Crowded.” “There are a lot of people,” I say. “But I love that. I love being in the thick of things. Of feeling all that energy. And you know, New York City has its boroughs and neighborhoods and that becomes your own community.” “Like Little Italy?”

“Yeah, like that.” We start walking again, our fingers grazing before Griff takes hold of my hand. “I’m from Manhattan, and my family lives right in the heart of it. My extended family lives either on the same block or within a few miles. The city isn’t so big that I feel like I’m alone, but I still can get away and feel like I’m the only person in the world. Does that make sense?” Griff glances at me. “How did you end up here?” “Here?” “Here. Vermont. Green College. It just seems like you love New York so much that I’m kind of surprised you ended up here.”

“I wanted something different. An adventure, I guess. And when I visited Green College, I had a feeling. What? Don’t give me that look.” “I didn’t give you any look.” “Yes, you did. It was this kind of look.” I let go of his hand as I turn to him and make a disbelieving expression that perfectly mirrors the one Griff gave me. “You don’t believe me.” “I didn’t say that. But . . . a feeling? You went to Green because—” “Because it felt right. When we visited the college—and trust me, we visited a lot of colleges and universities— there was a click that happened here that didn’t happen anywhere else.”

“A click?” “Yeah. A click. You never had one of those?” I cross my arms, studying Griff closely, but he doesn’t give away anything. “I can’t believe it. You haven’t? You’ve never had a feeling about something? “When I stepped out of the car with my parents when we toured Green’s campus, I knew. I hadn’t even set a foot onto the lawn. It happened instantly. I unclicked my seat belt, got out, and hadn’t even shut the car door when it hit me. Green College felt like home. I just knew it was going to be where I went to college. So I applied for early decision and got in. I didn’t have to think twice. Up until that visit? I always thought I’d

be going to NYU or Columbia. But I had a feeling and I always trust my instincts. You’ve really never had that?” Griff stares at me for a long moment. “Three times,” he says in a low voice. “I went with my instinct last night.” I blush, remembering what happened. “What about the other two?” Griff turns away, his brow furrowed. We’re nearing the “top” of Church Street, and we cross to the other side. “I ignored the other two.” “What were they?” “Evie,” Griff says quietly, “I’m really not in the mood to talk about the other two.” “Okay,” I say, slightly hurt for some

reason. “One of them is . . .” Griff stops in front of an Irish pub where we can hear live music playing. “It’s not great. Both of them aren’t, actually. I don’t want to ruin things.” “Okay,” I say again and give myself an internal shake. This is supposed to be fun. “We won’t talk about it then. So, you’re not the kind of guy who goes by instincts and feelings and stuff.” “No, I’m not. I think things through. I try to view all the angles before I make a decision.” “Except for last night,” I remind him. “Except for that.” Griff eyes the menu at the pub. “Does this interest

you?” I love this pub but there aren’t many vegan options from what I can see. It also looks crowded and noisy. “No,” I say and tug on Griff ’s hand. “Let’s keep walking.” “So, what are your plans after graduation?” Griff asks after a long moment. “I’m returning to New York.” “I mean . . . are you going to live back at home?” “No,” I say. Despite that I’m nothing like my sisters, we get along. We don’t share our deepest, private secrets but we’re still pretty close. “I’m going to crash at Meredith’s place for a few days while I apartment hunt. I’ll be working at

Transfixed as a paid intern, if you can believe that.” “What’s Transfixed?” I’m not surprised Griff doesn’t know of the company. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of a guy who is up on the latest trends. “Transfixed is this new makeup and skin care line that broke out in the last six months. Super popular. Lily Harlow founded it. You know who that is, right?” “You’d have to be from Mars not to know who Lily Harlow is.” “Right? Sole heir to the Harlow fortune? She started this company. Transfixed is going to be huge, and I get to be a part of that.”

“Is that what you want to do?” “Well, not for my whole career. I’d love to have my own makeup and skin care company. Start out small. Freelance. Build it. See this nail polish? I made it. It’s called A Pair of Fine Eyes.” “You like Pride and Prejudice?” “Yeah. That’s one of my favorite books. I can never just choose one favorite.” I catch Griff ’s curious, arrested look and feel myself blush. “Secret’s out, I guess. I’m a huge bookworm.” “Well, like I always say, you can’t trust someone who doesn’t read.” “Exactly. What about you?” “Like you, I can’t choose. I read everything.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Everything? Even romances?” “Yes.” Griff just gives me a look. “You have a problem with that?” “I love them,” I say. “Well, so do I.” I’m not sure I believe him. “Name one you love.” He scoffs. “That’s impossible. I can’t name just one. But I like Loretta Chase, Nalini Singh, and Nora Roberts, to name a few.” Some of my favorite authors, too. “Hmmm. I might sort of believe you. Because any true reader can never just name one favorite book. We have many. Depending on the day or my mood, the

list changes.” Huh. Who would have thought that Griff would read romances and like them? Not me, for sure. I stop in front of a food cart that’s selling tacos and soft drinks. “Why don’t we try this place?” “You want to get something from here and not a restaurant?” “Tacos sound great. And they have vegan options. While sitting down and grabbing a bite sounds nice, it’ll take forever to get seated and then get food. Besides, I have a feeling about this taco cart.” “You do, huh?” “Super good feeling as in that chicken avocado soft taco needs to be in my belly.

Unless you would like something more substantial?” “This works for me, too,” Griff says. “We can eat and walk or sit on a bench. We’ll be inside for the rest of the night, and it’s nice to not have to be inside right now.” “Okay, tacos it is.” Griff and I look over the menu one more time before stepping up to place an order. Griff gets a bean taco without cheese or sour cream and adds pico de gallo. I opt for the taco that caught my eye, and we also get two bottled waters. I take a moment to pour some extra hot taco sauce on mine. “Your mouth is going to be on fire,” Griff says. “Walk or sit?”

“I can eat and walk.” “Let’s do that, then.” I have perfected the fine art of eating tacos. No messiness here. And the chicken avocado taco is absolutely delicious and hot as hell. In other words, it’s perfect. And while my mouth is definitely on fire and I take a huge drink of water—ignoring Griff ’s I told you so expression—it’s something I don’t regret eating. We throw our taco wrappers and dirty napkins in a nearby trashcan. I finish my water, and we put the emptied bottles in a recycling bin. “So, what about you? What are your plans?” “I’m going for my Master’s in Library Science at UVM in the fall,” Griff says.

“So, you want to be a librarian?” “Yes.” “Any specific kind? A treasure hunter kind like on that TV show?” Griff laughs, a rich, full sound. “No, I’m not going to be that sort of librarian who treasure hunts.” “Damn,” I say. “Because picturing you in Indiana Jones’ gear is hot.” “Indiana Jones wasn’t a librarian.” “Shh, don’t ruin the moment.” “I promise if I ever go to search for the Holy Grail and fight off Nazis that you’ll be the very first person to know.” I laugh. “If you’re not going to be a treasure hunter kind of librarian, what kind do you want to be?”

“The regular kind who works in a library.” Griff pauses for a moment and stares down Church Street, then drags a hand through his thick brown hair. “Actually, a researcher.” “Aha! I knew it! You do want to be a treasure hunter librarian.” Just then we reach The Vermont Pub & Brewery and the doors open at the top of the stairs. Caleb steps out and gestures for us to join him. “Come on, you two. We’ve got two tables by the bar, and everyone else is already here.” “You want to go in?” Griff asks me. “Yeah, let’s go.” We follow Caleb into the bar—there’s no cover charge tonight—and get to the

tables that they’ve managed to save. Jamie’s working behind the bar and Zelda is sitting on a stool at the counter. When she sees us, she gets up and comes over. Chloe and Taylor aren’t here yet, so I take a sec to text them before I grab an empty chair next to Griff with Hailey on my left and Daphne across from me. Daphne grabs Zelda’s hand and pulls her down to the spot next to her. “What do you guys want?” Caleb asks. “Give me one of these fruity things,” Daphne says, holding up her empty glass. “With extra maraschino cherries.” “I’ll have the same,” Hailey says. Griff turns to me. “What about

you?” “I’ll have what they’re having.” “Ohhh!” Daphne leans forward. “We should do shots. Celebration shots for graduation.” “You’re not graduating,” Nick says with a smile. “You and Hailey still have two years left.” “Gah! I know!” Daphne groans. “But we can celebrate your graduation with shots.” “What’s the poison?” Nick asks. “Lemon drop shots,” I say. “Straight up vodka,” Nick says with a nod of approval. “I’m impressed. Caleb, I’ll help with the drinks.” “Me too,” Griff says, and they both

get up and join Caleb at the bar. Hailey flicks her hair behind her shoulder and smiles adoringly at Caleb, then reaches for a glass of iced water in front of her. “They’ll be there for a while. I bet they have a beer—well, Nick and Caleb will.” “Oh, for sure,” Daphne says with a firm nod. “But this is perfect because we can talk the shit. Evie, did you know that Zelda and Jamie are going to Australia?” “You are?” Zelda nods. “Yeah, we’re going to start there and backpack our way through some other countries.” “For how long?” “I’m not sure,” Zelda says. “We don’t

have a specific timeframe. We’re just going to go with it.” “That’s awesome,” I say. “Last summer, I had an internship in London, and it was so much fun. A lot of work, definitely—but completely worth it.” “What was the internship for?” Daphne asks. “It was working for a makeup company. I worked in various departments over the summer. Everything from the mailroom to getting coffee to marketing to the launch of a new line. And it’s completely cruelty free and organic, which was really great to see, because that’s what I want to do with my —”

“Wait a sec,” Daphne says as she leans forward. “You want to do your own line?” “That’s the goal,” I say. “Okay, that’s awesome. And you need to tell us more.” SOON AFTER THE SECOND ROUND of shots —I didn’t have any since I was still drinking my fruity cocktail—I decide that kissing Griff isn’t going to be enough. And that there is no way I’m going to wait one minute more to have his mouth on mine. It seems like everyone is here now. Taylor and Chloe arrived an hour ago. Taylor is flirting with the other cute

bartender and Chloe is sitting next to one of the senior baseball players. And Griff ’s friends are mostly at the table, although Zelda is sitting back at the bar so she can be closer to Jamie. Nick brings another round of shots to the table. From the light brown coloring, it looks like it might be whisky. I’ve never liked the taste, so I shake my head no when Nick offers me one. I get up and motion for Griff to join me. “Let’s get a different shot.” I’m not drunk, but I’ve got a great buzz going on. I order a lemon drop shot from Jamie and wait for him to make it. Griff passes on an offer for water, but watches me with those dark, dark eyes of

his. “You okay?” he asks. “I’m great. I know my limits. After this shot, I’m done.” And because I’m curious, I turn toward Griff. “You don’t drink at all?” “I’ve had a drink now and then, but I’ve never really liked it so I stopped. I figure that if I don’t like it, there’s no reason to do it.” “Plus,” Jamie says, as he slides my shot to me, “Griff always made the pucker face like he’d tasted something sour when he drank alcohol.” Griff pays for my drink. “And that, too.” I don’t take the shot right away, but

hold onto it and the lemon wedge. “I’m assuming you never did a body shot then.” “Definitely not.” An idea takes root and doesn’t let go. “Come closer.” Griff just looks at me. “Why?” “Just come here.” His gaze darts around the crowded room and back to the bar. Jamie’s already moved off to another customer and Zelda is talking to Hailey and Caleb. I immediately get the sense that Griff doesn’t like attention and doesn’t want to feel like people could be watching him. I wonder at this. Last night, anyone could have interrupted us on the dock.

Could have seen us. But maybe it was different for some reason. And maybe Griff likes it but doesn’t want to admit to it yet. “No one’s watching,” I say. “But, wait, hold on.” I grab Griff ’s hand and work our way through the crowd to the small hallway where the restrooms are. We pass them and round the corner where there’s a small hidden alcove. The noise lessens somewhat, and we’re completely alone. Griff leans against one wall. “Can I ask you a question?” Griff tenses for a moment, then nods. “Can I do a body shot on you?” Whatever he was expecting me to ask,

it wasn’t this. He blinks a few times. “A . . . what?” “A body shot,” I say, coming closer to him. “You don’t drink, but I do. Let me do one on you. I wanted to do one back there.” I point to the bar and decide to broach the subject. “But I think you don’t like that sort of thing.” “Sort of thing?” “Doing stuff in front of other people. Like body shots. Or kissing.” “I’m not a—” “You’re shy.” I step even closer, my body brushing his. “I like that about you. But you weren’t so shy last night.” “Last night was . . . different.” “Tonight is different, too.”

He glances at the shot in my hand. “What does this entail exactly?” “Just me doing a shot off you. It’s pretty simple, really.” Griff stares at my mouth for a long moment. “No kissing on the mouth.” “I promise. No kissing on the mouth,” I say easily. And then I reach for his belt buckle.

Chapter 10 ‡ “WHAT—” “Shhh,” I say. “No one is going to come back here. It’s just us.” “But this is not first date rules.” “Screw the rules,” I say and press my free hand against his erection. Griff hisses out a breath. “I want to make you feel good. And I don’t think you’ve ever had this kind of blowjob before.” “I’ve never had a blowjob,” he says,

then immediately clamps his mouth shut, as if he’s regretting this slip of tongue. I’m floored. Griff is just such a sexy beast that I thought he had covered all the bases, especially the blowjob one. “Never?” “Never.” It’s dark, but not that dark. I see the dull red that strikes Griff ’s cheekbones. He’s . . . embarrassed? This slight show of vulnerability softens something inside of me. I want to make this memorable. “Well,” I say, “never is going to be a thing of the past. You want to know what I’m going to do to you?” “No.” A beat. “Yes.” I don’t unzip his jeans, don’t put my

hands on his cock, don’t do anything but use my words. “Your jeans look kind of tight right here on your cock. Like your cock wants to be free. I’m going to lower your zipper. Slowly, so slowly, you’ll feel the teeth of the metal on your boxer briefs. It’ll almost feel like my teeth are grazing you. Sharp, but not sharp. But my mouth won’t be anywhere near your cock.” “Where will it be?” “On your neck. You’ll bend a little so I can reach it. But my lips will whisper along your skin, my tongue will dart out to taste you. And when I’m licking that pounding pulse right there, I’ll free your cock. It’ll be hard. So very hard. And it’ll

strain toward my hand, wanting me to grasp it. Wrap around it. And pull.” Griff takes in a deep breath, his hips rocking against mine. “And will you?” “I’ll wrap my fist around you so tight it’ll feel like you’re in me. Remember how that was? How that felt? I can tell you how it felt for me. You were thick. Hot. Full. You filled me up. And you’re so big. Didn’t you feel that? That moment where you pushed inside and I tightened all around you. How wet I was. How you stretched me, how your cock looked thrusting in and out.” “Evie,” he growls. “Touch me.” I don’t. “I’ll take your pre-cum and slick my hand up. You’ll thrust into my

fist, wanting more. Looking at my mouth, at these pink, pink lips of mine, and think how they’d look wrapped around your cock.” “They’ll look damn good.” “I’d get down on my knees. Maybe you’d even push me down to the floor. Because you’d need me so much.” Griff ’s hands go to my shoulders. Push. “Get on your knees, Evie.” “Yes, like that.” I lower to the ground, still holding onto the shot and lemon wedge. “What else?” “Do what you said.” “Tell me. Say it.” “Undo my belt.” I loosen the belt and leave it gaping

open. “Lower the zipper. Slowly.” It goes down like he wants. Like I want. “Not that slow,” Griff says. “A little faster. Evie.” His eyes close as the metal teeth of the zipper rub against him, and his body rocks toward me. “Take me out.” I do. And wait. “Your hand. On me.” I put my hand on him. Another growl. “Evie.” “Tell me.” “You know what I want.” “Tell me,” I say. A drop of pre-cum beads at his tip. “You’re already starting.”

Griff opens his eyes, struggling for control. “People might see us.” “It’s private.” “Not that private.” I let the pre-cum land on my fingertip. “Maybe someone will come upon us. What will they think, Griff? Seeing me on my knees like this? Will they see my mouth wrapped around you?” More pre-cum leaks from his cock. “You do like that,” I say in soft wonder. “You like the idea that we might be discovered.” “I don’t.” “Last night on the docks, anyone could have seen us. Your fingers were in

me. Anyone could walk by us now. My fingers are on you.” “You’re right.” He groans in defeat. “I do like it. I need your mouth.” “Where?” I bring my mouth to his tip, but don’t touch him. “Do you want me to lick?” “Yes.” A tiny lick. “Maybe more?” I ask. “Suck me.” “Just the tip?” “More.” “Tell me.” “Tell you?” Griff lets out a breath. “You want the words, Evie? I’ll give you the words. I want that sweet, hot, dirty

mouth on my cock. I want you to take me in. All the way in. I want to fill you so deep your eyes water. Can you take me like that?” “I’ll take you so deep,” I promise. “I want that body shot. On my cock. Like you said.” “Yes,” I breathe out. “You’re going to love it. You’re going to take me. Hard. You’ll make these sounds, like you’re dying to come, but you can’t. You can’t touch yourself. Because the only one who is going to touch that pussy is me. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll suck that pretty clit of yours. I’ll give you my cock. Fill you deep. And you’ll come. And come. With my name on your lips.”

“Griff.” “Yeah. Just like that. Now take that body shot.” I’ve totally unleashed a sex monster. And I like it. I throw back the shot, then suck the lemon wedge. I drop the shot glass to the ground and suck his cock in my mouth. “Fuck,” he says. “So good. More.” I give it to him. I take him deep. Deeper. Exhale through my nose as he touches the back of my throat. I slide him free, licking my tongue along the pulsing vein in his cock. Lightly, I run my fingers against his balls. I lick his cock, swirling my tongue around and around and around his tip, before sucking him back

deep. His hands go to my head, and he starts to fuck my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, and his pace falters for a moment. I’m so wet and needy, and I need to come so badly. I need him to give it to me like I’m giving it to him. I make a sound around him, a needy one, and his whole body tightens. “Take me,” he says. I feel him starting to pulse, and I go harder. Deeper. He tries to move away, but I grab his butt, letting my nails bite into him. A silent message: You’re not going anywhere, because I’m going to swallow every last drop. Because I know—I know—he wants me to take it.

I want to take it. And then he lets go. Hot, thick, and I drink it in. I take everything Griff has to give. I lap him up, then slide his cock free. Griff puts himself back together, and I get up off the ground. I smile when Griff pulls down his shirt to cover the front of his jeans. But I stop smiling when Griff comes to me and hauls me to him. “How wet are you?” he asks. I bring his hand down the front of my body. “Find out for yourself.” “You need to come, don’t you?” His hand slips under the bottom of my dress and rubs on top of my panties. I arch into him. “Don’t tease. It’s not —”

He rubs the fabric against my clit. “It’s not, what?” “Nice.” He pushes my panties to the side and his fingers sweep along my inner lips. “Just think, Evie. This is my cock. Rubbing against you. Thrusting in you. Filling you.” “Griff.” His thumb skims my clit. “You need this.” “Yes.” “Say it.” He grazes his teeth along my shoulder. “I need this.” “You want me to give it to you.” “I want you to give it to me.”

“Fast.” “Fast.” “It won’t be enough, though,” Griff says. “You’ll want more.” “I’ll need more,” I say. “So, you’ll come back with me.” He rubs my clit, a little harder, more pressure, and stars shoot across my eyes. “I’ll go wherever you want. Just . . . don’t . . . stop.” “You’ll stay the night.” “I’ll . . .” “You’ll stay the night, Evie. You’ll stay in my bed. And we’re going to take each other. Over and over and over again.” “Griff.”

“My cock in you,” he says. “Think of that. Picture it. Imagine what can happen. What will happen.” “I—” “Say yes,” he says. “Only say yes.” “Yes.” “Good girl.” And then he puts his fingers on me, in me, giving me exactly what I need. Making me come. But he’s right. It’s not enough. I need more. I want more. I turn to him and he looks at me as if I might bolt in the other direction. But I think that even if I do that he’d give chase—that he would catch me. And I don’t want to play any more games tonight.

I want him. So when he offers up his hand, I take it. And I don’t look back. SOMEHOW WE MAKE IT BACK to Griff ’s place without tearing our clothes off and having sex in his truck. Don’t get me wrong. I definitely thought about it a lot. I kept sliding Griff glances and toyed with the idea of touching him. Playing with him. Sucking him. But I didn’t. Instead, I fantasized and felt my nipples harden even more . . . my thighs clenching tighter as wetness soaked my thin panties . . . and the way my dress

stuck to me. An unwelcome barrier like last night. The paper-thin material, usually feather-light upon my skin, became iron weights around me. My lingerie too binding. I feel as if I’m being reduced to my most primal being. Griff parks in the driveway at his place and turns off his truck. My heavy breathing fills the silent air, and I fist my hands, suddenly wishing that I wasn’t so expressive. I wish I could play it cool and collected, as if sex with Griff is no big deal. But, damn it, I can’t. I want this too much. I want him too much. I dare a glance at him. Partially to see

what he’s doing. But mostly because I can’t keep my eyes off of him. How did I deny myself so long? I want to really learn the shape of him, trace the dips and bulges—especially one bulge in particular —very carefully. I want to know if his heart is beating as fast as mine. I want to know everything about him. “Evie,” he says in a low growl, his eyes carefully staring ahead. “If we don’t get inside that house, I’m two seconds away from fucking you here.” An overwhelming, demanding need slams me, and wow, I would not have any complaints about hot, dirty sex in his truck. I should get out and head to the house. But I don’t.

His hands unclench and clench hard on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “I mean it.” “Promise?” He doesn’t wait. He hauls me over to his side of the truck and slides his seat as far back as it can go. It’s still tight quarters. Very tight. With so little room to maneuver, it causes us to be pressed together. He cages me in, but the odd thing is that I don’t feel imprisoned or trapped. But then I stop thinking when Griff cups the back of my neck and kisses me hot and hard. I rock into him and he presses against me, and I need him in me. There’s no time for clothes to be

removed. It would be nearly impossible. I get my hands between our bodies and press down to his jeans. I manage to unbuckle him and his cock pops free. He is definitely ready, and I squeeze what I can of him. Griff groans and then nips at my bottom lip. I gasp at the slight sting of pleasure and my grip loosens around his cock. His mouth lets go of mine and travels silky hot kisses down the line of my throat. My head lolls back, and I reach out blindly toward my clutch, to where I placed the condoms just in case. I manage to get it open, and that is a miracle in itself considering all I want to focus on are Griff ’s kisses and getting his cock

inside me. When I find the condom, it feels as if I’ve found the last golden ticket. Hurriedly, I get the condom out and put it on Griff ’s thick, long length. I push my panties to the side and Griff grabs my hand. I let go and pull free. Even in the dark shadows of the truck, I can see my slick wetness coating my fingers. He brings my hand to his mouth and sucks each finger one by one. The slide of his tongue and the graze of his teeth makes it clear what he’d be doing if he was eating me out. Seriously. Sex monster unleashed. I whimper with my need. I can’t take anymore of this. I need him inside me.

Now. I dig my nails into his shoulders and lean forward. My mouth hovers by his ear, and I can’t resist nipping his earlobe. His breath catches, and he stills for one long moment. “Please,” I say. “Please, Griff.” And I nip him again. Harder this time. He grabs my hips and his cock enters me in one swift motion. He’s thick and hard, and even as wet as I am, it takes me a moment to adjust to him. His cock pulses in me, and I can’t help but move. My lips skate kisses across his jaw until I reach his mouth. Our kiss is primal. Possessive. A mutual claiming on both of our ends.

His tongue parries with mine as he thrusts hard in me. It’s fast and furious, and in no time at all, I’m coming with a shout of his name, and his soon follows. I’m boneless. I’m not sure I can move, but the problem is solved easily enough. After Griff removes himself from me and takes care of the condom, he makes sure that my breasts are tucked back in the dress before he opens the truck door. Just like the night before, he effortlessly carries me into the house and up to his room. And he proceeds to show me yet again just how much he wants me. This time, slower and more luxuriously. The last thing I remember is him dropping a

kiss on my nose, which is ridiculously adorable, and then me losing the battle to sleep.

Chapter 11 Tuesday, Five Days until Graduation ‡ MMMMMM . COFFEE. SLOWLY, THE DELICIOUS aroma drifts to me, and I wake up, still tired. I can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads across my face. No wonder since I’ve had quite the workout. Best way to exercise ever. The door to Griff ’s room opens, and he enters with a soft smile. A coffee cup

is in one hand, but that’s not what makes my heart stutter in my chest. Glasses. Griffin Sinclair wears glasses. Be still my heart. “What’s the look for?” he asks. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I say. “Not all the time,” he says. “Mostly for reading, and sometimes if my eyes feel gritty and tired.” “Geez,” I say, bouncing slightly on his bed. “I wonder why you would be tired. It’s not like you’ve been doing anything of late.” “I know. It’s a complete mystery.” “A joke! I never thought I’d live to see

the day,” I say sort of kiddingly. “I am funny,” he says with a slight growl. “Uh-huh. That growl in your voice is full of the LOLs.” Griff comes toward me, coffee in hand. “If you think I’m growly, you should hear my brother. And this coffee is for you.” I take it from him. “Ah. Sweet. I could have come down for it, though.” “Ah.” Griff rubs the back of his head, a dull flush appearing on his cheekbones. “So, everyone is downstairs in the kitchen.” “Who’s everyone?” “Jamie, Caleb, Nick. The girls: Hailey,

Daphne, and Zelda. Kai and Dylan. And Katelyn.” I take a sip from my coffee. “Who’s Katelyn?” “She’s a friend of the girls. She used to come to the library a lot. She, um, used to have a crush on me.” That so doesn’t surprise me, because just look at him and his hotness. “Well. Duh. You are quite crush-worthy. So, nothing ever happened?” “Nothing.” “You didn’t like her back?” His dark brown eyes meet mine. “No. It was only a crush on her end, nothing serious, as she told me.” “She told you?”

“She . . . got very drunk one night a few weeks ago and confessed that she used to have a crush on me.” “That takes courage,” I say. “I mean, even though it was in the past, it’s still kind of hard to admit you like someone. I wonder what made her do it.” “Alcohol. Lots of alcohol,” Griff says. “But in all seriousness, even if she had approached me back then—when she still had her crush, I mean—and had asked me out, I would have said no.” “Why?” “You see, I liked this girl, but I didn’t know how to tell her. I was sure she hated me and that if I said anything, she wouldn’t believe me. For good reason,

too.” “Griff.” My heart skips a few beats, and I lean over to grab his hand. “Let’s not talk about the past right now. Let’s not focus on the future. Let’s focus on the now.” “I can do that,” he says after a long moment. “But, Evie, I think I should let you know this: I want more than just sex with you.” “It’s only been a few days, Griff,” I say. “We should just keep this light and easy.” “Let’s not focus on the future,” he says. “That’s what you said, right?” I nod, but feel miserable all the same. It’s so much easier said than done.

Wanting more might turn out terrible for us both. How can heartbreak be avoided if we become involved? “And you said: Let’s focus on the now. So let’s do that. Right now, I want more. I want to know you, Evie. I want you to know me.” Griff holds out his hand to me. “What do you want?” I stare at his outstretched hand. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not one who likes to live with regrets. I don’t avoid things because it might be too hard, too hurtful. I go after what I want. I take risks. I put my coffee cup down on the nearby nightstand and then take Griff ’s hand. I let him pull me to my feet, naked as the day I was born. He lets go of me

long enough that I can put on the white dress I wore last night and pull my wild curls back in a low ponytail. I smile at him and take his hand once more. “Let’s focus on the now.” WHEN WE ARRIVE IN THE kitchen, all heads turn to us. None of them look surprised to see me. “Pancakes?” Caleb asks. “Well, I’m never one to turn down pancakes,” I say. “And,” Hailey says, sitting on one of the kitchen stools, “Caleb makes the best chocolate chip pancakes.” Daphne pauses in slicing the strawberries. “He totally does.”

“It’s why he’s always on kitchen duty.” Jamie looks at Caleb. “You know, Fox, you really make that apron work for you. I especially like the frills.” “You’re the one who gave it to me as an early birthday present.” Caleb adjusts the front of the white apron with frills along the hem. It shows an angry chicken with a butcher knife that says Mother Clucker. “I didn’t want you to cry in your pillow if I didn’t wear it.” Jamie sighs dramatically, his blue eyes dancing. “You know me too well. But you could really start a pancake empire.” Caleb merely laughs at that and starts to set the batter to the griddle. “Grab a seat,” Nick says from the

round table. It’s pretty full with Kai, his girlfriend, a cute redhead named Steph, and Katelyn. But there’s an empty chair and Katelyn solves the problem by getting up. She definitely looks uncomfortable. “I need to get a drink,” Katelyn says. Curiously, Dylan keeps his gaze on her as she gets up. He turns to Nick and lowers his voice. “What’s her name?” “Katelyn Donovan, but she goes by Kate.” “She single?” Nick gives Dylan a look. “Why? You interested?” “You’ve been looking at her long enough,” Kai says. “Usually by now, you

make a move.” Dylan brushes a hand through his dark brown hair, but keeps his eyes on Kate. “You’re right. I usually do. I’m suddenly feeling thirsty. Evie, have my seat.” Dylan makes his way over to the other side of the kitchen where Kate is reaching up to grab a spare coffee cup from a cabinet. I take Dylan’s seat and Griff takes the empty chair next to me. Steph is on my other side. “You think he has a shot?” I ask. “Not a chance in hell,” Nick says. “I don’t know Kate too well. Other than that night.”

The table winces in sympathy. “You mean, the night she told Griff she liked him?” I ask. I feel bad for Kate. Oddly enough, I don’t feel jealous. Maybe it’s because of all the hot sexxoring that has happened—and the fact that Griff is completely into me. “She just didn’t tell Griff,” Steph says. “She told the whole bar. Somehow, Daphne got her to come out to do karaoke with us. And Kate got up to sing. Totally surprised me, by the way, because she didn’t seem like the type. After Kate was done, she got down, microphone still in hand and on, and told Griff she used to have a crush on him, but not anymore.”

“Oh my god,” I say. “That’s . . . humiliating.” For her. And Griff had to feel awkward. He’s not the type who broadcasts his feelings. “I felt bad for her,” Griff says. “She realized it was on. And then she kind of did the most amazing thing.” “What was that?” “She laughed and said, and that’s why I’m still single.” “And everyone started standing and clapping and cheering her on,” Steph says. “It was amazing. I would have burst out into tears.” “You did,” Kai reminds her gently. “That’s the night I totally groveled to win you back. And you gave me another

chance.” Steph kisses him. “Of course I did. I love you. Even though you have been a complete cheating asshole at times.” “I know,” Kai says darkly. “I was.” Griff glances over at me. “It’s kind of like being thrown in the fire here. So many people. So many stories.” “I love it,” I say, meaning it. “You can’t even begin to understand how much I love being thrown into a mix like this.” “As long as you don’t feel out of place, or that I’m ignoring you.” “Never,” I say. “Daphne,” Nick bellows, “get your cute ass over here.” Daphne looks at her boyfriend, biting

back a smile. “How about you get your cute ass over here and help me with the strawberries? And by help, I don’t mean eat all of them.” “Little Fox is right,” Jamie says. “You should get your cute ass over here.” Nick flips Jamie the finger, but gets up to join Daphne at the counter. “Seriously, McAlister, it’s a wonder your girl puts up with you. Your man-crush on Jack would be a complete deal breaker.” “Who doesn’t have a man-crush on Jack?” Jamie asks. “C’mon. Show your hands. Every guy in this house thinks Jack Sinclair is awesome. Am I right, or am I right?” “True, Jack is awesome,” Caleb says.

Steph leans over to me. “Jack is hot,” she says loudly. “H-O-T. Sizzling. Like, just stick a fork in me and I’m done.” All the girls but me sigh. “I haven’t met him,” I say. “But even if I did, there’s only one H-O-T, sizzling Sinclair in my book. And he just so happens to be sitting next to me.” “Get a room,” Jamie says. “Oh, wait. You two did get a room. And, seriously, this is the most any of us have ever heard Griff talk. And I’m his BFF. His brother from another mother. I know everything.” “You don’t know everything. You just think you do,” Griff says. Jamie waves this off. “Whatever. I’m an honorary Sinclair. If we have kids,

Zelda and I will name our first child Jack.” “What if it’s a girl?” Daphne asks. “Still Jack,” Jamie says and glances over at Zelda. “Sure, why not?” Zelda merely laughs. “Go ahead and tell them, Jamie. What we discussed last night.” “Zelda,” Jamie says, going a bright red. “Not in front of the people.” Daphne stops cutting the strawberries, completely interested. “Oh, you have to tell us now!” “It’s nothing, really,” Jamie says. “Just that after we come back, Zelda’s going to start applying to colleges, and I’m going to try and get into the FBI. And not

because I think Jack is a secret spy, even though he totally is a secret spy. Or because I think James Bond is cool.” “See?” Nick says. “Total man-crush. But, dude, that’s great. You’d be great.” “I’ve already worked out my signature drink order,” Jamie says. “Martini. Slightly shaken, a little stirred.” “You don’t even like martinis,” Zelda says with a laugh. “True. Maybe it would be window dressing. Just there to throw everyone off. Why does this devilishly handsome secret agent dude order these drinks but never drink them? I have to have an air of mystery.” “You have an air of something,” Nick

says. “Whatever Jamie has can wait,” Caleb says. “Pancakes are done. Griff, got some vegan, gluten-free ones for you that were not contaminated with anything. Let’s eat.” The chocolate chip pancakes are delicious, but made more so because of the guy sitting next to me. Afterward, when the food has been demolished, the kitchen cleaned up, and everyone leaves to do their own thing, Griff and I walk back out to his truck. The day’s clear blue, with puffs of cottonwhite clouds here and there. “What are your plans for today?” Griff asks.

I play with the hem of my dress. “Well, I want to change out of this and put on something comfy. I was planning on working on some new nail polishes today. But it’s so bright and beautiful. The last thing I want to do is spend it inside.” “You want to do something with me?” I definitely do, but . . . “Do you have to work?” “No, Jack told me if he saw me in the shop from today until graduation, he’d kick me out.” I really need to meet this Jack. I like him already. “Then, yes.” “You don’t know what it is, though,” Griff says.

“I don’t need to,” I say. “As long as it’s with you, I’m game for anything.”

Chapter 12 ‡ “WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” I step out of Griff ’s truck and smooth out my vintagestyle red gingham halter dress with sweetheart neckline. It’s not exactly comfy clothes, but when one goes to a picnic, only this dress will do. It’s been a couple of hours since breakfast, and each minute that passed that I didn’t see Griff felt like a minute too long. I lift up my sunglasses to look at the wide stretch of green broken up by

wildflowers. “I mean, obviously it’s a meadow.” “It is a meadow,” Griff says as he gets out a picnic basket and blanket from the back. “You’re going to match.” I smile, because it’s true. The print of my checked dress almost matches the blanket. Griff looks good enough to eat in a light blue tee and shorts. His legs should be outlawed—all hard muscle and sinew. I just want to sink my teeth into him. Oh boy, it’s getting hot. “You’re full of surprises, you know,” I say. “A basket and blanket? Where did you find all of this stuff?” “There’s this funny new thing you might have heard of. A store.”

My laughter spills out of me, and I join Griff to walk out into the greenery, a definite skip in my step. Dots of tiny blue and yellow flowers are speckled throughout the blades. It’s nearing noon, and the sun is bright overhead, already warming my skin. Griff and I spread out the blanket before he sets the basket down in the middle. I sit, curling my legs sideways, and Griff eases down next to me. I glance over at him, only to find his dark eyes on my mouth. “Each time I kiss you, you taste different.” His eyes flick up to mine, linger. “What is it today?” I’m wearing a deep red matte on my

lips, made glossy by a product I made. I had enough time to switch my nails to Ruby Slippers, a newer color full of sparkles and glitter and a vegan red dye. “Evie,” he says, dipping closer. “What do you taste like?” I feel as if I’ve landed in Oz, except I don’t want to click my heels to go home. “Kiss me and find out.” Griff doesn’t need any further invitation. His lips meet mine, soft and slow and steady. He kisses me as if he could always kiss me from now until the end of time. When he lifts his head, his brown eyes have deepened to a velvet black. “Your eyes also change when we kiss. That first

night, they were a dark, deep green. Last night, they went golden.” “And right now?” “Bright green. Like emeralds.” Griff runs a finger over my lips, almost as if he can’t stop himself from touching me. “Your eyes have always fascinated me.” “The power of hazel eyes,” I say. “One moment, they can look brown. Another, green. Sometimes, blue.” His voice roughens. “I can see that, the streaks of those colors in your eyes. The brown, the green, the gold, even the blue. I’d look at you in class to see what color they’d be that day.” “I never knew.” “You weren’t supposed to,” he says. “I

thought you hated me.” “And I thought you hated me. Clearly, we were wrong. Very wrong.” Part of me aches with curiosity to ask Griff why he said what he did that night. But the saying curiosity killed the cat is there for a reason. It’s so unlike me to not just plow ahead and ask, but the truth is . . . I’m not ready to know. I’m scared that finding out will change things—badly. It’s a beautiful day, a beautiful moment, and I don’t want to mar it with any ugliness. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I might be ready. “And what did I taste like?” I ask, curious to see if Griff liked the raspberry and vanilla flavor.

“You taste like a dream come true.” My heart does a slow flip in my chest, turning over and over. Griff obviously likes me. He does. He has to, if he’s saying those things and looking at me like he does. I’ve been with a lot of guys and have fallen in love a few times, so I’m not new to this whole dating thing. I’m smart and can spot a line a mile away. I know when a guy is only after one thing, and hey, that’s great, since I don’t mind exploring that one thing. But there have also been times where I’ve been really hurt, because that’s the gamble when a new relationship starts, whether it’s a hook-up, or something that lasts a few weeks, months, or a year.

Lately, though, I’ve been wanting more. The real thing. The one. As romantic as that sounds, I believe that there is a one. My parents have it. Others have it. So why can’t I? Griff seems real and genuine. And I feel things for him that I’ve never felt for anyone before. Everything feels more intense but more grounded. I feel like I’m myself around him. I feel like we just click. So I shouldn’t be afraid to ask, shouldn’t be afraid to bring it up. I shouldn’t wait until tomorrow or even one more second, but we have such a short time left. Sunday is days away.

And as much as I like Griff—as much as I know I’m starting to fall for him—I just don’t see how this doesn’t end after we graduate. I have plans. He has plans. And neither of those plans include love. AFTER WE’VE EATEN OUR LUNCH and pack everything away, Griff grabs two bottles full of a bright yellowish-orange-pink liquid and passes one over to me. I uncap it and take a whiff. Oranges and lemons and something else I can’t quite identify hit me. “What is it?” “A homemade juice. You smell the oranges and lemons, right?” I nod. “But there’s something else.”

“A little cayenne, which you wouldn’t really smell. But it might be the lime and pomegranate.” “That explains the pink,” I say and take a sip. It’s tangy and sweet and cold, thanks to the ice packet insulators inside the basket. “It’s delicious.” I take a few more sips before putting the cap back on. I want some for later. We’re in the middle of this empty meadow, blades of grass gently swaying from the barely there breeze, and I lean forward to slip off my peep-toe wedges. I leave my sunglasses off. Then, I stretch out on the blanket and gesture for Griff to join me. He does and puts his sunglasses to

the side. I look at the sky. Clouds dance overhead. I raise my hand and point to one. “That one looks like a bird.” “Huh?” “The cloud.” I point again. “See how the cloud stretches out just so, like a wing, and the beak is there and . . .” I look away from the clouds to Griff ’s face. “You’ve never cloud gazed?” “I have, but not since I was little. Probably five or six.” I make a scoffing noise. “You’re out of practice. It’s my duty to fix that. I’ll even make it fun.” “Fun?” “Yes. Fun. That three letter word that

basically means you’re having a good time.” “By cloud gazing,” he says, disbelief heavy in his tone. “Yes,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. “With cloud gazing. Just look at some of the clouds, Griff. What do you see?” “Clouds.” “Griffffff,” I say. “You’ve never looked up above and seen something more? Sometimes, I’ll glance overhead and try to find pictures in the sky. See that wisp over there? Tell me that doesn’t look like a unicorn’s horn.” “A unicorn’s horn?” Griff makes a sound. “Please. That looks like a dagger.”

“You say dagger, I say unicorn’s horn.” I move my hand to the left. “And that cloud looks like a dollop of whipped-cream.” “It looks like a tit,” Griff says. My laugh sputters out of me. I can’t even believe Griff said tit. “Listen, you dirty librarian you, that is definitely not a tit.” Griff leans up on one elbow, his gaze fastened onto me. “Hey, I saw what I saw. Don’t take away my tit cloud.” He plops back down. “So, I’m game for the cloud gazing thing. You said you’d make it fun.” I hear the challenge in his voice. “Three words: Strip cloud gazing.” “I’m listening. What are the rules?”

“It’s simple. We look at the clouds, and whoever sees something first, points it out and then the other has to remove an article of clothing.” “You’ve already taken off your shoes. And you’re only wearing that dress. I think this will be a very short game.” “Says the guy who doesn’t ever do this.” “I’m motivated.” His hand slides over my arm, making my skin shiver with awareness. “But I’d like to add another rule to this game.” “What?” I ask. “The person who loses the round can also not remove an article of clothing—” “That defeats the purpose.”

“But the person has to reveal something about themselves. Nothing easy, like what’s your favorite color.” I swallow past my flutter of heartbeats. “So, basically a version of Truth or Dare.” “Or, really, Truth or Strip,” Griff says. “And if one sees a tit cloud, one sees a tit cloud.” “You’re really hung up on that tit cloud, aren’t you?” I say jokingly. But the daring in Griff ’s low voice calls to me, and it makes me want to play. And I am very good at cloud gazing. Sure, I might lose a few rounds, but I also know I’ll win some. Will Griff strip or chose truth? I’m not sure, but I’m going

to find out. “I’m in,” I say. “Let’s get started.” We settle in, both of us focused overhead. I’m completely confident I’ll be the first one to spot something. Griff hasn’t done this in years. And he was skeptical, and there’s no way he’ll— “A heart,” Griff says. “You have got to be kidding me!” I glance over at him. “Are you cloud sharking me? Pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about and not seeing it, all the while lulling me into thinking you stink at this.” Griff ’s smile is slow and dangerous. “Maybe.” “It is on,” I say.

“It’s always been on.” Griff waits a moment. “So, Evie, Truth or Strip?” In answer, I sit up to reach under the skirt of my dress. I’m careful to not reveal any glimpses of my naked flesh to Griff. It is Strip, after all, and teasing him with what he can’t see is all the fun. Slowly, I lower my underwear down my legs. Black with tiny white hearts and lace trim along the top. I dangle Griff ’s prize out to him. He quickly snatches it from me. “So, it’s going to be like that, is it?” His low, dangerous voice makes me clench with need. “It’s going to be like that,” I say, resuming my prone position. “You might have won this battle, but I’ll win the war.”

“KEY!” I SAY VICTORIOUSLY. TEN minutes into this game, and I’ve won many rounds. Griff ’s surprised me when he’s lost. Sometimes, he’ll strip; other times, he’ll reveal something about himself. He’s shirtless and barefoot. And the only thing I’ve removed has been my underwear. I’ve picked Truth during the few times I’ve lost. Despite our agreement to not ask easy questions, we have started off with simple ones. Favorite colors (his: blue, mine: orange). Favorite dessert (strawberry shortcake for me and Griff prefers a homemade peanut butter banana milkshake). Favorite movie (I could watch Never Been Kissed countless times and Griff picked Big).

“So,” I say gleefully, “which is it?” Griff glances around the meadow. We’re still all alone. And then he takes off his shorts, leaving himself clad only in tight black boxer briefs. All those gorgeous muscles on display. That beautiful honey-colored skin. I’m so hot for him. “A kiss,” Griff says. “A . . . a what?” He gestures to a cloud. “It looks like a kiss.” “It does.” My skin grows heated, and not because of the sun. “I’ll choose—” “Choose Truth, Evie.” I bite my lower lip. “Okay. Truth.” “What is your biggest dream?”

“Oh. That’s easy.” I relax more on the blanket. “To be successful with my makeup, of course.” Griff rolls over to his stomach and looks at me. “No, we’ve talked about that. I mean, the dream you haven’t told anyone. The dream you hold closest to you.” “Those dreams are secret,” I say softly. “Saying them out loud is like telling someone what you wished for when you blew out your birthday candles. It won’t come true.” “Tell me,” he urges. “Only if you tell me yours.” “That’s fair.” Griff pauses. “Do you want me to go first?”

“But I lost the round.” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll go first. That way you know I’m not backing out.” “You wouldn’t back out. I trust you. And because of that, I’ll go first.” Griff nods, then keeps his dark, heated gaze on me. “My dream is to be successful,” I say. “I want my makeup line to do extremely well. I’d love to see it sell in department stores and online. And sometimes I just want to start the company now and not do the internship. It’d be hard, yes, but I’d put everything I had in it. I’d start out small. And build and build. I want to grow an empire. But . . .”

“But?” “But there’s more,” I say. “Tell me,” he says again. I have to look away from Griff ’s searching gaze and glance back at the sky. “It’s easier to talk if your eyes aren’t on me.” “Got it.” After a moment, I can feel Griff move onto his back and get comfortable. The clouds have rolled by, leaving a wide stretch of infinite blue. “I’ve always had these dreams,” I say on a soft whisper. “Even when I was little. Mer—she’s my oldest sister if you remember—and I would play with dolls. Vanessa was still a baby. Mer would make

up wild stories for our dolls to act out in. When Vanessa got older, she’d join in and make castles and houses and dragons and anything you could imagine out of whatever things were nearby. So, Mer told the stories, Vanessa built, and I’d be fascinated by the colors and my mother’s old makeup. “I must have been six or seven. But I remember taking my mom’s old makeup and starting to mix the stuff together. I did ballet, so there were a few performances throughout the year, and some of us were cast in the annual production of The Nutcracker. Have you ever been backstage before?” “No.”

“It’s an organized chaos. People are running around, doing last minute things. Making sure they’re completely ready for the show ahead. I was always ready and on time, because I was just that kind of kid. But I’d manage to break free and wander the hall. I’d pass the dancers doing last minute stretches and find myself standing near dressing rooms where some were still applying makeup.” I smile at the memories. “Here, ordinary people were transformed into something more. Whether it was a fairy or a nutcracker or the rat king. I’d watch and see how it was done. And then I’d look in magazines and TV shows to watch the play of colors. Soon, I was trying to make

my own things and doing makeup on my sisters, cousins, neighbors, and friends.” “You must have been adorable as a kid.” “I always thought there was something more for me out there,” I say. “That I was meant to do something bigger with my life. I always believed it involved makeup. And you know, I thought Mer would end up being a writer and Vanessa something more artsy. But Mer’s a stockbroker and my younger sister is going into engineering. And there’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s what they really want. But sometimes I wonder if they—Mer, especially—gave up their dreams because they weren’t practical

enough.” “Or the dreams changed for them.” I acknowledge this with a nod. “But I’ve never wanted to give up my dream. I’m not sure if I’ll be successful. If I’ll ever get a makeup line to take off. But I have to go for it. I have to try and see what happens. So, yes, my real dream does involve what I want for my life, careerwise, but I want so much more.” “Like . . . ?” “Like everything,” I say with a small laugh. “My dreams include it all. I want to be happy and fulfilled. I want to love and be loved for who I am. Be accepted. Respected. I want to fall in love with a man who will be my partner in life, my

equal, but also someone who will challenge me. I’d love to have a place near the beach and walk along the shore with a dog. I don’t know about kids, but if that happens, I want them to be fearless in their pursuit of their dreams. I dream of never giving up, no matter the odds. But I mainly dream of finding that one. You read romances. You know what I mean. He doesn’t have to complete me. I don’t think anyone should ever complete you. But, like I said, in my wildest dreams, I meet this man, who falls head over heels in love with me, and sticks with me, through thick and thin.” I can feel Griff ’s hot gaze on me and wonder what he’s thinking.

“But I don’t know if any of that will ever happen. I’m going after the dream with my makeup, and if other things happen . . .” I exhale slowly. “Other things happen.” “You’re confident with your makeup line,” Griff says. “I am, but I also know there’s a huge chance I’ll fail.” “You won’t fail.” “That’s sweet, but—” “You won’t fail. Not in the long run. There’ll be obstacles, but you’ll get past them. You’re determined to make it happen. That goes a long way.” Griff reaches for my hand. “But why aren’t you so confident about the other things?”

“Love is harder to find,” I say. “I don’t know what your past experiences have been, but I’ve been in love before. Of course I didn’t think when I was dating my boyfriend at sixteen that he was the one. And in college, it’s been just fun and easy. I’m not looking for a commitment.” “Why is that?” “Because we’re young.” I stop looking at the sky and turn toward Griff. Almost as if he can feel my gaze on him, he glances over at me. He then readjusts his position so that he, too, is on his side, facing me. “I’ll be twenty-two in July. You’re twenty-two. We’re in college.” “All of my friends who are in serious

relationships met in college. Some in different ways,” Griff says. “Hailey and Caleb. Daphne and Nick. Jamie and Zelda. I definitely think those three are in it for the long haul.” “They’re the rarity, not the norm. The fact is, though, we’re young. We’re about to graduate. We won’t be the same people in ten years. We’ll have changed and grown up. And sometimes the relationship falls apart because of that.” “Then it wasn’t meant to be,” Griff says. “But if you love each other, you find a way to make it work. Through thick or thin, remember?” “Even when you’re hundreds of miles apart? How do you make that work?”

Griff stills. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” “I don’t know what I’m saying.” I sit up and rake a hand through my tumbled curls. “I don’t even know what this is between us. And trust me, I’ve been trying to figure it out. I thought I hated you. I thought you hated me. It turns out I was wrong about . . . everything.” “I never hated you,” Griff says. “I just . . .” I whip around to him. “But that’s my point. I thought one thing, and now I think . . . I don’t even know what to think.” “Don’t think, then. What do you feel?”

“I feel that everything I thought was wrong. That I was so wrong about you.” I meet Griff ’s eyes. “These last few days have been . . . mindblowing. And not just because of the orgasms. But it’s . . . we hardly talked in four years of college and then it’s been . . . well, you know how it’s been. All of this has happened so fast and feels like more, but I don’t know if that’s because we graduate on Sunday. Every time I think about how this will end badly or how it can’t work out, I keep coming back to the strongest thing. I want you. I like you a lot.” “I like you a lot, too,” Griff says. “And you know how this would work? With us being hundreds of miles away?

We’d visit each other.” “Long distance relationships don’t work.” “We’d make it work. Ours would work.” Griff grabs my hands. “I also don’t know what this is, Evie. And yeah, I have the same worries and concerns that you do. But I’ve always wanted you. I want to find out what this is, and if there’s a chance for us.” I rub my lips together. “What exactly does this mean?” “Well, for starters, it means,”—Griff entwines his fingers with mine—“that we’re a couple.” “A couple.” “Yeah, that word that usually means

you’re together.” I let out a small laugh. “Smart-ass.” Griff laughs, too. “I thought this was a one-time thing,” I confess. “It was never a one-time thing. I think the first night proved that. And the last few days, too. We can’t get enough of each other.” So freaking true. “You just had to turn out to be a sex god.” “Fitting, since you’re a sex goddess.” Griff brushes a stray piece of hair off my face. “There’s only been you. But if you want to see other—” I place a finger over his lips and shake my head furiously. “No,” I say. “I don’t

want to see anyone else. I only want you.” His throat works. “I’d like us to be exclusive, Evie. Call you my girl.” His girl. Nothing could sound sweeter. “As for the rest . . . let’s just figure out the rest as it comes along,” Griff says. “I like you. You like me.” “I can do that. So,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Tell me what your dream is.” “My dream has always been you.” There goes my heart, exploding into a million and one different pieces. “Seriously?” I ask, my voice softer than a whisper. “Seriously.” How can I worry about anything that involves Griff? This is fun and easy, but

it’s way more than a fling or something easy. I know that. A week ago, I wouldn’t have thought Griff was even in my future. I had everything set. But now? Now, I’m thinking of a future that involves Griff.

Chapter 13 Wednesday, Four Days until Graduation ‡ TODAY HAS BEEN CHOCK FULL of activity. I picked up my cap and gown on campus with Chloe and Taylor and we grabbed a bite to eat at Scones ‘n’ Such. Then, I spent the day working on nail colors and other makeup products. Chloe, who is an Art major, was busy doing something in her space, while Taylor, who is a

Computer Science/Drama major, was on the computer in the main living area. Around four, we picked up and got ready for our weekly Hump Day Dinner. Afterward, we headed to a bar on Church Street to meet up with Griff and his friends, and have been here for the last few hours. I’m ready to head out, though, and so is Griff. After I finish off my Cape Cod, Griff and I say our good-byes and head out. It starts raining just as we’re halfway out the door, and we go back into the small waiting area between the two doors. It’s not simply raining. It’s pouring. A heavy onslaught of fat, warm drops that sound like a heavy metal drummer is

going to town. The rain splats angrily to the ground. There’s no ifs, ands, ors about it, we’re going to get drenched. My buttercup-yellow dress will show almost everything. “Why don’t you wait here?” Griff offers. “I’ll get the truck and pick you up. You can stay dry.” I point to the small windowpanes bracketing the wooden door. The rain is coming down so hard that it’s difficult to see much outside. “That’s really sweet of you. But just look at it outside. I’ll be soaked no matter what.” “You’ll be drier,” Griff tries to argue. “Maybe,” I say easily. “But it’s not fair that you’ll suffer and—”

Griff stops me with a kiss. It’s a brief kiss. The kind of kiss that shouldn’t leave me so . . . hot and bothered. “And I . . .” I try to remember what my point was. My mind is completely blank. That kind of kiss shouldn’t render me brainless. “But—” Griff kisses me again—this one even briefer than the first one—yet I stumble into him. “You stay here,” he says. “I’m going to get the truck.” “Okay,” I say dumbly and press my fingers to my just-kissed mouth. Griff smiles at this—at me—and I kind of just sag against the wall and watch him hurry out the door. I don’t

know what just happened, but I know one thing for sure. I am in so much trouble. And I know what I need to do. I send a bat signal text to my girls. I’m not waiting that long before Chloe and Taylor open the door and enter the small in-between area. With how they both lean against the wall and slightly open the outer door to breathe in the cold, rainy air, I’d definitely say they’re buzzed. But not too far gone, since their eyes aren’t glazing over and they aren’t stumbling about. Still, before I get to The Issue, I make sure they’re okay and have a ride home. “Taxi,” Taylor says. “And we’ll be

leaving together. Unlike you, you lucky girl.” Chloe holds up her cell, showing me the text I’d sent of Ben Affleck in the Batman costume. “You sent us Batfleck.” “A seven on the scale of SOS,” Taylor chimes in. “It might be nearing Batooney.” Taylor and Chloe exchange looks. “We can’t have that,” Chloe says. “George Clooney is good at many things, but we do not speak of his Batman.” During the first semester of freshman year, we developed a ranking of various Batmans and have adjusted them over the years. Michael Keaton’s Batman is a zero, because we all agree that his Batman is

the best while Christian Bale’s is a four— somewhat okay but in danger of slipping into the bad territory. George Clooney is a ten as in OMG, GET OUT HERE BECAUSE I AM GOING TO DIE drama llamas. “What gives?” Taylor asks. I quickly fill them in, mindful of the fact that Griff ’s truck isn’t that far away and he’ll be here in a matter of minutes. “So,” I say, “I’m worried.” Taylor studies me closely. “Worried, because you said yes to staying over at his place again? And that it’s feeling kind of serious?” “Yes, and definitely yes.” I push my hair to the side. “And there’s no kind of

about it. It’s serious. I think I’m really falling for him.” “So, don’t stay over and stop falling for him.” I slump against the wall, joining them, and a big sigh escapes me. Taylor catches on. Fast. So does Chloe. Their, “Uh oh,” happens simultaneously. “Yeah,” I say. “Uh oh.” “You want to stay over again,” Chloe says. “And you are falling for him,” Taylor adds. And there’s the rub. “I do, but I know I shouldn’t want to. This was supposed to be simple. Have some fun and call it a

day. But . . .” I press my lips together, a last ditch attempt to keep it all in. “But . . .” Taylor prods. “But the whole falling for him,” I admit. “I want to know more about him. And a big part of me wants to know why he said those things back when we were freshman. But more than that, I like him . . . and I think . . . no, I know I want more. I know I’m in trouble. If I’m changing my mind not even twenty-four hours later, then what else is going to change by tomorrow? A few days from now? Next week? Months? A year?” Taylor pushes away from the wall and stands in front of me. She grabs my shoulders and steadies me. “You’re

freaking out,” she says softly. “Take a deep breath and let it out.” I do this and feel Chloe’s hand rub my back in a soothing gesture. “It’s okay to freak out,” Chloe says. “We get it. We’re going to graduate really soon, and our lives are going to change. We’ll have responsibilities. Real jobs that are about our careers. Bills. Student loans. We’ll have a lot of firsts, too. First apartment. First house. First job. First time we lose a job. And we’re young. We want all these big, bright, beautiful things —we’ve dreamed of them—and now we’re entering a time where we might not get all those big, bright, beautiful things. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still try for

them.” “I freaked out last night,” Taylor says. “I woke up around five and my heart was pounding away. And all I could hear was my father’s voice telling me I was going to fail, that I’ll end up quitting because that’s what I am, a quitter. And I’m scared that the asshole is right.” “And you should have seen me when I was getting ready to go out.” Chloe shudders. “There I was, putting on my makeup, and all these thoughts jumbled in my head of oh my God, what am I doing, and what if I’m eighty and I look back on my life and think: Wow, I fucked up. I don’t want to fuck up. I don’t want to have regrets. And I’m scared that I

won’t get to where I want to be.” “I’m scared of that, too. I have all these dreams. You both know that. Dreams of starting my own makeup line. But everything is changing around us. And I’m pretty good with rolling with the changes, but it just seems like we’ve worked all these years to get to this point. And now it’s the whole question of . . . what next?” I take another deep breath and let it out. “And I guess I’m just worrying more, because here I thought and believed one thing about Griff and it’s not the case—or at least it’s not the case any longer. I’m not even sure I ever hated him. I was hurt. Really hurt by that night. And every time since then, I just let

that hurt fester and used stupid, little things to keep that resentment growing. And then . . . everything has changed.” “You feel like you’re on uneven ground,” Chloe says. “Extremely uneven ground. I feel like I’m stumbling all over the place.” “Maybe it’s good to stumble.” Taylor ignores my sputter of protest. “I’m just saying that you’re usually in control of everything. You’re impulsive and instinctive, yes, but you don’t do anything you don’t want to. I think this is one of the few times where you haven’t been in control. Not completely. And I think it’s a good thing. Griff could be good for you —but more importantly, you might really

start to crack into that uneven rocky ground you’re on and uncover things about yourself. Like, that you’re even more kick-ass than you thought.” “Of course I’m kick-ass,” I say jokingly. “It’s not like you’re missing anything. Don’t think for one minute I’m saying that. And you definitely don’t need a man to ‘complete you,’” Taylor adds. “But if you stumble, you stumble. If you fall, you fall. But you’ll always get up.” “And remember,” Chloe says, “We’ll always be here, to prod you to get back on your feet, to cheer you on, to answer the bat signal.” “Also? Don’t think too far ahead.

Stop worrying. You can’t control the future.” “I know that,” I say to Taylor, then laugh. “It’s just that I like to think I can.” “So, let me ask you this. What do you want right now?” I don’t even have to think about it. “I want Griff. I want to spend the night with him. And I want more than just this one night with him. I want to see where this goes.” “You have your answer,” Taylor says. Chloe nods. “And it’s a good answer.” Right on cue, my cell beeps with a new text message. “It’s from Griff,” I say, quickly reading it. “He’s here. I’m just telling him

to stay in the truck and that I’ll run out to meet him.” I send the text to Griff and then look at my two BFFs. “I love you two. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for the pep talk.” “You’d do the same for us,” Chloe says. “You have done the same for us,” Taylor says. “Now, go get your man.” “I plan on it.” RAIN DOESN’T EVEN GET A chance to pelt me. As soon as I open the door, Griff is there, holding an open umbrella. He’s soaked clear to the bone, his brown hair plastered to his head, and his white

cotton shirt practically see-through. “Now, that’s a wet T-shirt contest I could get behind,” Chloe says under her breath. Taylor giggles, her expression saying that she’s in complete agreement. And, for a moment, I can picture it. A line of hot guys in white tees or tanks; one by one, the contestants would get wet, resulting in shirts plastering to hard abs and pecs. The winner chosen by the amount of catcalls. But then I snap out of it and shoot Chloe and Taylor death glares. This is Griff, and if anyone is going to be thinking naughty thoughts about him, it’s going to only be me. And he’s right there. Chloe’s talking low, but not that low.

“Stop ogling my guy,” I say. Chloe merely laughs, then slaps me on the butt. “Go get him, tiger. He’s all yours.” And with that, Chloe pulls a laughing Taylor back into the bar. I shake my head and face Griff. “Sorry about that. They’re normally like that so there’s no excuse, but—” Words die in my throat when Griff drops the umbrella to the ground and steps into the small entryway. He tugs me to him, and his skin is so cold from the rain, but that’s not why I shiver. Not at all. His hands cup my butt, and then his mouth claims mine in a slow, devastating kiss.

When he lifts his head, I can’t stop myself from bringing him back to me and kissing him once more. “Not that I mind,” I say breathlessly, “but what was the kiss for?” His dark gaze searches mine for a long moment. “Griff?” “You called me your guy.” His hands cup the side of my face. Back and forth, his thumbs sweep over my cheekbones. “Am I?” My pulse flutters fast like a hummingbird’s wings. I can’t find it in me to offer a nonchalant response, not with the vulnerability that shimmers in the air between us. And I can’t play a game—not

when he’s holding me so tenderly or looking at me like I’m the center of his universe. I can’t do anything but give him my truth—what I didn’t know I really wanted until a few moments ago. But for some reason I’m not scared to say it, because I know that Griff is already there, waiting to catch me when I leap. “Yes,” I say. “I mean, that’s what I want you to be, if you want it and—” Griff stops my rambling in the best way possible. With a kiss. My lips tremble under his. I could just stay like this forever. He breaks away and gives me a once-

over, his expression turning rueful. “What’s the look for?” I brush my fingers over his lips, needing to touch him. “Your dress is quickly becoming transparent.” Griff shakes his head. “My plan was to get you in the truck without you getting soaked like me.” My heart softens like a big, fluffy marshmallow over an open fire. I can practically feel my bones melting with a sigh and I’m slowly turning into mush. If I’m not careful, I’ll burn into something hard and nasty. But I don’t listen to that unwanted warning, because there’s no way I’m going to get burned—not when I feel like this.

Not when Griff makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. “You’re so sweet,” I say. He grimaces. “Oh, stop it.” I lean up on my toes to kiss him briefly. “You’re sweet. Girls like sweet. I like sweet. You’re sweet and nice and thoughtful. And sexy. So, deal with it.” Griff lets out a laugh and takes my hand in his. “I’ll deal. Coming home with me, right?” “Of course.” He opens the door, picking up the dropped open umbrella and shelters me from the onslaught of rain. It’s near impossible for my feet and legs not to get

soaked, and water splashes the bottom of my dress. Sometimes, life presents us with moments we can’t pass by—moments that we need to grasp, and hold on tightly with all our might . . . moments that, if we were to blink, would disappear before we had a chance to do anything and risk losing the opportunity gone forever. That’s why I’ve always gone after what I wanted, why I try not to let doubts stop me, to not have regrets. So, when Griff and I step outside, him holding onto the big black umbrella over both of our heads to keep the rain away, I slide my hand over to cover his, the one wrapped on the handle, and stop

him, a few feet away from Griff ’s truck. The few people on Church Street are ducking for cover, running under awnings or into warm, dry places. Griff turns to me, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Evie—” “So,” I say lightly, “I’ve always had this . . . thing.” “Thing?” “Well.” I bite my lower lip and notice how his gaze fastens to that spot. “Fantasy, really.” “By any chance, does this fantasy involve being out of the rain and in a heated truck?” He drags his eyes away from my mouth to meet my eyes and lets out a sigh, as if he’s trying to pull off the

I’m going to pretend to be serious but it’s totally ruined because the expelled breath is mixed with laughter. “I guess that it involves being in the rain.” “Blame The Notebook,” I say. “Or, really, any romantic comedy film ever made, but I’ve always had this . . . thing— fantasy—dream—to be kissed in the rain. Like really kissed, not just a peck on the lips and send me on my way.” “You want me to kiss you.” “In the rain,” I add. “That is, if you don’t mind—” “Mind?” Griff shakes his head slowly, gazing at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Evie, all I want to do is kiss you. Every time I look at you, every time I see you,

every time I hear your voice, every time I’m near you, every time you’re not with me, I think about kissing you.” “Just kissing?” I tease. Griff ’s free hand slides around my waist, bringing me close to his body. “Well, maybe more than kissing.” “Good, because same goes with me.” “On a scale of one to ten, how sure are you about this?” “A million.” I don’t look away from his dark brown eyes. “Kiss me. Kiss me in the rain, Griff. Just kiss me.” Time seems to wind down, seconds turning into hours, actions distinct and precise, so that it leaves a permanent imprint, never to be forgotten.

The umbrella clatters to the ground. Rain pelts us, the furious splatter soaking us in no time at all. It’s on the colder side of warm, like bath water that’s not fully heated up. Not too cold, but cold enough that I shiver and goose bumps rise along my arms. My dress sticks to me like a second skin. My hair turns into a wet, heavy rope between my shoulder blades. Rain caresses his cheekbones, sweeps down his face. His hand presses at my back, his other cups my cheek. He brushes the rain away from me. A futile effort, as there’s no escaping the onslaught. But the rhythm of his fingers against my cheek—the

cadence of his roughened skin gliding along my skin so easily and softly—makes me heated. When I shiver this time, it’s due to Griff ’s hotness and close proximity. His touch elicits a primal response in me. Every beat of my heart feels like it’s calling to him; this time he touches me, it feels as if he’s answering back, I’m here. “Evie,” he says, the sound rough and wild, even as he traces the plushness of my mouth with tenderness. I wrap my arms around his neck and push my body into his, knowing that he’ll take me, support me; that I’m not a burden but a glorious welcome. His head lowers, slow and sure, until

his lips are right near mine. Hovering. Scant millimeters away. The vibration of his breath whispers over me. I see the flecks of dark gold amid his brown eyes. Droplets of rain cling to his dark, thick lashes like tears about to fall. “Evie,” he says one more time, his voice thicker and much, much rougher. Words are deserting him, driven away by an overpowering need, but Griff holds on tight to say: “I’m consumed by you.” I blink past the rain and focus on Griff, aware of the rumble of thunder that’s not coming from the sky but from my heartbeat. He’s consumed by me? That feels too big, too powerful, like so much more than what I am—what we are—but

what other words could adequately describe this? There’s no groan of defeat, no waving a white flag of surrender, no sinking into this kiss. No, when he kisses me, so sure and strong, it makes my whole being fill with this incandescent joy. It’s like I’m being lit within, and this feeling—this feeling of such buoyancy and light and happiness— bounces through me. I smile into his kiss, sharing my delight, and I can taste his, the burst of elation that makes me think of a bright sun, and I don’t even question how this one guy can make me feel so much joy. I don’t question it, though. No, it’s

too precious, too much of a gift to be doubted. We might be kissing in the rain, but it feels . . . It feels like we’re kissing in sunshine. This current between us is strong, even from the very get go. And I can’t help but think that if we had been more mature as freshmen, then perhaps what we’d felt wouldn’t have overwhelmed and scared us into pushing each other away. I know that I erected walls and barriers in denial so thick that I even believed that I hated him—that he hated me. But how could that ever have been true when there’s this? Why was I so stupid? Why was he? I don’t like living in the past, but this

feels too important to brush aside. To ignore. This is definitely not the best place to start this conversation, but when would it ever be a good time? I draw courage before I can stop myself. I draw a little away, put a finger to his lips before he can kiss me one more time. “We need to talk about the Freshmen Mixer and what happened.” “We do need to talk about what happened. Do you want to go to my place or yours?” Griff asks. I like that he gives me a choice in this, even after I agreed to spend the night at his. “We can go to yours.” “Actually,” Griff says. “We can go to

Jack’s.” “Your brother’s? Won’t he be home?” “He’s always working,” Griff says. “It’ll be quiet there.” “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go there, then.” Despite the rain, it takes no time at all to reach Jack’s place, a charming graycolored bungalow. “Is this where you grew up?” I ask. “Kind of. Jack and I moved here when I was thirteen. This is Jack’s, though. But I have a key,” Griff says. “Wait, you and Jack moved here when you were thirteen? What about your parents?” Griff swallows hard. “It’ll be easier to tell you inside.”

Definitely a delicate subject. I nod, and we hurry inside. Griff turns on the lights. The house is decorated in a no-nonsense style but designed for comfort. The plaid couch and chairs are big and inviting. But I’m not really interested in what the house looks like. I’m interested in what Griff is about to tell me. I turn to Griff and scrunch up my face. “You’re drenched,” I say and shiver. “And so am I. I don’t want to get water everywhere.” “Hold on.” Griff runs down a hall and comes back a few minutes later with two fluffy navy-blue towels. He gives me

one. “Thanks,” I say and wrap it around me. “Why don’t we actually get into something warmer,” Griff suggests. “You can take a quick shower.” “I don’t have a change of clothes.” “I’ll lend you something of mine.” “A hot shower does sound nice,” I say. “What about you?” “There’s a bathroom off Jack’s bedroom. I’ll use his. And then we’ll talk.” “Sounds good to me,” I say through chattering teeth. Griff shows me to a bathroom and I hurry inside to start heating up the shower water. I peel off my sodden

clothes and put them in a small heap on the floor. There’s a knock on the door, and I wrap a towel around me before I open it. “Here’s a pair of sweats, a tee, and a sweatshirt. Socks, too, if you want them,” Griff says. “I can throw your clothes in the laundry.” Thank God my dress is machine washable. “You don’t mind?” “Not at all.” Griff leans down to grab my stuff. “I’ll put it on the gentle cycle for both. There should be shampoo in the stall. And if you’d like soap, Jack stores that in one of those drawers. Extra towels are in the bathroom.” “Thanks again,” I say.

With a quick nod, Griff leaves me to it. I find the soap and wash off my makeup, then hop into the shower. The hot water feels great on my chilled skin, but I definitely hurry things along because I’m anxious to get back to Griff. I’m nervous about the conversation, about getting to what I heard and why he said it. And what else he’s about to tell me. I step out of the shower and wrap my wet hair in a towel. I like him. Like? I really like him. I shake my head again. Really like? I’m falling so hard for him. I dry myself off and put on the clothes—even the thick white socks— Griff gave me. They smell clean and make

me feel all warm and cozy. I have a minibrush and an extra hair tie in my bag and use both. I stare at my reflection through the slightly steamed mirror. My wet hair is in a topknot, I’m swimming in the clothes, and my face is makeup free. I feel like my heart and soul is about to be laid bare. Time to head out. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders as I walk to the main living area. I find Griff in the kitchen, setting a teakettle on the stove. “Is tea okay?” Griff asks. “Or do you want coffee? Jack doesn’t really drink it, but he keeps it around for guests.” “Tea’s perfect,” I say. “So—” “So—” Griff says at the same time.

I give a stifled laugh and he gestures for me to continue. I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. What if this changes things again or makes it worse than it was before? But we do need to clear the air— as painful and as awkward as it may be— and in all honesty, this should have happened years ago. Better late than never, I hope. “Okay,” I say and lean against the kitchen counter. Griff mirrors me at the other end. “So, at that Freshmen Mixer . . .” I swallow hard, and it feels as if I’m pushing the rapid heartbeats back down to my chest. “I heard what you said about me.” Stark horror flashes across Griff ’s

expression, and color leeches out of his body in a blink of an eye. “You heard,” he says so softly that at first I think I’ve imagined the words. He says, “You heard,” again, in a loud whisper, the sounds stilted, as if he’s speaking a different language and having trouble pronouncing the words. “I heard,” I whisper. I tilt my head, studying him. “Did you not know?” He places his hands at the edge of the counter, gripping tight. “I wasn’t sure. I thought you might have and felt horrible, because it was an incredibly shitty thing for me to say. But to know that you definitely heard makes me feel so much worse that I caused you pain. It’s the last

thing I ever wanted to do.” His words seem incredibly sincere, and a huge part of me wants to forget about all of this—to sweep the old hurt under the rug and pretend it doesn’t bother me anymore. But contrary to that stupid saying, words do hurt. I cross my arms in front of my chest and swallow. “I thought you hated me.” “Hated you?” Shock, pure shock in those three syllables. “How could I ever hate you?” “Well, I did think it. I heard you say, ‘she might be hot but she’s not hot enough to tempt me’ in a tone that felt —” I stop and wince. “Gosh, I sound stupid right about now, don’t I?”

“You’re not stupid,” Griff says hotly. “I was stupid. Still am.” “No, you’re not,” I say just as heated. “But I mean, hearing myself say it out loud to you . . . well, I feel like—” Griff studies me closely. I slump in a nearby kitchen chair and bury my face in my hands. “I feel like such an idiot.” Griff doesn’t say anything. Maybe I’ve stunned him into silence. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to continue. “Honestly I feel like a bitch,” I say with a regretful sigh. “Like the biggest bitch that ever bitched.” “Evie—” I shake my head. “I mean, I am. I got

butt-hurt feelings because you didn’t think I was hot enough? That’s so . . . stupid. Idiotic of me to hold a grudge over something so basic.” “It’s not,” Griff says. “Can I sit down? I feel like I’m a giant towering over you, but I won’t if you’d rather not, and—” “Of course!” Griff takes the chair opposite me. “First, you are not a bitch. Second, I was the biggest idiot. Third, you have every right to be mad. I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am. And last but not least, I think I should try to explain what happened that night. Not that it excuses what I said or did, but I want to tell you.

It’s way past time that I did.”

Chapter 14 ‡ “I HURT YOU, AND I’M sorry,” Griff says. “And I want to try to explain. That night when Jamie pushed me to ask you to dance—and Jamie’s not the kind of guy to let things go—I shook my head no, because I couldn’t even speak after I saw you.” My heart flips. “You couldn’t even speak?” “Evie, you’ve got to know—you must know . . . how much I want you. When I

first saw you, I wanted you so badly. I saw you standing there, and my whole world changed. I was slammed by these feelings I never felt before—I never thought I would, to be honest.” “Wait, why didn’t you think you could feel that?” “I’ll get around to that. I promise,” Griff says. The teakettle whistles and he gets up to turn the oven off. “Do you want sugar in yours?” “Black’s fine for me.” Griff brings over two mugs of tea and hands me one. “I need to apologize for that night. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Jamie kept pushing me and instead of acting like a man, I acted like an ass. I also

thought there would be no way that a girl like you could ever be interested in a guy like me.” “Hold up for one sec,” I say. “You didn’t think I could like you? Um, have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re, like, every girl’s wet dream. Seriously, Griff, you’re gorgeous. And besides the physical, I’m going to let you in on two secrets. First secret: girls love glasses on guys. And those glasses of yours give me very dirty Harry Potter fantasies—like what exactly you can do with your magic wand.” A huff of laughter escapes Griff. “Second secret: girls love a guy who reads. Have you not seen that Tumblr of

hot guys reading books?” “I can’t say I have.” “Well, you should. You should be the freaking cover model for that Tumblr. There’s more, too.” I get up and move toward him. “You’re kind, generous, funny, thoughtful, and you’re so incredibly sweet.” “I wasn’t so sweet to you that night.” “Griff.” I cup his face in my hands. “It’s okay. I forgive you. In truth, I think I already forgave you when we first hooked up. I kept trying to figure out why we were having sex—why it felt so natural— and I thought that it was a one-time occurrence. And then the next day at the BBQ happened and the first date and I

still couldn’t figure out why this was happening when I had hated you—well, I thought I hated you—for four years. It didn’t make sense, but I told myself that it didn’t have to make sense. But . . .” “But?” “But it does make sense. We make sense, I mean,” I say. “And the other thing that makes sense to me is that I’d already forgiven you—even if it was a subconscious kind of thing—for what happened. God knows, I’ve said lots of stupid and shitty things, too. I don’t want what happened to stand in our way any longer.” “I don’t either.” Griff grabs my hands and lowers them from his face. He doesn’t

let go of me; he grazes the delicate inside of both of my wrists with his thumbs. “Thank you for that, Evie. Thanks for giving me a chance. I want to tell you something else, though.” “Okay.” “I guess I was also scared to ask you to dance because . . . I am, or rather, I was a virgin.” I could not have heard Griff right. Maybe I have water stuck in my ears. “What do you mean, you were a virgin?” “You were my first.” “You’re kidding, right?” I think of how much sex we’ve had, and how experienced Griff has been. “You didn’t act like a virgin.”

“Is a virgin supposed to act a certain way?” I cross to the kitchen table and plop my butt in a chair. “You know what I mean. You kissed me like you knew how to kiss. You fucked like you knew how to fuck. You didn’t seem like a virgin.” “Have you been with many virgins?” Griff takes a seat at the table, facing me. “Not a judgment kind of question, just wondering.” “I’ve been with two. The first time I had sex was also my boyfriend at the time’s first time. And now you. Trust me when I say that the first guy did not know what he was doing. Heck, most guys who’ve been around the block don’t know

what they’re doing. But you? You definitely knew what you were doing.” “I’m a reader,” Griff says simply. “And I pay attention.” That first night comes back to me. The flash of awe on his face, the way his hands trembled, the way he looked at me and touched me. The night at the bar, when he told me he’d never had a blowjob before. I remember how I thought he was like a unicorn, never realizing how close I was. A male virgin? That’s definitely unicorn status. “You seem . . . mad,” Griff says. “I’m not mad,” I say. “I’m shocked. Surprised. And I guess I wish I’d known —”

“I should have told you,” Griff admits. “I should have told you a lot of things.” “It’s okay,” I say, meaning it. “And I need to tell you something else. There’s no easy way to really say this . . . my parents died when I was thirteen and it really affected me.” I let out a soft gasp and immediately go to him. I curl on his lap and touch him, trying to offer him comfort in any way possible. “Griff.” My throat clogs with emotion. I can’t even imagine losing my parents or my sisters. And he was only thirteen! “Griff, what happened? Do you feel like talking about it? If you don’t . . .” “I want to tell you,” he says. “It’s still

hard for me to talk about. I mean, I’ve talked about it with Jack, but it’s not something we discuss every single day. It’s difficult for us both. When my parents died in a car crash, I was thirteen and Jack was eighteen, a few months into his freshman year at Northeastern. I often walked home, but that morning, the snow started falling really bad and the roads were slicker.” “School wasn’t cancelled?” “This is Vermont. It’s nearly impossible to have a snow day here. So, my dad said he’d drive me to school that day, and that he and my mom would pick me up at four, no questions about it.” Griff hugs me a little closer, and I feel his

heart beat furiously against my palm. “It was a normal school day. Four came and went, but I just assumed the roads were bad so it was messing with traffic. I decided to work in the library on an English paper. Around five, I started to worry more. I called the house. Nothing. I called their cells. Nothing. I went outside to see if their car was pulling in. Nothing. I went back into the high school and waited another fifteen minutes.” “Did you think they’d forgotten to pick you up?” Griff shakes his head. “No. Not once. It wasn’t even like them to run late like that. Ten or fifteen minutes late? Sure. But not a half-hour, and definitely not an

hour. So then I called Jack, who was just about to head to dinner with some friends. Maybe there was something in my voice or Jack had some sixth sense something bad had happened, but he told me that he’d be leaving right then. He told me to call one of our relatives and ask them for a ride. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that before I called Jack, except that whenever something went right or wrong, I always went to Jack before anyone else.” “That’s totally understandable.” “The roads were bad, so I didn’t call Mimi, our grandmother, but went to dial Uncle Theo. But before I could complete the call, my name was called over the

loudspeaker and I headed to the main office. Finally, I thought, they’re here. I hurried down to the main office, expecting to see my mom or dad—and yeah, I realized later that they wouldn’t have tried to call me over the loudspeaker or gone into the office to pick me up after school hours. It wasn’t my mom or dad. It was a cop, my guidance counselor, and the principal. I was brought into the principal’s office, and at that point, I had a feeling that something bad had happened.” “One of your gut feelings,” I say, remembering our conversation about this on our first date, the one where he mentioned it was a bad one and he didn’t

want to ruin the date because of it. “Yeah. One of those,” Griff says. “Anyway, I sat down, and the cop told me, as gently as he could, that my parents had been killed in a car crash. I sat there, thinking that I hadn’t heard him right, because there was this loud buzzing in my head. And it got too hot, and I couldn’t breathe, because my parents couldn’t be dead. I’d talked to them both that morning. My mom had asked me what I wanted for Hanukkah. My dad talked about his auto-shop and how it’d be fun for me to start working there that weekend. It didn’t make sense. And then it went all dark.” “Oh, Griff.” I wrap my arms around

his neck and press a kiss against his neck. “Oh, Griff.” “I fainted. When I came to, Uncle Theo had arrived with Mimi. They took me back to Mimi’s and my other aunts and uncles were already there. Pappy, my granddad, and Aunt Deanna weren’t, but I later learned they’d gone to the . . .” Griff swallows hard, not being able to finish the sentence. “I couldn’t speak. They tried to get me to eat, but I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t even thirsty. I just sat there, hearing them talk but not really hearing them. Seeing them move around, but not really seeing. Time passed, but for me? Time moved in incremental measures, a slow ooze of molasses. Each

second felt like a century. Painful. Eventually, it got to be too much and I escaped to a spare bedroom. I realized too late it used to be my father’s childhood room, but I couldn’t leave it. I just sank onto the bed, in the dark, and stared at nothing.” My heart breaks just thinking about Griff all alone in the dark. How scared and sad he must have been. What can I say that would offer him comfort? What can I do? “And then Jack showed up, and he—” Griff takes a deep breath, staring off into the distance, no doubt remembering that night. “And he made everything better.” I smooth my fingers over jaw.

“How?” Griff doesn’t answer for a long time —long enough that I start to think he’s not going to answer. I start to get up, but Griff tightens his grip on my hands. “How did he make everything better?” Griff looks at me then, pain shattering dark shadows in his eyes. “He gave up college to raise me. My relatives offered, but Jack was the named guardian in our parents’ will. And even if he hadn’t been named, Jack would have fought tooth and nail to take care of me. He was there when I finally broke down and held me as I cried. He told me it wasn’t my fault, after I confessed that I thought it was.”

“It isn’t your fault!” I lean toward him. “It was never your fault.” Griff nods his head. “I know that now, but I blamed myself for a long time. Jack got me help with that, though. Jack dropped everything so that he could be there for me. And when we had to sell the house and move into a smaller place, he told me that it sucked but that our home wasn’t defined by four walls and a roof overhead. Being together was home. He took on my father’s auto-shop and has kept it going and growing. But more than that, he was there for me whenever I needed him. He’s always been there for me.” “And you were there for him,” I say.

“I was a kid,” Griff says. “I couldn’t do much, but I tried to be better than what I had been. I’d do anything for my brother. Anything.” It’s obvious their bond is strong. “Griff . . .” “But I mean, afterward, it was still hard socially. I tried harder. I tried to fit in, be like everyone else, and be liked. I did. But it didn’t seem to matter. I had some friends, yes, but I was never popular. And I never approached any girls I thought were cute or liked. I didn’t want to be rejected, so I didn’t put myself in a position where I could get rejected.” “Griff, I’m so sorry about your parents. I really am.”

Griff ’s silent for a long moment. “Evie, you say I’m the sweet one, but you’re the sweet one.” I blush. “Also, I guess there’s actually one more thing I need to confess.” I glance at him. “What’s that?” Griff presses his mouth together, then lets out a big sigh. “I can’t dance.” “Can’t, as in you’re a bad dancer?” “Can’t, as in I don’t know how to. I never learned, and—” “Well,” I say, “I might not know the right words to say to you. Or what to do.” “What do you mean?” “I mean, I feel kind of useless right now. I don’t want to say the wrong thing

or do the wrong thing here. What you told me . . .” I cup his jaw, feel the slight stubble. “Griff, what you told me . . . you opened yourself up to me in a way I didn’t expect. You trusted me with something completely vulnerable, and I don’t want to mess it up.” “You’re not messing anything up. You’re here. You’re you. That’s all I need.” “Well.” I have to take a moment to swallow, to blink away the tears swimming in my eyes. To give myself a chance to catch my falling heart. Yeah. No such luck there. I’m falling for Griff. And not just falling in the like sense, but . . . love. Love.

I am headed toward love. I might already be there. And I hated him a week ago. This makes no sense. None whatsoever. But did love ever make any sense? Regardless, I know it’s too soon to mention the L word. Because maybe I’m wrong. And maybe—no, most definitely— I’m also scared of laying my heart out on the line and being rejected, too. I clear my throat. “But you know, you can ask me to dance now.” “I don’t know—” “I do. Did I ever tell you that I used to dance?” I get up from his lap and hold my hand out to him. “Just ask me, and let

me show you how. Dance with me, Griff.” He looks at my outstretched hand, then slowly stands. He takes my hand and pulls me slowly to him. “Show me how.” “First,” I say, “we need some music.” Griff doesn’t let go of my hand, but leads the way to the kitchen counter. Next to the fridge is a small radio. “Jack keeps this in case of emergencies. What kind of music?” “Something slow. Something soft.” “Something romantic,” Griff finishes. He scrolls through the channels until he comes across one that is in the middle of playing Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me.” Then he looks at me. “I never asked.”

“You can ask me now.” “We’ve got to do this right.” Griff lets go of my hand. “Stay there.” He goes to the open doorway and turns back to face me. “You were talking to your friends. I was with the guys. I looked over your way and saw you. I couldn’t stop looking at you. You were wearing a yellow dress and your hair was in loose curls—” “You remember what I wore?” “I remember everything.” My hair isn’t dry but I take it out from its topknot to let the wet, already curling strands, hang loose. I had on a yellow dress tonight, but not the same one I wore for the Freshmen Mixer. “I’m not wearing yellow right now—the dress

is in the dryer—and my hair is . . .” “You’re more beautiful now than you were that night.” I feel beautiful, especially with how Griff looks at me, and I feel like I need to confess something to him. To give him a small piece of my heart. “I also remember what you wore that night. You had a navy-blue shirt and dark jeans. And when I looked at you, everything else fell away. In a blink of an eye, I wanted you.” “I should have asked you to dance that night,” he says. “Even if I made an ass out of myself on the dance floor in front of everyone.” “Perhaps I should have asked you to dance,” I say. “But neither one of us

made that move.” “And then I said what I did. I don’t even know how you—” Because I’m falling for you. “I forgive you,” I say instead. “You’re sorry. I’m sorry. We wasted four years. Let’s not waste one more second. Let’s—” “Let me ask you,” Griff says. “Let me make a new memory, and hopefully, despite my two left feet, it’ll be a good one.” It’ll be the best one. I don’t say anything. Don’t move a muscle. I stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, as “Come Away With Me” ends and the sound of rain fills the silence. “I think we need to dim the lights,”

Griff says, as he turns the switch off to the kitchen and main living area. Momentarily, we’re shrouded in dark shadows, and then muted amber backlights him. He must have dimmed the setting in the other room. The kitchen is not as dark as before, but still makes the room seem . . . intimate. Griff walks to me, his gaze steady, his intent clear. He stops before me, and my heart soars off to a different galaxy. “Evie.” A rumble of need in those two syllables. “Will you dance with me?” He holds out his hand, waiting for my answer. He doesn’t have to wait long. “Yes,” I say and slide my hand into

his. “Yes, I’ll dance with you.” “So, how does this begin?” Griff asks. “I mean, I know the basics, but I don’t want to get it wrong.” “You won’t get it wrong. And it starts like this.” I step close to him, brushing my body against his. “You put your arms around my waist, like so.” “I can do that.” “Now, I’ll wrap mine around your neck.” I do so, and the movement erases any distance between us. Our hearts pound, in sync with each other. “Just like that.” “And after that?” “After that the music starts.” Almost on cue, the beginning strains

of Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” plays. The heartbreaking richness breaks over us, the longing and wanting strumming in the notes, the need . . . the simmering need. “The music plays,” I say, “and we dance to the heartbeat of the song. The pulse that brings notes on a scale to life. Through dance, we give a different kind of voice to music. For the . . .” “Pleasure,” Griff says thickly. “Of having you in my arms. Of finally having this dance with you.” “Yes, for the pleasure.” I look into his dark brown eyes. “Dancing is about rhythm. Both to the music and with your partner. We can sway.”

“No, show me something more.” “I’ll show you a simple box step.” I go through the steps with him. “Pretty simple, right?” “This does seem simple enough. I don’t know why I—” “It always looks trickier, and dancing this close to someone . . . you get in their personal space.” “And that can feel awkward if you don’t really know the person or have—” “Trust issues,” I say. “I used to love to dance.” “Why did you not pursue it?” “I love it, but it’s not a passion. And I think to be a dancer or any kind of artist like that, you have to have a passion for it,

especially since you’re facing constant rejection. But I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to face rejection. I just didn’t want to make dancing my life.” “I’d love to see how you dance,” Griff says. “Would you dance for me?” “Maybe,” I say. “I haven’t danced ballet since I gave it up. And I’m dancing with you right now.” Griff snaps his gaze away from me to glance around. “We really are dancing.” “And quite well, too. But you do have an awesome teacher.” “I definitely do.” “Hallelujah” ends and the next song, The Beatles’ “Something,” starts up right away. I rest my head against Griff ’s chest

and we fall silent, letting the music play while we dance in perfect harmony.

Chapter 15 Thursday, Three Days until Graduation ‡ GRIFF INSISTS ON WALKING ME up to my apartment the next morning. I’m wearing the now-dried dress from last night, but I plan on switching into my comfy clothes ASAP. By the time we got up, Jack had already left so I wasn’t able to meet him. And I was disappointed, solely because I want to meet the man who was Griff ’s

rock. Who still is Griff ’s rock. I take out my key and linger by the door to stay with Griff for a little longer. “Last night was great.” After the last song, Griff and I headed to his room and danced in a different way. The sex was sweet and tender, and I ended up falling asleep immediately afterward. “So, what’s in store for today?” Griff asks. “I’m feeling inspired to create a new nail polish.” I lean up on my toes and brush my mouth across his. “So my plan is to work on that and some other designs. You?” “Nothing much. Actually . . . would

you mind showing me?” “Show you what?” “Show me how you do what you do.” “You want to see how I do makeup?” I blink, confused. “Why?” “Because you love it.” My heart turns into a puddle of mushy goo. “Oh.” “Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh?’” “It’s a good ‘oh.’” He smiles, and yup, there I go, joining my melted heart. I’m just a pile of smooshy feelings right now. “So is that a yes, you’ll show me?” “It’s a yes, but I should warn you.” “Warn me?” “Chloe and Taylor will be joining us

at some point. And they’re going to grill you with so many questions.” “Should I be terrified?” “Without a doubt,” I say. “You’ve survived my friends,” he says. “I’ll survive yours.” “Famous last words.” Before I can unlock the door, Griff stops me. “Come to dinner tonight. I want you to meet Jack.” “Should I be terrified?” “Of Jack?” Griff shakes his head. “Only if you think he’s a secret spy, like Jamie does.” I let out a laugh as I unlock the door. “I definitely don’t think that, but I think it’s hilarious that Jamie is so adamant that

your brother is a spy.” “Yeah, Jamie’s funny that way.” Griff steps inside my apartment and his attention goes to the vase of wildflowers. “They’re still alive?” “I have a green thumb, so flowers stay alive for me. Oh, good. The kitchen table and counters are clear. We need to lay a covering over those and on the floor—I use a drop cloth—which I have rolled up in the linen closet. It’s this way.” I walk down the hall toward my room and stop at the small closet that I use as one of my storage areas. I open it up to reveal an array of beauty supplies and products. I turn when I hear Griff ’s surprised grunt and take pity on the poor

guy. “It’s a lot to take in.” “You made all of these things?” I face the shelves again, looking at the rows of filled nail bottles, the cleansers, the pots of lip stain, and have all sorts of feelings. I feel proud and happy and remember all the trials and errors that happened along the way. But I made all of this. “Yeah, I did.” Griff touches my shoulder, his hand gently gives me a squeeze. “This is amazing, Evie. I couldn’t even begin to imagine being creative or driven enough to—” With his other hand, he gestures to the lines and lines of makeup—“do any of this.”

My heart warms with the compliment but I look back at him because the subtext in that sentence about him not being creative or driven bothers me. “Don’t put yourself down like that! You are creative and driven, Griff. Maybe your talents don’t lie in makeup—” His lips twitch with amusement. “—but everyone is talented and creative.” “You truly believe that?” I spin around and plant my hands on my hips. “Of course I do. You don’t?” “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a creative bone in my body.” I make a disbelieving snort but manage not to roll my eyes. “Everyone’s

creative. I really believe that we’re all born with this spark in us. It takes on different forms. Painting, singing, dancing, design, writing, cooking, playing an instrument, making HTML codes or computers, discovering cures, and so many other things.” “I’m not musically inclined and I’m certainly nowhere near a good chef.” “It doesn’t even have to be complicated,” I say and turn to gather the things I need from the linen closet. With my hands full, it’s going to be impossible to grab anything else. “Would you mind getting the drop cloth at the bottom for me?” “Not a problem.” Griff grabs the

cloth after I step to the side. “You need anything else?” I look over the closet and then down at what I have, trying to decide if I need anything else. “I think I’m good, thanks.” “So,” Griff says as we head back to the kitchen, “how can creativity not be complicated?” “Oh.” I set my stuff down on the counter and move to the table. “Well. Creativity can be a mom or dad making up a bedtime story to get their kid to go to asleep. Or when you were a kid, pretending to be a superhero or that you were invisible. You’re telling me that you never pretended to be Batman or James Bond or something along those lines? Or

even played with G.I. Joe dolls?” “G.I. Joes were action figures.” “Just another word for dolls,” I tease. Griff laughs. “Okay, okay, they’re dolls.” We move the small table to the living room so we can lay the drop cloth on the kitchen floor. After we put the table back where it belongs, we place another cloth over the wood surface for protection. “And for some people, they push the creativity aside and believe that they’re not.” I give Griff a stern look and poke him in the chest. “But there is no way that a guy who reads as much as you do is not creative.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “True,

because I can think of a million creative ways to kiss you.” “Only a million?” My attempt at being saucy is completely ruined by the breathless quality of my voice. Griff notices it and steps closer. “You’re right. A million and one ways to kiss you.” I make a hmmm noise because I’ve completely lost my ability to speak. This seems to happen a lot around Griff, but seriously, how can I even think when he mentions kissing me?! He’s an awesome kisser and— “Your eyes have gone all starry-like green,” he says, stepping closer to me. His hand brushes the side of my face, and my

whole being shimmers with awareness. “I swear that right now when I look into your eyes, I can see the whole universe.” “And you say you’re not creative,” I say, my voice softer and lighter than a feather. “Your words create such images. They make me feel . . .” Cherished. Adored. Loved. “. . . such things.” He stops stroking to cup my face, his dark eyes meet mine. There’s a wildness in there I recognize. A hunger. A spark. “I feel such things, too.” And, then, with infinite care and tenderness, his lips meet mine. MY BEST FRIENDS DON’T PLAY “Ask Evie’s Guy Twenty Thousand Questions,” but

they come prettttttttttty close to it. Especially when they ask him about that night and seem satisfied when Griff tells them he was a complete ass. And far from being bothered or annoyed, Griff is unflappable and steady and that makes my friends super impressed. When I ask him about it later on, as we’re driving back to Jack’s place to have dinner, Griff merely says, “They’re your friends. They have your back and look out for you. Of course they’re going to give me a hard time about what I said about you.” “If it gives you any sort of comfort,” I say, “they’re super supportive but they have totally been busting me about all the

times I said I couldn’t stand you. They’ll often say, so, Evie, just how much did you hate Griff last night?” We stop at a red light and Griff slides me a look of interest. “Your friends and my friends operate on the same field, I see.” “Yours, too?” Griff nods his head. “They’re solid guys—” “Mine are solid, too, but—” “They like to give me a hard time.” “Especially when it’s warranted,” I say. “Chloe and Taylor didn’t even believe me at first when I told them about you.” “You should have seen the guys after the BBQ,” Griff says with a laugh and

hits the gas again when the light turns green. “For Jamie? It was like every holiday wrapped in one. I still haven’t heard the end of it from the guys.” “What do they say?” “I’m sure you can imagine.” I bite back a smile because I can definitely imagine it. After all, my girls questioned me about the night. I know they have my back and are telling me to go after Griff, but I also know they want to make sure I’m okay, too. “Griff,” I say softly. “What happens when we graduate?” Griff makes a turn onto a street. “What do you mean?” “What happens after we graduate?” I

ask again. “To . . . us.” “What do you want to happen?” I sigh. “That’s not fair. I asked first.” “You’re moving back to the city, right?” he asks instead. “Yeah.” I look out the passenger window. “I start an internship. When do you start grad school?” “Not until the fall, but I’ll be working at the auto-shop.” Enough of this, I think. I will put myself out there first if Griff ’s not willing to go all out. He did make the first move at the dock and then again when he asked me out at the BBQ, and he’s hinted that he wants more. Maybe he wants me to say what I want before he

says anything. And I can do that. I stop looking out the window and put my attention on Griff. “Okay,” I say. “You want to know what I want? Here it goes.”

Chapter 16 ‡ “FIRST, I WANT THERE TO be an us,” I say. “You say I’m your girl and I say you’re my guy and we’re obviously dating. And we’re a couple. But I want to officially be your girlfriend. For you to be my boyfriend.” “I want that, too,” Griff says, his voice low. “And I don’t want us to end after we graduate. I know it’s going to be hard. We’re not going to live in the same city, let alone the same state, and we’re young,

and we’ve only been seeing each other less than a week and none of this should make sense—” “Except it does. Make sense. Perfect sense.” “So I know that where we are right now won’t be where we might be six months from now, a year later, five years, or even ten. I’m not sure if there’s a forever for us, but I’d . . .” I swallow hard, my heart beating even harder. “I’d like to see if there could be a forever. The possibility, because, Griff, I wasn’t honest before. I don’t just feel things for you. I like you. I’m falling for you. And I want to see where we could go. Together.” Griff doesn’t say anything for a long

moment. I keep talking, laying everything bare. “So, maybe, we could make this work. It would require effort on both of our ends. But I’m willing to do it if you are. You could come visit me. I could come visit you. We have texts, email, calling, and all sorts of other social media that we could use to keep in contact when we’re not in the same physical space. I want to be with you, Griff.” “What happens after?” Griff asks. “I mean, where do you see yourself living after the internship?” “I have to think about that,” I say. “I always saw myself living in the city. While I loved living in Burlington, I’m not sure

I would want to live here. But maybe I wouldn’t even end up in New York or Vermont. Maybe my career will take me somewhere I can’t even imagine right now. Do you just see yourself always living here?” “I never saw anything but that,” Griff says. “My family’s here. Jack’s here. I couldn’t leave Jack alone.” “I get that. I really do. But what if you did leave? Would you? Could you?” “What about you? Would you stay?” “No, Griff, I need to leave.” “Why? Vermont is—” “I love Vermont. Don’t get me wrong about that. But I know it’s time to move on to something else. Somewhere else.”

“So you’re going back home to the city.” “To start,” I say. “For the internship at the very least.” “You’re still going home,” Griff says as he turns down another street, the one that leads to Jack’s place. “You’re asking me if I could ever leave but—” “I’m not even leaving the city where I grew up,” I say. “You’re right. That’s unfair of me. But I’m not even sure New York will be a permanent thing for me in the long run. I don’t know where I’ll end up. For all I know, I could be back here. But I want to explore and set down roots in a place I feel is home.” “You don’t feel that here? In New

York?” I shake my head, realizing I’m saying no to both questions. But it’s true, I realize. “While I love New York and it has been my home for the first eighteen years of my life, I don’t know if it’s my forever home. And the fact that I don’t know makes me believe that my forever home is somewhere else. But . . .” “But?” “But I want to find out if that forever home is with you, Griff.” We stop in front of Jack’s house and I look into Griff ’s eyes. “I want to see if we can reach our dreams together.” Griff cuts the engine. “But you don’t know if we’ll last.”

“I don’t. Do you?” “But you have a feeling that New York and Vermont aren’t where you’ll end up.” “I do, just like I had a feeling I should go to Green College. Like the one I have about creating makeup. I knew I belonged in both. And that first night that we got together—when our hands touched—it felt . . .” I search for the right words and find none to fully explain it. “You know how it was. You felt it, too.” “I did,” Griff says thickly. “I still do. But I have plans.” “I do, too,” I say. “But now, I want my plans to include you.” “It hasn’t even been a week, Evie,”

Griff says gently. “I know that. Trust me, I know that. I’m just asking . . .” “What are you asking for?” “I’m asking for maybe. For the possibility that maybe if we try that we can actually make this work.” Griff leans toward me, his gaze intent. “I can do that, Evie. I can give you maybe and a possibility. You asked me what I want, and the answer is simple: I want you. But like you said, this won’t be easy.” “When has it ever been easy for us?” I ask with a tender smile. “But I think it’s enough that we want this.” “Yeah,” Griff says, then brushes a

curl of hair behind my ears. “It’s more than enough.” JACK TEXTS GRIFF TO LET him know that he’s running late but taking care of dinner. Griff decides to make a salad and I help out with cutting up some carrots and other veggies. “What about dessert?” I ask and watch Griff neatly dice a red onion. “Dessert.” Griff pauses. “Um. Well. Jack and I aren’t really dessert people.” I clutch my heart. “What?! Not a dessert person! You said you like that shake thing you make, which honestly, a shake is so not a dessert.” “I’ve never really had a sweet tooth.”

I make a sound of disappointment and turn to reach for the olive oil on the other side of the kitchen. “But I’ve recently developed one.” Griff comes up behind me. His head lowers to my neck where he kisses me. “Because you taste very, very sweet.” “I d-do?” “I guess I do have a favorite dessert. You.” Like vanilla ice cream under hot fudge, I just melllllllllllt. I’m all warm and gooey, and I easily turn in Griff ’s arms to loop my own around his neck. The position brings us closer together, and I know he can feel my hard nipples through the thin white eyelet sweater and creamy

white tank underneath. His hands skim the dark denim of my jeans to cup my butt. “You,” he says, bending his head once more, and skims his lips along the delicate column of my throat, “are wearing way too many clothes.” It’s true. This is the most clothing I’ve worn this week. But Vermont weather in early May is unpredictable. One minute it’s warm, the next chilly. “It was a little cold when we left,” I remind him. “And it’s supposed to get colder.” He darts his tongue out, tasting my skin, and I shiver in his hold. “Guess I should warm you up, then.”

“I think you should,” I say. He lifts his head, bringing his mouth close to mine, and I pulse with awareness. Yes, my heart seems to beat, yes, kiss me. But I can’t wait anymore. I lean up on my toes and close the distance. Our lips meet. Our tongues touch. And everything else is lost to the world—everything but this kiss. Soon—too soon—the kiss ends. We both need to catch our breath, and I’m already yearning for more. “I’ve been thinking,” Griff says. “Oh?” “About what you said before in the truck.” About us being together to make it

work. About if he’d ever leave Vermont. About him telling me that he wanted to try. “Every other weekend,” he says. “Every other weekend?” I repeat back dumbly. “Every other weekend, I could drive down to the city and spend it with you.” I catapult myself into his arms and pepper his face with kisses. I feel as if I’ve won the lottery. Because he’d said he would try earlier, but here, right now, is him saying what he’s going to do. It’s only fair I give him this in return. I stop kissing him long enough to cup his beloved face in my hands. “And I’ll do the same, too. It’ll be a switch off. One

weekend, you’ll visit me, and the next weekend, I’ll drive up to Vermont to spend it with you.” His face breaks out in the biggest smile. “You will?” “I will,” I promise. Griff spins me in a slow circle in his arms. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll make this work.” And just like that, my falling for Griff is over. Because . . . I’m in love with Griffin Sinclair. I. Love. Him. THE TABLE IS SET, THE salad made, and dessert, a vegan chocolate cake with frosting—which I insisted upon—is

cooling on the counter, when the door that leads to the garage opens. And I hear Jack Sinclair walk into the main living area. Griff and I are still in the kitchen. “You ready?” Griff asks. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I wipe my hands on my jeans, feeling my heart kick up a notch. This is Griff ’s older brother, the guy who raised Griff after their parents died. I know Jack means everything to Griff, and I don’t want Jack to find me lacking. Griff holds my hand and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “He’ll love you.” My mouth goes dry, because for a moment I thought I heard Griff say I

love you. And I totally want to hear those words from him. Not even seven days and I’m completely in love with this guy. Why else would I want him in my life post-grad? Why else does this feel so right? Why else would things have clicked so fast for me and gone at lightning speed? It’s almost as if Fate had enough of Griff and me “hating” each other and decided that enough was enough. By us both arriving late at the dock that night and our accidental touch, it led to this. I believe everything has led to this. To Griff being in my life. To Griff possibly being my forever guy. To him probably—

oh, let’s face it, definitely—being “the one.” The problem is that I know that Griff is a steady kind of guy. He’s not a feeler like me. He thinks things through. He’s not going to be like me and fall in love in less than seven days. It might take him months to fall in love. If he even falls in love with me. And there’s a huge gamble that he won’t. That we’ll try to make it as a couple and it won’t work out because one of us —cough me cough—will totally be head over heels and the other—Griff—will like me, but I know like won’t be enough for me. But for now? I’m willing to risk it for the possibility that he could fall in love

with me. That, maybe, he’ll love me just as completely as I love him. All of this goes through my head as we walk out to the main living area. I’m so distracted that I don’t even notice Jack until he thrusts his hand out to me and says, “Evie,” in a deep, gravelly voice. I gather myself together and shake his hand, giving Jack a bright smile. “Jack! It’s so good to meet you.” “You, as well,” Jack says. I’ve got perfect vision. And like any other woman, I can always admire hotness when I see it. Of course Jack Sinclair is hot. Black hair, gray eyes, firm jaw, all quiet, steely determination, with a hint of a growly snarl in his voice.

I can see why all the girls were swooning over him. But while Jack Sinclair is hot, he’s not my kind of hot. Because there’s only one Sinclair I find is my kind of hot. And it just so happens that I’m in love with Griff, too. Just thinking that I love Griff makes me feel so incredibly happy and I shoot Griff a soft, tender smile full of all my loving feelings. Thankfully Griff isn’t looking at me but someone else is. Jack. My smile disappears and I try to keep a neutral expression on my face. Jack is watching me with his all too knowing gray eyes and runs his hand along his stubbled jaw. He’s observant. Too

observant and sees things that—well, okay, it’s obvious what I’m feeling because I’m just a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve—but still. I can sort of see why Jamie thinks Jack is a spy. Jack is a man who knows what he wants and gets it. With nothing better to do, I look down. It’s then that I notice Jack holding a couple of takeout bags in his free hand. “You need help with that?” I ask, thankful to have found something to say. “I’ve got it,” Jack says and gestures for me to walk ahead of him and Griff to the kitchen. He stops when he sees the dessert on the counter. “I thought I smelled something chocolate. Who made the cake?”

“I did,” I say. “Griff claims you two aren’t dessert people, but I refuse to believe it.” “All true, I’m afraid. Griff ’s always liked peanut butter and any kind of nut.” Jack sets the bags down on the counter and starts unpacking. “You know, I’m really glad McAlister wasn’t around to hear that last part.” “Jamie would have had a field day,” Griff agrees. “I’m just imagining all his nut puns,” Jack says darkly, then turns to me. “So, how long was it before he put out the spy theory to you?” I laugh. “Oh, about three seconds.” “I’m surprised he waited that long.”

Jack places the carryout boxes on the empty counter. “What did you get?” Griff asks. “I stopped at that new vegan restaurant we like in Colchester. You’re good with not eating meat tonight, Evie?” “I’m good with eating anything,” I say. “Whatever you got, well, it smells delicious.” “Good,” Jack says. “Let’s fix our plates and then we’ll sit down. I can’t wait to hear how you two got together.” And by the way he says it, I know that Jack has heard about the disastrous first impression. There’s no point in dancing around

the issue, and I get the sense that Jack is the kind of guy who likes people who don’t bullshit. “I’ll break it down for you,” I say and pass a plate over to Jack. Which he gives back to me. “Ladies first,” Jack says. “Always.” Awwww. That’s so sweet and gentlemanly. “So, basically, I heard Griff say something stupid when we were freshman.” Jack grabs two plates and nudges one to Griff. “Yeah, I heard about that.” “I think you’re exact words to me were: You’re an idiot and I didn’t raise you to be one.” “Well, you were an idiot,” Jack says.

“Sometimes still are.” “You did raise me, so . . .” I smile at their good-natured teasing and finish grabbing what I want to eat. The food really does smell delicious. A variety of dishes: lemon-flavored sauce over pasta, veggie burgers, and sweet potato fries. Some of the dishes smell a little spicy, but the heat never bothered me anyway. DINNER IS FULL OF CONVERSATION. I’m sure most people would be surprised by how much Jack and Griff talk, but it doesn’t strike me as odd. This is exactly how my older sister, Meredith, is. She’s very quiet and shy—it can come across as

aloof—but when she feels comfortable, she’ll talk more. It’s not as if Jack and Griff are super talkative, but they keep the dialogue going. And we talk pretty much about everything. My parents and where I grew up. It’s no secret that I grew up wealthy and have a very sizeable trust fund, but my parents made sure that my sisters and I were always aware of our privilege and weren’t raised to take things for granted. I tell Jack and Griff how my sisters and I worked from a young age and listen to their stories of working in the auto-shop alongside their dad. They hear all about my first dog, Biebs, and give me a hard time that I

named my dog after Justin Bieber. But, hey, I was young! We all do silly things when we’re young. It’s not like I named my dog after a One Direction member. (That would be my younger sister, Vanessa.) When I ask to see a photo of their parents, Jack excuses himself for a second. I get up to frost the cake, since it’s definitely cooled down by now, and am halfway through it when Jack comes back with a thick album. Griff lets out a groan. “Dude. One picture. One. Not the album.” “Why not the album?” I resume spreading the frosting. It’s only going to take a few more minutes before I’m done.

“Because the album has Griff ’s baby pictures,” Jack says. I drop the frosting-covered butter knife on the napkin and hurry over to Jack. “Let me see! Let me see!” “I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,” Griff says to his brother. “Go frost your girlfriend’s cake,” Jack says. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen a baby’s ass before.” “One day, I will show your baby pictures to the girl you like.” “I’m sure you were an adorable baby,” I say. “I’d love to see the pictures. Can I? Pretty please?” Griff gives a sigh of defeat. “Okay, I can’t say no to you. I’ll frost the cake and

make some tea and coffee.” Griff gets up to do exactly that and kisses the top of my head as he passes me. Jack watches it all and leans toward me when Griff nears the cabinet by the fridge. “He really . . .” Jack pauses, his gray eyes glinting, “likes you.” “I like him, too,” I say. “I know you do,” he says, his voice kinder than I expected it to be. Jack looks like a hard man, but he’s obviously got a soft, vulnerable spot for his brother. He straightens and flips the photo album open. “Let’s look at some pictures.” DESPITE JACK AND GRIFF’S CLAIMS to not be dessert people, they each eat two big

slices of cake. We pick up the kitchen, even after Jack tells us he’s got it—it just seems rude to not clean up. But after we bring over our plates and silverware, Jack refuses any more help and pretty much pushes us out the door. Griff and I aren’t in the mood to join anyone at the bar, so we drive back downtown to Lake Champlain. It has gotten brisker but I’m good in my light white eyelet sweater and jeans. We walk along the sidewalk lining the shore, the stars overhead reflected in the calm waters. I stop by an empty park bench. Up ahead, the gazebo is decorated in fairy lights.

“Close your eyes,” I say. After a moment, Griff closes his eyes. And I do, too. “Now, tilt your head back and open your eyes. Find the first star you see.” “And what now?” I don’t look away from my star. “Now,” I say. “Now, you make a wish.” My wish is simple, but one I hope desperately will come true one day. I wish for Griff to love me. I look away from the sky to find Griff ’s dark eyes already on me. “Did you make a wish?” “I did,” Griff says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wished upon a star.” “Maybe it’s foolish of me. Wishing on

stars. Finding pictures in clouds.” Hoping that you’ll fall in love with me. “But—” “You’re a dreamer, Evie. That’s what dreamers do. They don’t see what the world is, but what the world could and should be. And”—Griff ’s hand finds mine—“you make me want to be a dreamer, too.” “It’s never too late to dream. To be a dreamer.” “I’m starting to believe that’s true.” Griff kisses me, soft and sweet. “Come back with me to my place, Evie. Let me dream with you tonight.” I kiss him once more, giving him my yes in each press of my lips to his. And then I whisper, “Yes,” against his mouth,

just for him to hear the word. Tonight, if only for tonight, one dream is within my reach. And I’m going to grab it with everything that’s in me.

Chapter 17 ‡ THERE ARE CARS PARKED IN the driveway of the house that Griff and the guys live in and more along the street of the house when we arrive. Jamie waves at us from the porch. “I thought they were at the bar,” Griff says. “But, damn, Caleb’s birthday is May sixth.” “Tomorrow,” I say. “So someone at the house—” “Jamie. Definitely Jamie. Hailey would

have done something more private.” “Jamie decided to have a party for Caleb’s birthday.” Griff shoots me an apologetic look. “We can always go back to your place.” And have him miss his friend’s birthday party? One of the guys that Griff is tight with? “No, we can stay. It’ll be fun,” I say. “Although I feel bad that I don’t have a present or anything.” “Caleb doesn’t care about that sort of stuff.” Griff taps his hands on the steering wheel. “You sure about this?” “Positive. It’s a birthday party, and there is . . . later.” His dark gaze turns heated. “I want

later to be now.” “Good things come to those who wait,” I say with a smile. Griff ’s look promises me that he’ll make me pay for that comment later on. Perhaps he’ll even make me wait for release for a long, long time. Slow, drugging kisses. Slow, hot flicks of tongue. Slow, sure strokes of his— “Evie.” I have to drag my mind out of the dirty thoughts gutter. It’s a struggle. “Yeah?” “If you keep looking at me like that, there’s not going to be anymore waiting.” Griff ’s voice is a soft growl that reaches deep into my core. “And I’ll show you

how very bad I can be.” White-hot desire spears me, and the only thing that keeps me from climbing over the console and straddling Griff is the fact that he’s driving down the street in search of an empty parking space. “Promise you’ll be very bad later on?” “Promise,” he says. Just then, a car backs out of a driveway, nearly hitting us. Griff swerves to avoid bumping into the other car’s fender and then slams on the brakes. We both jerk forward and adrenaline spikes through me. It’s only due to Griff ’s quick reflexes that we didn’t get into an accident. Griff lays on the horn, and the other

driver flips us off, then drives away, his wheels screeching. “Wow, what a jerk,” I say. There’s no response from Griff, so I turn toward him, only to find his attention focused on me. He looks pale in the darkness. “Hey,” I say, suddenly worried that Griff got hurt somehow. I don’t like the idea of Griff bruised up. “Are you okay?” He swallows once. Twice. He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Evie.” His voice is hoarse, a hint of a tremor. “Evie,” he says again, raking his dark eyes over my form. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, it just surprised me. The other

driver wasn’t even looking when he backed out!” I look at the road where the car disappeared. “If you weren’t quick—” “It would have caused an accident.” Something in his voice makes me glance back at him. Something in his face makes me worried. There’s just something off. “Griff, are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine,” he says darkly, as he straightens out his truck and starts driving again. “I just . . . I hated that you could have gotten hurt.” “But I didn’t get hurt, and it was the other person’s fault anyway.” “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And for a

moment . . .” Griff ’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his features stark. “For a moment, I thought I didn’t avoid the other car in time.” “Well, you did,” I say softly. “I did,” he agrees. But I can see that he’s still thinking about it and running over what could have happened—and more likely, how he could have even avoided the near-miss in the first place. “Well, you know,” I say, trying to make things better. “That happens every day, with drivers being idiots, so don’t stress too much about it. Nothing bad happened.” “True,” he says and falls back into

silence. Luckily, a few minutes later, we manage to find a spot and pull in between two cars. We walk up the street and I see a group coming out of the house to hang out on the lawn, despite the chill of the air. I stop thinking about the almost accident and wave to some people I know. The guys’ house is on a street that’s been dubbed “Green College Row,” because all of them are properties of Green College. It’s not a place where families and non-college people live. The residents here have to be careful about noise ordinances and other stuff that comes when holding a party, but usually, unless things get too out of hand, it’s a

cop-free zone. And the house that Griff lives in is more careful than most. The times I’ve gone to parties here, there’s always been one or two of the guys sober. Griff has typically been one, and sometimes it’ll be Caleb or Jamie or Nick, depending on who’s volunteered. Keys are always taken, and if someone drinks, a cab is called. “Griff!” A voice bellows from the lawn, and we both look in the direction. It’s Jamie, who’s crossing the yard, and stops when we reach him. “You forgot, didn’t you?” “I had other things on my mind.” Jamie’s gaze slides over to me, his blue eyes widening with recognition.

“Yeah, I can see what those other things are. But anyway, glad you’re finally here. Fox is in the kitchen. I’m sure he’ll want a birthday kiss.” Griff just scowls at his friend. “Let’s get inside,” Jamie says. “There’s going to be cake.” “So how last minute was this party?” I ask. “Not too last minute. Earlier today maybe. Hailey and Caleb are doing something tomorrow night—you know how those two lovebirds are—and well, it’s the last birthday with us all together. We’ve got to do something. And, of course, it’s so hard to convince college seniors to party.”

I laugh as we walk up the porch stairs. “But, anyway, everyone was on board and the Bloomster got a cake that could feed a small army.” Jamie leads us inside the crowded house. “Which, as you can see, will be needed. Everyone’s in the back.” We follow Jamie to the kitchen, and he was not exaggerating about the cake. It’s four layers of dark and milk chocolate that will be more than enough to feed everyone at this party. On the top are a bunch of candles and tiny hard-shelled, sea-salt chocolate candy roses. Happy Birthday, Caleb is written in caramelcolored icing. I must make a noise because Griff

turns to me. “I think I’ve died and gone to chocolate heaven,” I say. “I thought your favorite dessert was strawberry shortcake,” he says, something I told him during our game of Truth or Strip. “It is, but . . . look at all that chocolate.” I sigh, already thinking of how rich and decadent that cake will taste. “Just give me a moment to take it all in. Okay. I’m good.” Griff takes my hand, then we head to Caleb, who’s standing off to one side of the cake with Hailey next to him. “Oh, hey!” Hailey says, smiling wide. “We were about to light the candles and sing.”

Griff and Caleb do that bro hug and I wish Caleb a happy birthday as Daphne brings over some matches. “God, this thing is huge,” Caleb says. Daphne nods. “I know! I still can’t believe we got it in the house in one piece —and without you noticing.” “I might have been . . . distracted,” Caleb says. “And now I know why.” Hailey’s cheeks turn pink as she lights the birthday candles. “Please. Like I needed a reason to kiss you, but it was very convenient that you were upstairs and were willing to be . . . distracted.” Caleb waits for Hailey to finish before he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him. “Just remember what I

can do with cake.” And then Hailey’s face goes scarlet. “Ewwwww,” Daphne says. “I do not need to know about what you’re planning to do with any cake, thank you very much. You’re my brother. And no. JUST. NO. And I don’t want cake to be forever ruined for me.” But then Nick leans down to whisper something in Daphne’s ear and this time she goes a bright red. “I live with a bunch of depraved people.” Jamie shakes his head in mock disgust. “It’s up to me to raise the standards in this house for . . . oh, maybe one second.” Zelda just gazes adoringly at her

boyfriend as he goes off to the rest of the house and announces that everyone needs to get ready to sing. It’s pretty adorable how she looks at him—and even more adorable how Jamie looks at her. Soon, the kitchen is even more crowded and people press behind us who can’t fit in. The lights are dimmed and the flickering candles set an amber glow in the space. “Ready . . .” Jamie waves his hands for everyone to start singing “Happy Birthday.” And they do. Hailey’s sweet, clear voice is definitely the best of all of us, and Caleb’s attention is solely on her. Love is clear in both of their expressions.

I sigh and lean against Griff. I steal a glance at him and feel a jolt when I realize that Griff ’s eyes are on me. Love beats in my body, and I wonder if he can see it in my eyes, my face, the way I lean on him. I’m not sure I can hide the fact that I’m falling in love with him. That I love him. I’ve never been good at schooling my emotions, and right now, I’m not even sure why I should hide what I feel. Except for the fact that it is way too soon and I don’t want to scare Griff off for good—I mean, there’s a big difference between oh, it’s so awesome you’re in love with me and oh, crap, this girl has lost her marbles. The song comes to an end and Hailey says, “Make a wish,” and the room goes

briefly dark as candles are blown out. I blink when someone turns the kitchen lights back on. People move around us, and I swallow hard at Griff ’s stillness. The quiet intensity. The calm before the storm. I’m not sure how long we’re standing like that. How long we look at each other. All I know is that the naked longing must be plain in every line of my face and body. It’s broken only when Daphne thrusts a piece of cake at me but doesn’t give Griff one since he shakes his head no. There’s not a chance that this cake is vegan friendly when it has milk chocolate. I take a bite and the creamy chocolate

melts on my tongue. I take one more bite before I put the cake on the nearby counter. “You’re done?” Griff asks. “I’m ready for something else.” I find his hand and interlace our fingers. “And I’m not willing to wait anymore.” Without saying a word, Griff tugs on my hand and we leave the kitchen. We pass through the living room where I see Dylan making out with Katelyn—or Kate, I mean. Ahh, good, those two managed to get together! But my attention is drawn back to Griff as we hurry up the stairs and into his room. He shuts the door behind us, and the music downstairs resumes playing. It’s

loud enough that whatever happens in this room will be private. Griff leans against the closed door, his eyes hot and heavy on me. And then he opens his mouth and one word comes out. “Strip.”

Chapter 18 ‡ I HAVEN’T MISHEARD HIM . I don’t even need him to repeat “Strip” in that dark growl of his, the one that makes me want to do all sorts of wicked things with him. I place my hands at the hem of my eyelet sweater and flirt with raising it. I notice that tick in Griff ’s firm jaw, the way his brown eyes turn a heated black, and I know that he wants me to take this —and the tank and bra—off. So I don’t.

Because I know a little something about . . . anticipation. Instead I toe off my black strappy shoes, leaving my feet bare. But my feet won’t be bared for long. I have plans for those shoes. Devious, sexy plans. I unsnap the top button of my jeans and unzip them very slowly. And then keeping my gaze on Griff, I push the denim down my hips, exposing my skimpy black panties, over my thighs, past my knees and calves until I’m able to step free. And then I reach in my sweater— and thanks to being flexible—I manage to get the tank and bra down my body and off. So, there I stand, in my white eyelet

sweater and black panties. My wild, untamed curls strewn across my shoulders and toward my back. I slide my heels back on and see Griff swallow hard. And then I crook my finger at him. He pushes off the door and stalks to me. And, despite all Griff ’s steadiness, his calm, the determined way he moves, I know—I just know—that there’s a wildness, an untamed passion, in him, too. He’s not cold or removed—he burns for me. He comes to me, not touching me, but close enough that if he reached out, his hands would land on my hips. Or, more preferably, cup my aching breasts. I walk around him, trailing my hand

from shoulder to shoulder. His muscles tighten and bunch under my light touch. I come around to face him, and I press my knees against his legs, press my index finger against his chest with the intention of pressing, pressing, pressing until he falls back to the bed. But Griff doesn’t fall back to the bed. Oh, no. One hand reaches up and encircles my finger against his chest. His rough, callused fingers smooth over my knuckles, the skin of my hand, to the frantic pulse beating inside my wrist. He strokes back and forth, back and forth, and I sway on my feet, my body already moving toward him of its own accord.

He lets go of me long enough to cup my butt. I’m thinking he’s going to kiss me, and my eyes flutter closed, and . . . In one quick motion, he brings us both to the floor. I gasp with surprise— and with how our positions bring us even closer. He’s on the floor below me, half sitting, while I straddle him. He still cups my butt, squeezing my cheeks through the thin material of my underwear. His mouth half-opens, his eyes dark with pleasure. I push my fingers through his hair, disheveling the short brown strands completely. I dance my touch across the hard planes of his face, watch how he watches me. His lips are soft, and he draws my finger into his mouth. His

tongue flicks around me, his teeth nip, and each touch echoes in me. Makes me pulse with need. I’m tight. So tight and wet and needy. And I need more. I lower myself over him, placing myself fully on his hot erection. My finger pops free of his mouth, and I run my hands down his shirt-covered chest, irritated that he’s still wearing clothes. He leans up far enough—causing him to rock against me and we both shudder with the new friction. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. His chest . . . his chest is a thing of masculine beauty. All hard and gorgeous, and I want to lick him all over. Kiss him.

Taste him. His abs clench when I graze him. His pectorals leap when I touch and linger. “Give me that mouth of yours,” he says. I can’t deny him. Don’t want to. His hand is already cupping the back of my head, bringing me to him. Our mouths meet halfway, the kiss hot and desperate and wet. More. Tongues tangle, and he makes a growly sound in the back of his throat, no doubt tasting the sweetness of the chocolate. And him? Griff tastes like everything I never knew I wanted but always needed.

He tastes like how a man should taste. His mouth leaves mine and I tip my head back when he trails a path of hot, fervent kisses down my throat. I moan when his hands travel down my front, cupping my breasts. His fingers are too big for the keyholes, but with his pinky, he skims the tip of my nipples. I let out another moan then straighten when he goes to my sweater. Yes. Yes. I want this off. The sweater is tugged off of me, and he eats me up with those dark, dark eyes. I come even more alive under his gaze, my breasts grow heavier, my nipples tighten harder, and I’m soaking with need. He lowers his head and blows on one

nipple. It pebbles. Puckers. Begging for him. But he doesn’t take me. He goes to the other. Blows on this one slow, where I can feel the push of his exhaled whisper on me and how quickly I react. I spiral into a tight ball of unleashed passion. I cry out. Needing him. His features are tight and dark, the control barely held in check. I rock against him; I dig my fingers into his bared shoulders. Telling him without any words to suck me, take me. But no, he looks at me. I can’t look away from the promise . . . the need . . . the tenderness. My heart turns and the love

threatens to spill out of me. I manage to hold back I love you. He moves to adjust his position and it sets a bolt of pleasure through my body. “Touch me,” I say to him. “Touch me, Griff.” His head lowers and his tongue flicks out against my nipple. Too short, too fast. I need more. I want more. “Please,” I beg. He kisses my tip, his tongue circling the tight bud. His eyes raise to mine, and . . . He takes me fully into his mouth, and I let out a sound of pleasure because yes, this—this—is what I’ve been wanting and pleading for.

He plays with my other nipple. A light graze. A gentle tug. My free breast is molded in his hand, and my pulse sings with awareness. My heart answers in harmony, the blood rushing to my core. I feel so in tune to him. Everything in me answers him, wants to please him and get pleased in return. He lets go of my breast to skim down my ribs. My breath sharpens as he skims over my stomach. He plays with the top of my panties. He slips inside, and the heat of him is delicious. I lift enough so he can slide deeper, to where we both want him to be. He cups me there and lets out a grunt. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Griff.” He rubs against me, his thumb brushing my clit. Nerves tremble, and I feel as if my body is beginning to break out of this cocoon. Slow and steady, he touches me. Determined. Making sure that I’ll come with his name on my lips. This is not sex. Not a mere slake of lust between two people. It’s so much more. So different than anything I’ve ever had. I love him, and each time he touches me, my love shines through brighter and brighter. I don’t say I love you out loud. I feel it. In every bone and fiber of my body.

Every time he touches me, I think: I love you, I love you, I love you. Griff kisses me, and it feels like more to me than just an expression of like. His kiss turns hotter. Wetter. And his hand resumes stroking my clit, making me ache with the need to be filled. But his fingers won’t be enough. I need his cock. I need him. “Griff,” I moan. “Need—” He takes his hand from me and goes to the sides of my panties. I shake my head no when he gestures for me to lift so I can remove them. I don’t want to get off him even for that. He kisses me, his teeth nipping my bottom lip, and I hear the slight tear of fabric. Feel the air on

my now bared pussy. He still has his jeans on, and I make a sound. I need him bare. “Wait,” he says. “Hold on. Let me . . .” He shoves his hips up, holding me in place, as he pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down far enough. His unsheathed cock brushes against my folds. My eyes close in pleasure. “Evie,” his voice strangles out. I open my eyes to see sweat bead along his brow, his lips tight. He feels too good like this. Heated velvet steel. My wetness coats his long, thick cock, and his eyes almost roll back with pleasure. His fingers make crescent marks at my hips, as I keep rubbing his

cock along my folds. He bumps against my clit and stars dance across my vision. “Evie,” he says. “We need protection.” I know we do. I know it. But I want to go bare with him. Want to feel his naked cock inside me. I’ve never gone there with a guy before, but I want to go there with him. “I’m clean,” I say. He goes stone-cold still. “What are you saying?” I rock against him. “No condom.” He swallows. Hard. “I’ve never—” “Do you want to”—I stop before I say make love—” have sex without a condom?” Desire wars with practicality in his

expression. I can almost hear the arguments running through his head, mainly, she could get pregnant. “I’m not, like, at a pregnancy risk,” I say. And it’s true; I’m not in the danger zone of my cycle. Plus . . . “I’m on the Pill.” Obviously there could still be a risk of getting pregnant, because nothing is ever foolproof, but it’s one I’m willing to take. “Do you want to?” I ask since Griff hasn’t said anything since my last statement. “Because if you do . . .” “I want to,” Griff says. “But . . .” “You’ll pull out,” I say. “You sure?”

“Positive. You?” “Yeah.” Our eyes meet as he resumes rubbing against me. I lean up a little and he grabs his cock. It’s wet from me and pulses hard in his grip. My whole body goes hot with the thought of him bare inside me. I’ll feel all of that. Every single ridge and velvet-steel glide. He lets go as I begin to lower. He grabs my hips, my hands touch his shoulders, then glide down to his chest. His heart pounds against my palms and races faster when his cock breaches me. Hot. Tight. Hard. Thick. So good. So so so so good. Oh, God. Oh. God. Oh.

God. He’s big and stretches me wide with his thick head. I widen to take more of him, feeling every part of him as he goes deeper and deeper in me. My breath hisses out of me, but not from pain. Never from pain. The pleasure is indescribable. The feel of him in me, so deep and full. I can’t get enough. “Evie?” A question in those two syllables. “I’m good,” I say. Better than good. And then we start to move. I lift up and go down on him, feeling his thrust upward. YES. I flatten my hands harder on his chest as we find our pace. That

decadent slow, steady pace, the slight swivel of hips, the hard muscles of his thighs underneath me. He leans up, closer, his mouth closing around my nipple. Pulling deep. I move harder. Faster. And then . . . He moves forward. My legs fold around his waist, holding onto him. I tug on his hair, get him to lift his head enough so our mouths meet. He presses me back against the carpeted floor and buries his head against my neck. No slowness. No steadiness. His control? Totally gone. He thrusts in me, hard and hot. Deep. Wild. Untamed. The passion unleashed. Harder. Hotter. Deeper. I clench around

him, milking him. His breath saws in and out, his mouth latches onto the side of my neck, sucking me. Marking me. My back arches off the floor as he reaches even deeper in me, touches me in every part of my soul. And I don’t break out of the cocoon. I burst free in an explosion of bright colors. His name is a shout of release from my mouth. He moves harder in me. And I know he’s close when he pulls free of me. His cock, slick and wet from me, and pulsing in his grip. He squeezes, his features tensing. “Come on me,” I say. His cock jerks in his hand, and he slits his eyes open. “Yeah?”

“Mark me,” I say. He aims toward my flat stomach and in the next breath comes on me. It’s hot and sticky, and we both stare at the creamy thickness on my skin. His hands go to my stomach, rubbing it in me, and that’s so freaking hot and dirty that it makes me want to make love with him right that second. He notices my look. “Again?” “Again,” I say. “Let me clean this off you first,” he says and reaches for his shirt. “Actually you need something wet.” “I’m already wet.” He makes a sound. “And achy.”

“Let me see.” His hands are already reaching for my legs. “Spread for me.” I do so, feeling emboldened by the heat in his eyes and the way he lovingly strokes the delicate insides of my upper thighs. “You are so wet again. So responsive.” “You came on me, and I got—” “Like this?” He growls his approval. “I’ll make the ache go away. I’ll make you feel so good.” “Yes,” I breathe out. He touches me, his thumb circling my clit. Lightly. “Griff.” “Need more?”

I arch my hips in response. A little harder. A flick. His fingers dip down to tease my entrance. “You feel so tight. You think you can take me again?” “Yes. Yes. YES.” “Take me, then,” he says as he covers me with his body and enters me in one swift thrust. “Take me.” It’s fast and hard, both of us straining toward another release. I let go first, and he pulls out of me once more, this time aiming at my breasts. We both can’t speak, much less catch our breaths afterward. Griff looks over at me. I can’t help but smile, knowing it’s a wide, goofy grin of love. Griff pauses for a long moment. “Let

me check to see if the bathroom is clear.” He doesn’t wait for my response but quickly dresses and heads out. I’m left alone to wonder what happens next for us.

Chapter 19 ‡ GRIFF RETURNS SHORTLY. “EVERYONE IS hanging downstairs, and I can keep people from using the upstairs bathroom if you want to use it.” “I definitely do, and I can take a quick shower,” I say. “Do you have something I can borrow?” “Yeah. Of course.” Griff goes over to one of his drawers and pulls out a Tshirt and shorts. The T-shirt alone will be more than enough to cover me on the

short walk to the bathroom. I grab the T-shirt from him and put it on, then gather my clothes. My panties are beyond repair, though. “I’ll just throw these away.” “Evie.” I stop and turn slightly to him. He’s standing by the foot of his bed. We never even made it to the bed. “I think we really need to talk.” Griff rakes a hand through his dark hair. “We’re about to graduate.” I nod my head miserably, but brighten when I think of our conversation at the picnic. “But remember, we were going to visit each other. Every other weekend? We wanted to make this work, right?”

“It’s just . . .” Griff lets out a sigh. “It’s just that this has happened really fast.” I nod my head in agreement and open my mouth to say— “And maybe we need to take some time to think about this.” “Some time?” I echo dumbly. “What do you mean by that?” “Earlier tonight . . . when that car almost backed into us—” “Yeah?” “I was scared that I wasn’t going to be able to avoid that car, and that you would get seriously hurt—or die like my parents did.” His parents died in a car crash. Why

didn’t I put his reaction to the near-miss and that together until right now? “Oh, Griff,” I say, softening. “But nothing bad did happen to me.” “But it could have.” His eyes meet mine. “It could have,” he repeats. “And the thought of losing you like that, like how I lost my parents . . . it’s been in the back of my mind. I just can’t do that again.” It feels like my heart stops. “What do you mean?” “Maybe we should end this,” Griff says, “before we get more involved. Before either one of us gets really hurt.” Too late for that, because I’m desperately in love with you.

“I thought you wanted to make this work,” I say again. “Were you just leading me on?” “No,” Griff says sharply. “No, it’s just . . . none of this makes sense.” “It doesn’t,” I agree. “But it doesn’t have to. I . . .” “We don’t make sense.” Oh. Oh. “It’s only been a few days,” he tries to explain. “We hardly talked before that night at the dock, and ever since then—” “We’ve been on super speed,” I say. “Maybe it’s because of the short timeline. Like you said, we graduate in a few days. We’ve been making up for lost time, and I really want to make this work with you.”

“Evie, I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.” “Why not?” “Because that car almost backing into us shook me up. It made me realize what could happen . . . who I could lose—” “You’re running scared,” I say in realization. “I’m not running scared.” “You’re pushing me away,” I continue. “You swerving to avoid the car is almost an everyday occurrence—” “Except you were in the truck and I was driving, and—” “And it brought up memories of your parents. I’m sorry about that, Griff. I really am.” I take a step toward him.

“There are no guarantees in life. None. But don’t you want to take this risk together? We could see what happens, and —” “Evie,” he says and pauses for a long moment. “You should get cleaned up. We can talk after.” He’s breaking up with me, because of his past and what he fears for the future. Still . . . He’s breaking up with me. It hurts. It fucking hurts. But maybe a shower will cool things down. Griff ’s a thinker. It’ll give him time to think and he’ll realize that he’s being an idiot, and this will end up being nothing. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do that.”

I drop my underwear in the trashcan and leave to go to the bathroom. Mindful of the fact that there’s a party in full force, I clip up my hair and take a quick shower just to clean myself up. Then, once I’m done, I put on my clothes and set my hair free. I tousle my curls and note my flushed cheeks, the slight smudge of eyeliner from the effects of the hot sex, swirling emotions, the shower, and my too-pale lips. Luckily I also have my purse with me, so I slide on some berry lip gloss and fix my makeup. It doesn’t take me long. And after I set myself to right, I almost feel better. Almost being the key word. When I leave the bathroom, I’m

relieved to find Griff waiting for me outside. “Do you want to go to your room and talk?” I ask. “Sure,” he says and we head back to his room. We don’t sit down. He stalks across and stands by his desk and I stay by the doorway. It feels as if we’re on opposite ends of the Earth. “So . . . are you breaking up with me?” I ask. “Evie, where do you really see this going?” “Us being together,” I say. “A week ago, we hardly talked. You even said you hated me.” “I thought you hated me,” I point

out. “I know,” Griff says. “But when we first hooked up, did you think . . .” “That it was going to last? No. I didn’t know what to make of it, honestly. The next day, I decided I wanted to seek you out and see if there was anything there. And there was a lot of stuff there.” So much so that I fell in love with him. “And, yes, I am falling for you, but you’re an easy guy to fall for, Griff. You’re so kind and sweet and romantic, and you made me think . . .” Wow, this is actually hard to say, to put myself out there like this. “But you made me think we could have a future together. That you wanted

to try. So, I guess I don’t really understand why you’re thinking so negatively.” Griff doesn’t say anything in response. I swallow hard. “If you thought I was only looking for a good time that night— that it was just a good time . . .” “It wasn’t just a good time,” he says hotly. “It was more than that.” “You’re running hot and cold, Griff. What am I supposed to think? Did you ever think about that? You’re the one who made the first move that night. You’re the one who brought me back here. You’re the one who asked me out at the BBQ and has gone after me. And furthermore, there’s nothing wrong with having a good

time if that’s what we both wanted.” “I know that.” “You said you followed your instincts that night. That you went against your instincts when you insulted me at the dance all those years ago. That you regretted not asking me to dance that night. And now, you’re doing . . .” I wave my hands between us. “This.” “It doesn’t make sense.” “It doesn’t have to!” My throat tightens. “I thought you really liked me. You totally went after me, so I thought —” “I won’t,” he says shortly. “You won’t . . .” “Fall for you,” he says. “I won’t let

myself. Not after what almost happened tonight. It might seem minor to you, but I just can’t lose you like that.” “So you’re going to lose me another way? That makes no sense. Why are you pushing me away? I’m standing here, telling you that I want to make this work with you, and you’re saying no.” “I’m sorry, Evie. It’s just . . . I think it’s better this way, for the both of us. Less hurt.” “I said I was falling for you earlier. You don’t think I’m hurting now?” “Do you love me? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I’m not going to confess to it now. No way. Not when he’s ending things.

“Would it matter if I was?” He doesn’t answer, and that in itself is everything I need to know. “It’s just . . .” Griff clears his throat. “It’s just that love is too risky for me. So if you want that, it’ll be better for you in the long run that we end things now. You can—” I blink. He has to be kidding. He has to be. “I’m confused. Are you saying that you’re never going to fall in love?” “That’s what I’m saying,” he says. I can’t breathe. Stars dance across my vision, but I pull myself together. There is no way I’m going to break in front of him. And surely he has to be kidding. He’s being stubborn. He lost his parents at a

young age and doesn’t want to experience that kind of pain again. “You’re scared,” I say. “You’re scared to love, to let yourself open up like that. You don’t want to get hurt again. But, Griff, you’re only going to hurt yourself by not letting yourself fall in love. And yeah, when someone you love dies . . . it’s horrible.” “Stop,” he says harshly. “Stop before you say something we’ll both regret.” I rear back, shocked and undeniably hurt. All I want to do is crumble to the floor. But I don’t. I refuse to. I turn my back on him and head down the stairs in a determined gait. By some miracle, Chloe and Taylor are at the bottom of

the stairs, having just arrived at the party. They take one look at my face and know that something is wrong. They wait for me to reach them. Chloe and Taylor don’t hug me or take my arm to support me. They know better than that. Instead they take my back, having it as always. I don’t look back at Griff, to see if he left his room and followed me. My heart is broken. I lost because Griff didn’t even want to open himself up to the chance of exploring our relationship. He’s completely closed off to love. Even though I know that, all I want to do is turn around and run back upstairs and beg him to see reason.

I inwardly curse myself. I’m acting like a girl who doesn’t know better, and I am not new to this dating game. He doesn’t want to date me any longer. He doesn’t want to fall in love. He’s never going to let himself fall for me. At least I didn’t say I love you. At least I didn’t bare my heart to him. At least I tried to make him see reason and take a gamble on us. But he doesn’t want to take a risk on us. He ended things. The only thing that gives me comfort is this: I won’t have to see Griff ever again once we graduate on Sunday. And, maybe, with distance, along with

a whole lot of time . . . I’ll stop loving him, too.

Chapter 20 Friday, Two Days until Graduation ‡ “SLEEPYHEAD,” A VOICE CROONS OUTSIDE my door. “It’s time to get up.” I snuggle deeper under my covers. Here, I can pretend that last night didn’t happen. That Chloe and Taylor didn’t ply me with ice cream while I sobbed out what had happened. That I didn’t cry myself to sleep. That Griff didn’t break

my heart. A gentle knock on the door. “Evie, if you don’t answer, Tay and I are going to come in.” “And I have Pookie with me.” Pookie is Taylor’s stuffed teddy bear that she’s had since she was a baby. Pookie is only ever used in emergency situations. “Uh oh,” Chloe says from the other side of the door. “She’s not saying anything. It’s serious. She wants the Pookie.” “That’s because Pookie makes everything better.” Not going to fall for it. I pull the covers over my head tighter. Besides I locked my door last night . . . didn’t I?

Shit. I didn’t. Too late. The door opens and I keep my position under the covers. “I’m not in the mood for anything,” I say as a warning. “Especially not Pookie.” “Now, now,” Taylor says in a small voice that’s supposed to be Pookie the Bear. “Don’t go hurting my feelings like that, Evie! I’m here to cheer you up.” “My world is dark,” I say. “Dark as night.” “That’s because you’re hiding,” Taylor as Pookie says. “Chloe, do you see where Evie is hiding?” “I think she’s under those covers.”

“Play. Along,” Taylor says. “Oh. Right. Um . . . she’s in the closet, I think.” “With all those shoes? I guess we should go look. Oh, wait. Look at that big old lump in the bed. I think it’s MOVING. You know what that is, Chloe?” “It’s Evie.” “It’s Evie being eaten by a MONSTER. We have to save her. You know how we have to save her?” “I do,” Chloe says gravely. “There’s only one way to save her.” “That’s right.” Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK.

I pop out of my covers and hold up my hands as they rush me. “Stop, stop, stop. There’s no need to . . .” I’m too late. Too freaking late. Chloe and Taylor and Pookie tackle me. Then they tickle me until I erupt in giggles, my sides clenching with hurt. “You bitches,” I say without any heat. “Takes one to know one,” Chloe says and gets off my bed. “Now, get your ass out of bed and take a shower. We’ve got plans for today.” I clutch the comforter to my chest and give both a wary look. Taylor’s still sitting at the foot of my bed, holding onto Pookie. “What sort of plans?” I ask.

“It’s Girls’ Day. And it’s a surprise. A good one, I promise,” Chloe says. “Trust us, Evie,” Taylor says, dropping the Pookie voice and using her own. “We know you’re hurting and we’re not going to pretend that the hurt will go away. But Chloe and I want to take care of you. We’re all sisters from another mister. When one of us hurts, we all hurt. And we’re going to take care of you.” “Pookie stays home,” I say. “Well, duh,” Taylor says. “Pookie is a teddy bear. And teddy bears aren’t allowed.” A NEW MIMOSA AND A hot plate of French toast covered with powdered sugar, two

huge sausage links, and some hash browns is placed in front of me. The waiter gives Taylor her strawberry-covered crepes and Chloe a short stack of dollar pancakes. Taylor opted for the bacon while Chloe ordered the corned beef hash. Jackson’s, a fresh to table restaurant, opened only a few months ago in downtown Burlington and serves from morning until late night. It’s one of the few eateries open past midnight from Thursdays to Saturdays. Getting into the place is always a nightmare but Chloe dated one of the bartenders a few months ago and has remained on good terms, so luckily we didn’t have to wait too long. We’re nestled in a booth at the back,

the spot that we refer to as “ours.” The booth is not one where benches are seated across from each other, but one of those rounded corners where people slide in to sit on the cushioned seats. I’m in the middle while Chloe and Taylor flank me. The lights in Jackson’s are low, something I’m thankful for, as my eyes still feel swollen and red from all the crying I did last night. But it’s been three hours, twentyseven minutes, and fifteen seconds since I’ve last cried. So . . . progress. I concentrate on the plate before me and pour maple syrup over my French toast. It smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles. Well, at least I haven’t lost my

appetite. I only lost my heart. I frown as I cut up my food. I know the worst thing to do is ignore the pain, to pretend that I don’t feel anything. Taking a detour to Denial City might seem like a good idea, but Heartbreak Land is right around the corner. There’s no way to avoid it. Pushing the hurt down and acting like everything is normal is just not going to work for me. I’m a feeler. A talker. And while I don’t want to harp about Griff and have it all be me, me, me, it’s all still fresh and new and so utterly hard that I know I have to allow myself to be a little selfish today. To harp and be all me, me, me. My two best friends in the whole world have

been incredibly awesome to give me space and haven’t prodded since our conversation late last night. This is what we do for each other. Last month, Chloe and I took Taylor here after a huge blow-out with her asshole of a father. Two weeks ago it was Chloe who needed it after some guy led her on. Through thick and thin, good times and bad, we’re here for each other. What am I going to do without them? They’ll be in the same city and I’ll be in Manhattan, granted I’ll have my family. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, but they’re not my girls. I’m going to miss Chloe and Taylor terribly. I’m going to miss Griff even

more. My chin wobbles. “Oh no,” Chloe says. “What do you need, Evie? Another mimosa? More potatoes? Maybe chocolate?” Taylor’s already signaling the waiter. “Definitely chocolate. Their sea-salted caramel hot chocolate is divine. And Lake Champlain Chocolates is only a few blocks away. After we eat, we’re heading there.” “And then we’re taking you to get pampered. We’ll do it together. Hair. Nails. Massages.” Chloe pauses when the waiter comes over and Taylor orders the hot chocolate. “Then we’ll watch a movie at the cheap seats and grab some dinner

at the Italian place we all like. Or, if you want to, we can go punch things.” “I don’t want to punch things. Some joke, right?” I reach for my mimosa and take a healthy swig of it. “Of us all, I’m the most experienced. So I should know better. I usually do know better. It was just supposed to be fun, hot sex. But instead . . . I lost my heart.” “It happens,” Taylor says. “Don’t kick yourself too much. It could be worse. You could have said I love you and—” “I know,” I say. “I didn’t want to scare him off, but he still broke up with me.” “It sucks and I know it hurts really bad, but in time, things will get better,” Chloe says.

I glance down at my food. “It doesn’t feel like that now.” The waiter brings over the hot chocolate, and I debate about getting another mimosa but I’ve already had two. I know I’ll be having a glass or two (or, let’s be honest, five) of Riesling later on, so it’s smarter not to drink so much right now. I need a clear head. But nothing has been clear since last night. I drop my head for a brief moment. “I just wish . . .” “You wish it had turned out differently,” Chloe says even softer. “Yeah.” I swallow hard and raise my head to meet my friends’ sympathetic

gazes. I love these girls. “Yeah, I do.” THE SPA IS A PHONE-FREE zone, and for once, I’m glad to turn it off and put it, along with Chloe and Taylor’s, in the glove compartment of Chloe’s car. Not that it even matters. There have been no calls. No emails. No texts. Nothing. What did I expect? For Griff to reach out and say, About last night, I was an ass, I was wrong, and I want us to be together. Yeah. Right. This is the real world, not Evie’s Fantasy Land. We check in at the front desk and are soon led to a small changing area with three rooms. We each take one. I undress

and put on the plush robe, then slide into the foam flip-flops that were given to me. When we get back outside, we’re led to a sitting room and a spa attendant gives us a fizzy glass of champagne with a strawberry and a plate of fresh fruit. I set my glass of champagne on the table and take a pineapple slice. “Do you know what’s first, Chloe?” “Massages,” Chloe says. “Nails second and then hair and makeup.” “I’m surprised you could book us all at once so fast,” I say. Chloe colors slightly. “I didn’t. I’ve had this booked for months. It’s actually, well, my brother and his wife’s graduation gift.”

“You mean one of their graduation gifts,” Taylor teases. It’s not a secret that Chloe’s older brother and only sibling, Nate, spoils her rotten. “I know! It’s too much. They’re too much,” Chloe says. “But they wanted me to take you two out.” “Your brother and his wife are awesome.” Nate and his wife, Willow, are also new parents to a baby girl named Belle, born on Valentine’s Day. “Is he able to come up? I know it’s been up in the air because of the team’s schedule.” “Nate said he wouldn’t miss it for the world. And the management luckily cleared it,” Chloe says happily. “Our

parents will be there, too, so I’ll be really happy to see all of them.” “If your brother wasn’t happily married and hopelessly in love with his wife, I’d marry him.” Taylor gives a gusty sigh. For some reason, I start crying. Chloe and Taylor come over to me. Taylor grabs my hand while Chloe hugs me. “I’m not going to say it’ll get better or anything stupid like that,” Chloe says. “But we’re here for you, and we’ve got you.” “Always,” Taylor says. I sniffle and search for a tissue. Taylor grabs one and passes it over to me. I

hastily wipe my eyes and clear my throat. “I love you both,” I say. “I’m such a hot mess right now, and you’re here for me.” “Of course we are.” Taylor leans up and hugs me. Chloe nods her head. “You can’t control what’s going to happen. We all know that better than anyone. What you thought—what we all thought—would just be a nice little fling before graduation turned out to be so much more. And one day, he’s going to realize that he missed out on something great.” “It’s his loss, not yours,” Taylor says. “It feels like it’s both of our losses,” I say truthfully. “That we both lost out on

something . . . magical.” Chloe and Taylor don’t say anything. They just hug me and support me with their love and friendship. It does soothe me a little, knowing that they’re there for me. But it does nothing to mend my broken heart. I’m not sure anything will ever be able to solve this heartbreak. Except for Griff, and there’s no possibility of that ever happening. AFTER BEING PAMPERED FOR A few hours, we walk out of the spa. “You feeling any better?” Chloe asks. I take a moment to think about it. The sun is shining and the air is nice and

mild. It’s a beautiful day, nothing like the chill of last night’s weather. There’s so much to be grateful for right now. I’m here with my best friends. Brunch was great, and the spa visit was fabulous. But better? I’m not quite better. I’m not sure I’ll ever be better. “I feel relaxed,” I say. Chloe nods in understanding as she unlocks her car. I slide into the passenger seat as Taylor takes the back. I get our phones out of the glove compartment and turn my cell back on. It’s lit up with messages. My heart gives a traitorous thump, hope beating hard in my chest. Griff. He’s called. He’s realized his mistake. He wants

me back. But then I take a closer look at my cell. It’s not his number. It’s actually not a number I recognize straight off. Behind me, Taylor lets out a soft gasp. “Chloe . . .” “I know. I see it,” Chloe says. “Evie —” It’s too late, because I see it. The news headlines. The reason why I have so many calls from a number I don’t recognize. The number that I belatedly realize is from Transfixed, the makeup company where I was supposed to start my internship. But that’s no longer going to happen. I click on the news video clip and watch it, not even believing what I’m

seeing. “Lachlan Harlow, self-made billionaire, CEO of Harlow Investments, was indicted today of charges of fraud and stealing billions from his clients. But the enigmatic billionaire is nowhere to be found. The authorities suspect that Mr. Harlow has fled the country and are doing everything in their power to find him. The courts have frozen all of Mr. Harlow’s assets. This includes all his companies, including Transfixed, operated by his only daughter, Lily Harlow. According to our sources, Lily Harlow is being questioned now about her father and is not suspected of any involvement. We’ll report more information as we learn

of it.” I click off. Still stunned. I press the first message and put it on speaker. The person who hired me, the head of HR, is on the other end. She informs me that there is no longer a position due to unforeseen circumstances and wishes me the best of luck. The next is from the creative director, the woman I would be directly reporting to, who gives me pretty much the same message as the HR’s. And then my parents. My sisters. And then, most surprisingly, there’s one from Lily Harlow herself. I’ve only met her a handful of times, but she was always kind to me. She never struck me as the feather-brained heiress who has often

been photographed or reported about in the media. She seemed smart and creative and funny and . . . generous. I was excited to work with her. In her voice mail, that she keeps very brief, her voice is tense and apologetic as she wishes me the best. I look at Chloe and Taylor. Shock must be in my face. I know it’s in my voice. “What am I going to do?” I don’t have a job. I’m heartbroken. My future doesn’t seem bright or hopeful. I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Chapter 21 Saturday, One Day until Graduation ‡ I’M MAKING MYSELF A CUP of coffee when a bleary-eyed Chloe walks in. She glances at the clock on her way to the fridge. She rummages for her flavored creamer of the week and soon finds it. “So,” she says, “you look like hell.” “I feel like hell.” I idly stir my spoon in the coffee and then take a sip,

scrunching up my face in distaste at the too bitter flavor. None of the many coffees I’ve made have been right. Chloe takes my cup out of my hands and takes a sip. “Yuck. Awful. I’ll make you one.” I move to the side to make room for her. “I’d ask how long you’ve been up, but I think it’s pretty obvious you haven’t slept.” “I tried,” I say. “I just . . . couldn’t.” “Understandable.” “I just don’t know what I will do.” “Well.” Chloe falls silent for a moment as she stares at the thick brew inside the coffee pot. She shakes her head

and turns to look at me. “What do you see in that pot?” “Um, coffee.” “How long has that coffee been in there?” I’m not sure what Chloe’s getting at. “Maybe since midnight?” “And it’s almost seven. So it’s been sitting there and you’ve had . . . how many cups?” “I’ve lost track,” I say. “But it’s never been a full cup. I’ll take a sip or two and then toss it. And then since I was up, I thought I should be productive. Except I didn’t feel like making any nail polishes or anything. So I’ve just been watching QVC all night.”

“The problem with this coffee is that it’s been sitting here. It doesn’t taste good to start, so nothing will fix it.” “Are we just talking about the coffee? Or are we talking about Griff or the internship blowing up or everything?” “The internship. I thought you and Griff were good for each other and would actually make it.” “I thought so, too.” “So, the internship and coffee. When something doesn’t have a good feel, you start over.” Chloe takes the coffee pot and dumps the liquid in the sink. She rinses out the pot and puts it back in its place. “Why did you take the internship at Transfixed?”

“Well, it is—it was—a really good company. Fairly new and young and hip. And I thought I could learn there.” Chloe leans against the counter. “Let me put it this way: Why were you taking any internship?” I frown. “I’m not following.” “Okay. Let me try again. Coco Chanel.” “Coco Chanel,” I repeat dumbly. “You’re like her. In makeup design, I mean. Why would you take an internship or work for someone else’s company when you should have your own?” “My own company.” “Yes.” This is not a new conversation. Chloe

and Taylor have talked about this before, and I’ve always had the same argument, one that I repeat now. “But there’s steps to that. It takes a lot. Experience—” “Experience that you learn on the job. No amount of training or school or anything will ever prepare you for the real thing.” “It takes money.” “Which you have,” Chloe says. “Your parents have money, and you have a trust fund.” “I don’t have access to those funds until my twenty-fifth birthday,” I say. “But you have money in your accounts. You told me that.” “It would be enough to start it up,” I

say. “But I’d have to use it all, and the costs might be too much in New York for —” “Why do you even have to go to New York?” I sit in a kitchen chair. “Because that’s where I grew up. It’s—” “It might be where you grew up, but do you want to go back because you love it or because it’s safe?” It’s an echo of what Griff asked me, and pain sharpens my breath. I study the table. Am I playing it safe? What if I was going back to New York because it’s also what I know and have always known? What if I’ve been lying to myself and haven’t been taking the risks I thought I

was? “Los Angeles isn’t any less expensive,” I say. “It is when you’re with your two best friends.” “What do you mean?” Chloe eyes the coffee pot. “Wait a sec. I need to get Taylor for this.” Minutes later, Taylor is sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open while Chloe starts pouring coffee into mugs. “What’s this all about?” I ask once Chloe takes a seat. “Chloe and I’ve been talking,” Taylor says. “About . . .?” “About you and the internship.”

“I know you both haven’t been exactly excited about it,” I say. “That’s only because you should be starting your own company,” Chloe says. “Your Evie Hart line, remember?” “But that needs more time. It needs —” “No time is ever going to be the right time, Evie,” Taylor says softly. “You could start finding excuses to not start your line. Like, oh, I got a promotion in Transfixed.” “Well, that’s not going to happen since Transfixed is kaput,” I say darkly. “And you’re forgetting something important. Most start up companies fail. I could start my makeup line and have it do

nothing.” I shock myself into silence. Do I really believe that? Is that why I’m making excuses? Do I think I’ll fail? It is a possibility. Failure is always a possibility. Won’t I fail if I don’t try? If I never go after my dream? But I went after love and look where that got me. “Besides,” I say, hoping to not think of Griff or what happened right now. “It’s a huge undertaking and . . .” “You were going to start small,” Chloe reminds me. “You have a business plan,” Taylor adds. “It would need adjustments. And yes,

I was going to start out small. I was going to start with nail polishes and film tutorials for YouTube, Instagram, and other social media sites. I planned on going to beauty trade shows, conventions, going from store to store. I’d make makeup wherever I lived and then move it to a bigger production scale when demand called for it. And . . .” “Hold on.” Chloe runs off again and returns in a few, holding something behind her back. “Show her, Taylor.” Taylor turns her laptop to face me. “I’ve been working on this. Your site.” It’s a beautiful website, clean and professional and pretty. The ombre pink background gives it a soft romantic but

contemporary chic feel. And the label for my name looks exactly like I’ve always imagined it. How I’ve sketched it out to the girls. “You drew this,” I say to Chloe, recognizing her artistic talent and skills. “I took what you wanted and added my own flair,” Chloe says. “You like?” “I love,” I say. The E and H of my name are looped in such a way to form a heart and the rest of my name is in easy-to-read cursive font. All in a bright pink. “And I took some of your bottles and made labels. Taylor and I placed them strategically to get the best shot. Here, you can see for yourself.” Chloe finally

shows me what she’s been hiding behind her back. Some of my nail polishes all labeled up. Taylor shows me the page for the nail colors. When I hover over a bottle, a dot of the color is shown and then photographs showing how it looks on nails. I hover over all twelve to see how each one looks. It looks amazing. “We know there’s only twelve up,” Chloe says. “A really small number.” “But it’s a start,” I say. “They look awesome. These are the colors that I would want to start with. I might add a few more to the page—” “I can do that,” Taylor says. “And that’s the other thing, Evie,”

Chloe says. “Why start the company in New York? Come out to L.A. with us. It can be a fresh start for you. And also, why would you have to do this alone?” I stare at both of them. Truthfully, in my wildest dreams, I always wanted to work with my two best friends. “You want to do this with me?” “Hell yes,” Chloe and Taylor say at the same time. “But I thought you two had other plans.” “Plans change,” Chloe says. “And, okay, here’s the thing. Coming up with the graphics for your website and looking at your colors, it made me want to be involved. You’re really good with the

names and thinking of colors you want, but I could bring different kinds of nail colors to the table. Like you know that sunrise you always wanted?” “Yeah.” “I figured out how to do it.” Chloe shows me another bottle, a beautiful color of a sunrise, all orange and pink and red mixed together. I open it up and place a streak along a napkin. “It shimmers with gold,” I say. “Like sun rays streaking across the horizon. You did this?” “I did.” “This is awesome!” I glance at Taylor then. “But I thought you wanted to become an actress.”

“My dreams have changed,” Taylor says. “I like behind the scenes stuff more. I loved making your website. I love thinking about how to market your stuff. I want to be there with you and Chloe.” “There’s one problem,” I say. Chloe leans forward, looking prepared for any argument I bring forth. “And what’s that?” “The name,” I say. They both give me blank looks. It’s fun for once to have turned the table on them. To surprise them. “If we’re doing this together, it has to be equal,” I say. “My name isn’t going to work as the product name. It needs to have all of us.”

“What about ETC?” Taylor suggests after a moment. “Our first initials, and it also has a little play on et cetera.” Chloe claps her hands. “I love it! Evie?” “I absolutely love it. Is it a problem to switch the site? To redo everything? And we’ll need a new graphic.” “None of that is going to be an issue,” Taylor says. “The site was a work in progress.” “Designing something will be fun,” Chloe adds. “So, are we really going to do this?” I put my hand out and watch as Chloe and Taylor put their hands on top of mine.

“We’re doing this,” I say. “And I’m going to Los Angeles with you two. I just need to tell my family.” “Will they be upset?” I shake my head. “My parents? God, no. Meredith won’t care, either. She’ll probably be glad that I won’t be crashing at her place. My family might not be artistic and stuff, but they want me to go after my dreams. They understand when my dreams change. They know I go all in. And I’m ready to go all in with you.” We smile wide at each other, all happy with this fresh new possibility. It will be scary and hard, but we’ll do it. Together. Taylor clears her throat. “Not to ruin this party, but what about Griff?”

“Griff ended things,” I say flatly. “He’s not going to care that I’m moving away. I’m not sure I’ll even tell him. I mean, how will I even tell him? It’s not like I plan on running into him. He’s made it perfectly clear, and I’m not going to seek him out. And you know, I’m not running away from him. I want to see where this new dream with ETC and you two goes. And maybe being thousands of miles away will help me get over this heartbreak.” Taylor nods sympathetically and squeezes my hand. “I’m sure it will.” “It definitely will,” Chloe says. “You’ll be so busy that you won’t have a spare moment to think about him.”

That doesn’t seem possible, but I’m willing to try anything at this point. AFTER I TALK TO MY parents—which, as I predicted, went well—Chloe and Taylor push me to my room and I soon fall asleep. I wake up hours later. Tonight is the dinner back at Green College campus but I don’t feel like going, mainly because I don’t want any possibility of running into Griff. Chloe and Taylor are in agreement about skipping and we decide to spend our second to last night in Vermont at the first place we went out together. Sweetwaters. The food is great, the dessert even better.

And, as we exit, I’m laughing and actually having a good time. It’s not that I’m ignoring my heartbreak, but that I’m trying to still live my life. Because this is how my life will be, until I either get over loving Griff (which I don’t think will ever happen) or learn how to live with a permanent broken heart. Maybe one day I will move past this, but I just don’t see how. I’m not really paying attention to where we’re headed, but have my head down, so it surprises me when we suddenly jerk to a stop. When Chloe and Taylor stand in front of me protectively. I look up and let out a gasp. Griff and his friends are outside a

bar. And he’s seen us. He leaves his group and heads our way, determination in each step. I turn in the opposite direction. “Let’s go. Now.” But Griff is faster. He steps in front of me. Blocking me. “Evie,” Griff says, “I really need to speak to you. I heard about Transfixed and I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I’m completely confused, and my mouth feels dry. Why is Griff here right now? Why is he even talking to me? “I wasn’t, but I am now,” I say. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to New York anymore.” “Where are you going?” Griff asks,

his expression one of concern. “To L.A.” I take a step back. “Why does it matter? You broke up with me. Why do you even care?”

Chapter 22 ‡ HE DOESN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION. “Let’s talk.” “Talk?” I give a hollow laugh. “I think we’ve done enough talking, haven’t we?” “Evie.” That low growl of his reaches places inside of me. It grasps the edges of my broken heart. It makes me want to push my friends aside and go to Griff. “Don’t Evie me,” I say instead.

“Come on, Evie!” Griff rakes a hand through his hair. “Just tell me why you’re leaving.” My mouth drops open. Is he fucking serious? He can’t be. He’s not stupid. “Okay,” I say. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.” “Evie!” Taylor says worriedly. Chloe looks at me. “Are you sure about this?” “I am,” I say. “Okay,” Chloe says. “But we’ll be here if you need anything.” I know they will be and I’m grateful for that. I turn my attention back to Griff. “Say what you have to say.” “Not here,” he says.

“I’m not going back to your place.” “The waterfront, then,” he says. “Walk with me to the lake.” To where it all started. Fitting, I guess, that we’ll go there to really end this. I nod my head in agreement. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.” WE’VE ONLY BEEN WALKING A block downhill, not even close to Lake Champlain, when Griff abruptly stops under a streetlight. The light pools around him, casting a long shadow against the brick building behind him. I wait for him to speak. The silence gives me time to study Griff. It’s only been two days since I haven’t seen him,

talked to him, kissed him, and it feels like a century has gone by. I look for any differences in him. Any pain that leaks out in those granite-hard features of his. I search for any dark circles under his eyes, if he nicked a spot shaving, or if he seems shaken. But there’s nothing that I can see. Griff looks great. Hot, as always. Dark jeans, a black tee. There aren’t any dark circles. There are no nicks on his freshly shaven jaw. And he is steady as ever. What did I expect? For him to be moved? For him to realize that he messed up and beg me to give him another chance?

Yeah, right. But it doesn’t answer one thing . . . “Why do you want to talk?” I ask and cross my arms once more. Just being here hurts—with him only a few feet away, where I can smell his clean, masculine scent, remember how his lips felt on mine, how his arms held me, how my name sounded when he came . . . I suddenly wish I hadn’t come here. That I stayed behind with my friends. That I didn’t agree to talk to Griff. Why do I need one last time? “You’re really going to L.A.,” he says. “Yup.” “And when did you decide this?” “Today, not that it’s any concern of

yours.” But it could have been his concern. It would have been had he not broken up with me. He prowls toward me, all steely intent, but I don’t give away how that affects me. How much it wrecks me that he’s so close to me that I can touch him, but I don’t. We’re not together anymore. “I don’t get it,” he says shortly. I uncross my arms. “You don’t get what?” “How you can decide to move across the country”—he snaps his fingers —“just like that.” “Again, I don’t see why it matters to you.” His dark eyes flicker with temper.

“How could you move across the country?” “I don’t have an internship there anymore. It was . . .” It made me cry my eyes out because you weren’t there to comfort me. “Hard. Really hard.” His gaze softens. “I’m sorry, Evie. But why does that mean you’re—” “Because we’re going to start the company in L.A.” “We’re?” “Chloe, Taylor, and I,” I say. “We’re going to do it together. I don’t want to be in New York. And there’s nothing for me in Burlington.” He doesn’t even flinch. He really doesn’t care about me.

So why does he even want to know why I’m moving. It doesn’t make any sense. “It just seems . . . sudden,” he says. “You said you—” “I know what I said,” I bite out. “Just like I know what you said. Has any of that changed? Do you want us to be together?” When he doesn’t answer, I give a harsh laugh and start walking—in the opposite direction, back to where Chloe and Taylor will be waiting for me. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this. I don’t know what I was expecting.” Except that’s a bald-faced lie. Because I know what I was hoping for—and that is obviously not going to happen.

I turn around and feel a flash of white-hot anger fueled by hurt that Griff is still standing where I left him. He’s not even bothering to follow me? I really am an idiot. And I have had enough. I stalk back to him, my temper rising with each step I take. When I reach him, I’m absolutely furious. He’s so freaking calm. So unaffected. “I don’t know why you even want to know,” I say. “You don’t care. You said you won’t ever fall in love, so that means you won’t love me. You broke up with me because you got scared of what could happen, which I get but don’t get. You don’t want this. You don’t want me. And I

hate that. I hate you.” “So you’re going because of that.” I dig my nails into my palms. “I’m going because I want to go after this new venture and see where it takes me.” “But I thought your dream—” “Don’t talk to me about dreams when you’re too . . .” My pain sputters out in frustration. “When you’re too constipated to even go after yours. You said I was your dream. You said that to me, but then break up with me. You ask me why I’m going to L.A. and make me think you still care. I thought you were going to tell me that you made a huge mistake.” “Evie.” “Don’t,” I say and hold up my hand.

“I get it now. You’re asking me why I’m leaving because your pride feels damaged.” “I asked you because it felt like an impulsive decision,” he says. “I’m not going to deny it,” I say. “I told you on our first date. I go by my instincts that are often spot-on.” He lets out a curse and strides to me. “I don’t understand you.” It feels as if a firehouse has doused the fires of my anger. My frustration, my temper, my rage goes out with that one sentence. It leaves only devastating pain. As if I’m being ripped in two. “You don’t understand me,” I repeat back dumbly. “You know what’s funny,

Griff? We weren’t even together for seven days, but I felt as if you knew me better than anyone else. That you got me. That you really saw me for me.” “I do,” he says with irritation. “I do fucking see you—” “You obviously don’t if you don’t know why I’m really going.” “I never thought you were a runner,” he says. “I’m not the one who ran. You did. You pushed me away. Maybe it is better that you were honest that night.” “What do you mean?” he asks, his anger also deflating. “When you said you wouldn’t ever fall in love, because I get it now. We are too

different and we wouldn’t have worked out. You don’t even want to leave Vermont, and I want to see the world. Would you have expected me to move back to Burlington at some point? Would you have stood in the way of my dreams instead of supporting me?” “You don’t know me if you think that,” Griff says. “I want your makeup line to take off. And you even said that Vermont wasn’t out of the question.” “I did,” I admit. “I was willing to do anything to be with you. I was putting myself out there for you.” “I put myself out there, too. It wasn’t one-sided.” “That first night, you didn’t say

anything to me until just before we had sex. You asked me if I was sure and then if I would stay after.” “I asked you out the next day. I made my intentions clear to you.” “Just like I made myself clear to you. I can’t help that I was falling in love with you.” That I love you. “And I can’t help it that I don’t want to fall in love,” Griff bursts out. We both fall silent, our chests heaving. “You see,” I say after I find my voice, as broken as it is. “I’m right. We wouldn’t have worked out.” Griff looks at me sadly. “You want it

all, Evie. And I just can’t give that to you.” “That’s where you’re wrong. You could give me anything if you wanted to. I never wanted it all.” “What did you want, then?” “It’s simple,” I say. “I only wanted you, Griff.” “I—” “But we don’t always get what we want,” I say. “I wish things had gone differently. I really do. But nothing is going to change, and I think it’s for the best that we say good-bye now.” “We’re graduating tomorrow.” “Do me a favor. Don’t come near me at graduation. Let this be it. We really

don’t have anything else to say, do we?” I search his face but he doesn’t respond in the slightest. “This is painful right now. Let’s be happy tomorrow. And to do that, I don’t want to run into you. Okay?” For a long moment, he doesn’t do anything, and a tiny flare of hope lights inside me. Until he nods. And then my hope withers away. “Okay,” he says. “Good-bye, Evie. I wish you the best.” Somehow I find it in me to smile. A small one that trembles at the corners. “Good-bye, Griff.” I turn around and head back to Church Street. We didn’t even make it to

Lake Champlain. It really is over. And it was more horrible than I thought it would be. I don’t see how tomorrow will be any better. How I’ll find happiness in California. How I’ll ever fall in love again when I really thought Griff was the one for me. My heart is smashed into pieces. We just said good-bye like we were strangers. All I want is for him to whisper my name, to hear him run toward me, to have him grab me and whirl me around and kiss me and kiss me and kiss me as he mutters that he’s a fool, that he loves me, and that he’ll never ever let me go. None of that happens. And I can’t even curse myself for being stupid or an

idiot for my thoughts. My feelings. For the dream that has died, the one that included Griff. My future will be without him. And I’m not sure how I’ll go on. Somehow I will, and I’ll learn to move past this. But right now? All I want is Griff. All I want is his love. All I want is a chance. All I want is that dream back. It’s not going to happen, though. It’s never going to happen. And it sucks.

Chapter 23 Sunday, Graduation Day ‡ THE GRADUATION CEREMONY STARTS AT eleven, so I have to be at Green College a half-hour before. It seems hours away at 6 a.m., and I wince in sympathy at the thought of my parents driving up this early—and for my youngest sister, Vanessa, who had her senior prom last night. No doubt, she’ll be exhausted. But my parents and sisters are in one car, and

Meredith will take my car back to the city, since I won’t need it. We’re going to pile our stuff into Taylor’s SUV and road trip across to Los Angeles. Our plan is to leave bright and early tomorrow, so we pack up what we can in a few hours and will do the rest once the ceremony ends. Since all of our families are going right to the gymnasium, where the graduation is taking place, they’re going to celebrate it after with a late lunch at The Water Works. Soon, it’s time to get ready and, even though the temperature is cool and brisk, I know that it’ll feel hot in the gym. I opt for a bright pretty-in-pink dress that feels

light and airy. It has a slight 1950s feel to it with the scooped neckline, a dipped in waist, and a flared skirt. I leave my hair down and slide into a pair of sparkly heels, the rhinestones and crystals an ombre of pink and silver. My makeup looks soft, except for the pop of pink—a strawberry vanilla that really tastes like a strawberry milkshake to me—on my lips. And I’ve got my nails done in—what else —Pretty in Pink. I grab my robe and cap and head out to the main living area. Chloe’s wearing a cobalt blue tank dress and Taylor’s in a vivid violet. “You both look amazing,” I say. “You do, too,” Taylor says.

Chloe nods in agreement. “How are you feeling now?” Of course when we were packing, I shed a few more tears about Griff. “I feel like I’m all cried out,” I say. “And I’m ready to graduate.” “Let’s go, then,” Chloe says. WE ARRIVE AT GREEN COLLEGE and head to the main building, where the cafeteria is located. Not surprisingly it’s already crowded with students. Some professors and office workers are getting everything in order. We bypass the inside, where there’s some pastries laid out, and head to the tables. We have to line up in alphabetical order, so I hug Chloe and

Taylor briefly then head over to the designated area for last names from G to L. As everyone shuffles in order, I look around. I see familiar faces—other students I shared classes with, hung out with at parties, or just know because it’s a friend of a friend of a friend kind of situation. I easily spot Caleb Fox, since his area of tables is in front of mine. And because he’s a tall guy. His back is to me, but he’s got his robe and cap on, and it looks like he’s talking to Nick Brady. Nick should be with the A to Cs, but it doesn’t surprise me to see that Nick has left to talk to his friend.

Nor does it surprise me when I see Jamie stroll up to them from the back. I wait anxiously to see if the last member of their core group will come up. I don’t know if I want to see Griff or not . . . or if it would be better not to run into him at all. I asked him not to look for me. To not approach me. But . . . I love him. Still. It’ll get better once I leave Vermont tomorrow. Distance will help. I hope so anyway. But I continue to look for Griff; my focus on the side that he should walk from. That’s why when I hear “Evie,” from my other side, I jump and let out a small squeak.

I laugh it off when other students glance at me. So. Embarrassing. I steel myself as I turn around, because I know who it is. “Griff,” I say coolly. Never have I been so glad that my voice doesn’t reflect the turmoil in my heart. I want to hug him and kiss him. And I also want to kick him for coming up to me. Because seeing him in his black graduation robe and cap makes me want to forget last night. He’s got some special things on his robe to mark his summa cum laude honors and I have my magna cum laude to add to mine. I wish we could just start over. I wish I could say: Hey, it’s okay that you don’t want

to fall in love, and I’ll pretend that you didn’t break my heart. But yeah, I can’t do that. I move a little away from the group of people to a side table pushed against one wall. It’ll give us some privacy. Griff rakes his gaze over me. Taking me in. Drinking me in. I don’t know what to make of the look in his eyes. Of the yo-yo of my emotions. “Evie,” he says again. I haven’t yet put my robe on, and the vain part of me hopes that he likes what he sees. That he’s suffering right now because he misses me. I give myself a hard internal shake. Why do I still believe in the impossible? Why?

“There’s something I need to say,” he says finally. “Something I didn’t say last night.” I flinch, already thinking how horrible it will be. “Something else? Something that will cause me more pain?” “Not—” “I thought I told you to stay away,” I say. Even though I was looking for him. Even though part of me wanted to see him. Too late I remember why I shouldn’t have wanted those things. There’s too much pain. Too much hurt. And I don’t want to have to sit in a two plus hour ceremony and go over this new

conversation. I’ll already be going over what happened last night. “I couldn’t,” he says. “Stay away, that is. I had to see you.” “Griff.” “I have to talk to you, Evie,” he says, his voice desperate. “I—” “We’ve talked enough. You told me everything you had to say. And I’m not interested in hearing that—” “You don’t under—” Someone blows a shrill whistle, and then a voice booms: “In your places, everyone! We’re going to walk to the gymnasium now.” “I have to go. You have to go,” I say. He grabs my hand. “Evie.”

“Let go, Griff,” I say. “I’m done talking to you. You have nothing to say that I need to hear.” His jaw firms and his grip tightens on my wrist. He steps closer. For a wild moment, I don’t think he’s going to let me go. I think he’s going to pick me up over one shoulder and carry me off somewhere to have his wicked way with me. But that is . . . silly. He may want me, but he doesn’t love me. Want isn’t enough anymore. And then, in a blink of an eye, he lets me go. But he doesn’t step away. “We will talk,” he says. “There is something I have to say. And you’ll hear it, one way or another.”

He stalks off before I have a chance to speak. Only to leave me wondering . . . What did he mean? I WONDER WHAT HE MEANS as I put my robe and cap on. I wonder what he means as I hurry and find my place in line. I wonder as we walk across Green College’s campus to the gymnasium. I wonder as we take our seats. As speeches are made. I think about what he said just now. It makes me think about the fight, and about last night. About exactly what he said. And I can’t help it that I don’t want to fall in love.

Don’t. Don’t want to. I sit there, frozen with shock, as names of graduating seniors are read out. He didn’t say I’m not in love with you. He didn’t say I don’t love you. He didn’t even say I can’t love you. He said I don’t want to fall in love. Does this mean . . . Could it mean . . . That he actually loves me. It can’t, right? It can’t. There’s something I need to say. Something I didn’t say last night. I tell myself that he didn’t mean anything by it. That I’m reading too much into the don’t want to fall in love and what he said to me in the cafeteria.

That it’s nothing. My row starts to get up and approach the stage, in preparation to have our names called. It seems like I’m standing there forever. It gives me time to look out into the rows. Where I find Griff easily enough. He’s the only one looking at me so fiercely. My heart thumps hard in my chest. The person ahead of me is suddenly called. And then I hear my name. “Evelyn Grace Hart.” I walk across the stage. I hear cheers from my family and friends. I shake the dean’s hand as I receive my diploma. I switch the tassel to the other side. And

then I face the audience to head down the stairs back to my seat. My heart pounds with each step. The hope in me grows with each name that is called. The thought that Griff could actually love me takes hold and doesn’t let go. I war with myself. I tell myself it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t love me. I’m looking for a last minute miracle when there won’t be any to be found. All he probably wants to say is a final goodbye. I’ll be devastated if all he wants to say is, thanks for the memories. And then I hear his name. “Griffin William Sinclair.” I watch him cross the stage. I watch

him get his diploma and shake the dean’s hand. I watch him say something to the dean, even as the next name is called. The dean looks at Griff and smiles big, then nods at the older woman, who’s standing a little off to the left, announcing the names. Griff goes to the older woman, and she looks toward the dean, who nods again. A brief moment that slows down in time. And then the mic is passed to Griff. My heart drowns all sounds out, all murmurs of conversation that start to happen. My breath stills. I straighten in my seat and stare wide-eyed at Griff. Griff hates attention. He’s an

introvert. The last thing I ever imagined him doing is to grab a microphone. A loud, muffled sound carries out from bringing the mic too close to his mouth. He shakes his head ruefully and fixes it. Then he looks out to the rows until he finds me. He looks at me. “I have something to say,” he says, his low voice carrying out. The whole place goes quiet. I feel like I’m about to burst open. “Evelyn Grace Hart,” he says. And I hear gasps from my friends. From my family. From the people around me. Eyes are on me. But I don’t care.

All my focus is on him. “Evie, I have to say something. Something I didn’t say before. Something I should have said.” “Well, say it,” someone booms out. A few twitters of laughter break out. “I’m getting to it,” Griff says. More laughter that soon dies down. “I love you, Evie.” The whole place erupts in cheers and hoots and claps and “Awwws.” “I love you,” he says again. And then he drops the mic. It rings out to the floor and I’m dimly aware of the announcer picking it back up. Griff strides down to my row. I’m sitting in the middle. I get up, but

for some reason, I can’t take another step. I feel like any moment I’ll wake up and discover that none of this is real. And I don’t want that to happen. People push back to make room for him, and then he’s next to me. He’s touching me. Taking me in his arms. And he kisses me. That wakes me out of my frozen state. That kiss makes all of this real. I wasn’t dreaming. I was right to hope. He loves me. My arms go around him and hold on tight. I kiss him with all the love I have for him. I hear more cheers and hollers. And then when we break away, Griff

looks me at with such tenderness. With such love. “I love you,” he says again. “And I love you,” I say. “And now,” the dean says, taking the mic briefly from the announcer, “we’ll get back to the graduation.”

Chapter 24 Five Minutes after Graduation ‡ AS SOON AS GRADUATION ENDS and we’re on the big expanse of green, I turn to Griff. There are curious glances, but for the most part, everyone is focused on finding their families and taking pictures. I know mine will come upon us at any moment. Just like I know Chloe and Taylor will make their way over as well as

Griff ’s friends and his older brother. “You believe me, right?” Griff asks, a hint of worry in his dark eyes. Of course I believe him. “You pushed me away,” I say instead. “You told me—” “I know what I told you. Trust me, I know it all too well.” His gaze rakes over me, heat and love and determination in his expression. “I behaved like an ass. And you have every right to say . . .” “To say what?” He swallows hard. “That you don’t want me anymore. That you don’t believe me.” “It is a quick turnaround,” I say. “I was the stupid fool. Not you.” He

steps closer to me. “Never you. I was too —” I reach for his hands and feel the rightness of his hold when our fingers interlace. “I was too scared,” he finishes. “You were right. I was scared. I kept telling you that it was happening too fast. But never admitted one thing to you.” “And . . . what’s that?” “I loved you from the start, but didn’t know it. Couldn’t put a name to it. Or rather, wouldn’t put a name to it. My feelings had never changed for you—that they’ve only grown stronger. What I feel for you today pales in comparison to what I felt four years ago. A week ago.”

Is this what true happiness feels like? As if I could float away on air. I feel buoyant, lit up by joy and giddiness, and the simple thrill that I love and am loved in return. “And I don’t need six months. I don’t need six days. I don’t even need another six seconds,” Griff says. “I was stupid. I can’t promise I won’t ever be stupid again.” “Well, you are a guy. That’s kind of a given.” Griff smiles and then kisses me. “But I’ll never be so stupid again to let you go like I did. To push you away like I did. When I think what I did . . . how I acted . . .”

He shudders. He looks horrified. “I know,” I say. “It broke my heart.” “I’ll never break your heart again,” he promises. “Being apart from you was horrible. When I realized that I really loved you, I feared it was too late—that I might not get you back.” Griff presses his forehead to mine. “Evie, I was lost. I thought there was no way you’d listen to me after what I did. But I knew I had to try. To get you to listen.” “You certainly did that.” I run my fingers along his jaw and gaze into his eyes. “But you didn’t have to do that. I know how much you hate attention and —” “Don’t you get it, Evie? I would do

anything for you. I pushed you away because I was scared. I lost my parents when I was young. I was scared for the longest time that I would lose Jack, because of what happened to our mom and dad. And then I met you. It scared me how much I wanted you. Needed you. I had never felt like that about anyone.” “I feel the same way.” Griff gives me a tender smile, but regret tightens his mouth. “I broke your heart because I was stupid. I gave into my deep-seated fear that if I loved you I would eventually lose you like my parents. That near-miss with the car messed with me—you were in the truck and I was driving. I know it was a minor thing, but

it brought up things for me. The thought of losing you terrified me. It still does. I thought . . .” I give him a hug, needing to comfort him. “You decided to cut your losses because you thought you could control it.” “Yeah,” he says with disgust. “I thought I could handle it. That pushing you away was in the best interest for us both. I kept telling myself it’s been less than a week. I kept going back to your confession of love and how sure you were. How strong you were. How you just knew and weren’t running scared. You’re so brave, Evie. And I need to be brave for you, too. I needed to show you

that I could put myself out there for you. I love you, and I don’t care who else knows about it. I want people to know.” “That definitely happened.” I pull away so I can look at him again. But when I do so, I catch sight of our friends. Our families. Of his brother, Jack. And another thought occurs to me. “I’m still going to L.A. The girls and I are leaving tomorrow.” “Is there room for one more?” he asks. “Or, maybe, you’d rather drive with me?” I must have heard Griff wrong. “What do you mean?” “I’ll go to L.A. with you.” I can’t wrap my head around this new

info. “But what about grad school? What about Jack? You kept wondering why I couldn’t stay in Burlington—” “Because I didn’t want to lose you,” Griff says. “Although I was still fighting it at the time. After you walked away, I was a moody jerk and drove home in a bad temper. Jack was home and I went off about what had happened to you. He said some stuff. I said some stuff. And it hit me like a ton of bricks how much I loved you. That I’m completely in love with you. And Jack told me that I would be the biggest asshole in the world if I didn’t go after you. If I didn’t try to make it work. Jack’s my brother, but, Evie . . . you’re my heart. Wherever you are is

where my home is. And you were right, too. I have been living in one place for too long. And I want to go with you. See the world with you.” “Your brother is awesome. I knew there was a reason I liked him,” I say. “But, again, what about grad school?” “I don’t care about UVM. I’ll get into a grad school near you in Los Angeles. All I care about is being with you. Not being with you? Not sharing my life with you? I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to.” “You don’t have to,” I say. “I want to be with you, Griff. I want to make our dreams a reality.” He gives me a fierce, tender kiss. “I cannot wait for the makeup line—what’s

the new name?” “ETC. The first letters of our names,” I say. “I cannot wait for ETC to take the world by storm—and that will definitely happen.” Another kiss. Softer. “I was stupid not to ask you to dance when we were freshman. I was stupid not to make amends back then. I was stupid to have wasted four years. And I was stupider than stupid to push you away. Evie?” “Yes?” “I’m asking you now to save all your dances for me. To dream with me. I love you,” he says. “Say you’ll dream with me. Say you’ll be with me, in the here and now. Say you’ll be with me forever.”

“I’ll say that and more.” I reach for his hands and entwine our fingers. “I’ll dream with you. I’ll be with you, here and now and forever. I’ll love you always.” “I love you, Evelyn Grace Hart.” His kiss is a promise and a vow all wrapped in one sweet, sinful package. “Now, let’s go reach for those dreams.” I smile up at him and kiss him again. “Yes, let’s. My parents will want to meet you.” “We’ll celebrate this together,” he says. “A private room has been reserved at The Water Works—” “That’s where we were headed!” “Join us. There’s room for you, your family, and your friends and their

families.” I smile wide and kiss him. I hoped this would happen, but never dreamed that it would be possible. Griff loves me. He really loves me. “Yes, let’s go celebrate.” Hand in hand, we walk back to the wide expanse of green, where our friends and families await. Happiness is evident in their smiles, in the way they cheer as we draw near. The possibilities lie before Griff and me, all shiny and full of hope. With Griff by my side, I know I can achieve whatever I set my heart on. Because I have him, and he has me—and together, we can do anything.

Never did the future look so bright and wondrous.

Epilogues The Guys’ Perspectives 5 Years Later ‡ Griff and Evie “NERVOUS?” I ASK. Evie glances at me. “Nervous? Me? Why would I be nervous? Just because there might be millions and millions of people watching? Nah. That’s nothing to be nervous about.” Behind her, Chloe and Taylor laugh,

even as they wear matching expressions of anxiousness. I step closer to Evie. My girlfriend. The woman I love. “You have nothing to be nervous about. None of you do. I’m so proud of you.” Evie’s smile wobbles. “Really?” “Really,” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chloe’s husband take her aside to whisper encouragement in her ear and Taylor’s fiancé grabs her to talk to her. Apparently the guys—who we’ve been friends with since moving to L.A.— have had the same idea as me. “I am nervous,” Evie confesses. “I know,” I say. “But look how far you all have come since starting ETC. It’s in

Sephora and selling awesomely.” Trust me, before I met Evie, if someone mentioned Sephora, I would have thought they were talking about a band. But now I know all about the stores, beauty lines, and what exactly exfoliation can do for skin. I have been a guinea pig for many products. Including nail polish. But a little paint on nails never hurt anyone. And since I now have my Master’s and am working as a research librarian, Evie and I have also traveled around to various cities and countries. Sometimes for research. Sometimes for her work. But no matter what, we always have fun. “You’re in other stores, too,” I say.

“ETC has been featured in magazines. And now, you’re going to be on QVC.” “I know,” she says. “But it’s national TV. Live. What if I mess up? What if something goes wrong? What if no one buys anything?” I make a sound to let her know how ridiculous I think that is. “People are going to buy it, Evie. Your dream is coming true.” “It’s one dream,” she says. “But you have always been my main dream.” “And you have been mine.” I dip my head. “But maybe I could take away some of those nerves for you.” “With a kiss?” she asks hopefully. It’s no problem to kiss her. And I do

so, a light, sweet kiss that is over too soon. I want to continue it, but I have something to say. Something to ask. “That’s not what I had in mind, though,” I say. “What did you—” I pull out a ring box from my pocket and go down on one knee. With trembling fingers, I open it up. A cushion-cut diamond ring glints and shines. “Oh!” Evie covers her mouth. Tears fill her eyes. “Oh!” “Evie, I love you,” I say thickly. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” “Yes! Yes. YES!” She doesn’t even

wait for me to get up but jumps into my arms, practically knocking me off my feet. I kiss her, long and deep, letting her know how much I love her. “Let me put this on you,” I say. “Where it belongs.” I slide the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. Evie brushes some tears from her eyes. “Oh, Griff. I love you so much.” I kiss her once more. “I love you, too. Now, go knock it out of the park.” Evie gives me one more smile. One more kiss. And then she follows the stage manager and gets in position with Chloe and Taylor and the host. They all

“Oohh,” and “Ahh” over her ring. The guys and I stand off to the side, where we won’t get in the way, as the show starts to air. And I watch my girl slay her presentation with Chloe and Taylor. The products sell out. The response is wild. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. ETC is an awesome brand, and they have worked their butts off to get to this point. I’m so proud of Evie. I love her so much. And I can’t wait to make her mine. Maybe I can convince her to elope. Jamie and Zelda I CLIP THE HARNESS ON Zayn, our twoyear-old bulldog, that we adopted from

the local no-kill shelter in Durham, North Carolina. On our travels through Australia— where, I swear to God, their bugs look as if they could be monsters from a sci-fi movie—Zelda and I talked about where we wanted to go next and what we wanted to do in our future. It led us to a brief stint in Burlington while Zelda sent off college applications. And that brought us here. A condo in Durham. Five minutes away from Duke University, where Zelda has completed her freshman year. She’s now a few weeks into her summer courses, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she has a nice break between for lunch.

Since I’m currently freelancing and figuring out exactly what I want to do, I have room in my calendar to meet my girl for lunch outside. Zayn and I get to our usual spot—a nice shaded table under a tree. Zelda’s still not here, but I figure that she’s running late. It gives me time to pour water in Zayn’s bowl and unpack the food from the basket. Zayn stops slurping and lets out a bark. I turn around, but it’s not Zelda who I see. There are two men in black suits. Shades cover their eyes, and they have a no-nonsense demeanor about them. I pat Zayn’s head, letting him know

it’s okay. I let out a laugh, realizing what’s really going on. After what I did to Jack in Burlington and Jack’s promise that he’d get me back, I’ve been waiting for that fucker to get me. “So,” I say casually, “Jack put you up to this.” The two men exchange brief looks. “Jack Sinclair,” I add. “We don’t know any Jack Sinclair,” the beefier guy says and lowers his shades. “But we have been watching you.” “Sure, you have,” I say, not believing it for a second. “Listen, you can tell Sinclair that I’m sorry about the joke and that you guys got me. I mean, I already tried applying to the FBI a few years ago

and didn’t get in. So, I’m not falling for this. Nope.” “This is no joke.” The taller, rangy guy steps forward. “We’re here to talk to you, Jamie McAlister.” “Nice try, guys. But it’s obvious Jack told you my name. It’s not like you know —” “Once again, this is not a joke,” the taller guy says. “And like Agent Thomas is saying, we’ve been watching you closely.” “Very closely.” I look down at Zayn, who’s sitting calmly on his haunches. “Some guard dog you are, Zayn. I should have known better than to name you after a former One Direction member.”

Agent Thomas gives me a second look. “You’ve named your dog after a member of a boy band?” “My hope springs eternal that one day Zayn will see reason and reunite with them.” I give a dramatic sigh. “One day.” The taller agent glances at Agent Thomas. “Are you sure about this?” “Positive, Agent Quinn.” Now, this is just getting ridiculous. I clear my throat. “Listen, I don’t buy for one second that you guys are for real. I think I need to see some identification.” They show me their IDs. Holy crap, they really are legit Feds. “Ummmm.” I’m at a loss for words. “What exactly do you want with me?”

“Well, it’s quite simple,” Agent Thomas says. “We’re recruiting you to be in the FBI.” I put my hands to my ears. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I heard right. You want me in the FBI? Why?” “The reasons are escaping me at this moment,” Agent Quinn says dryly. A fellow smart-ass. I can respect that. “Simply put, McAlister, we think you’d make a great agent,” Agent Thomas says. “But now it’s up to you.” “Well, I need to talk this over with my girlfriend before I make any decisions,” I say truthfully. I have wanted to be a Fed. I can actually see it. Especially me saying to Zelda, you have the right to remain sexy.

“That’s understandable,” Agent Thomas says and hands me a card. “I hope you’ll say yes. It doesn’t mean you’re in. You still have to go through Quantico —and don’t even mention the TV show —but yes, it will be hard and challenging. If you pass and are willing to serve, then you’re cut out for this life.” “I’ll think about it,” I say and catch sight of Zelda heading our way. “We’ll be in touch,” Agent Quinn says, and then they’re off before Zelda reaches the table. “Who were those two?” she asks. I shake my head slowly. “You’re not going to believe this. You might need to sit down to take it all in.”

She does, her dark brown eyes going wide when I tell her what the visit was about, but before I’m even done, she grabs my hands. “Jamie,” she says, “do you want to do this?” “I think I do, but only if it works for the both of us.” Zelda smiles. “Jamie, you’ve done so much for me. You’ve taken me in. You’ve traveled with me. You’ve helped me grow and realize my dreams. But I don’t want our lives to be just about me. I want you to realize your dreams, too. I think you’d make a great agent. And—” “And?” I prompt her when she falls quiet.

“Well,” she says, “I always did have a thing for a man in a suit.” I lean down and kiss her. “You sure?” “Positive.” She kisses me one more time. “I can’t wait to call you Agent McAlister.” Well, that definitely deserves another kiss. But like a Lay’s potato chip, I just can’t have one, so I kiss her again. And again. And again. And later tonight? Well, Zelda doesn’t know this. Not even Zayn knows this. But tonight, I’m going to ask Zelda to marry me. Nick and Daphne

“LISTEN, FOX,” I SAY, “THERE’S only two ways to answer this question.” Daphne’s lips twitch, obviously trying to fight a smile. Any second now she’s going to lose the battle, but right now, she’s trying to be all saucy, leaning over the kitchen counter to face me. I should definitely not point out that this angle affords me the best view of her cleavage. In fact, my only complaint would be that the shirt doesn’t go low enough. And that she’s wearing a bra. Really kind of pointless when I’m going to have my mouth on her as soon as I’m done saying what I have to say. “The way to answer it is either ‘yes’

or . . .” I pause dramatically, just to draw out the moment. “‘Hell yes.’” “It would help, of course, if I knew what the question was,” she says. Pointedly. And to add affect, she arches one of her eyebrows and gives me the look. The look that she thinks bothers me. It does bother me. As in, I get hard every fucking time she gives me that particular look. But it’s a good kind of bother. I usually scoop her up, caveman style, and proceed to show her just what she can do with all her looks, eyebrow arches, and smart-ass remarks that I love so much. Fucking A, how I love this girl.

And as such, there’s only one thing to do. I get down on one knee and open the box with the glittering diamond ring. Daphne straightens from the counter, her mouth dropping open. She gasps, “Nick,” in an awed, soft voice. Those beautiful hazel eyes of hers fill with tears, and shit—shit, that sight gets to me. I know the tears aren’t sad ones, but I hate seeing my girl cry. And then her face brightens, and she smiles. “Hell yes,” she says. I give her my look. “I have to ask the question first.” “Well, oh. Okay, then.” Daphne waves her hand. “Ask the question.”

“Daphne Ariadne Fox—” “Yes!” Daphne jumps up, then holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “If you could let me finish—” “I always let you—” “My question.” “You’re taking forever,” Daphne says. “Foreeeeeeeevvvvver.” “I’m trying to be all romantic and stuff,” I say. “Now, let me ask you the question so we can do this right, and our kids won’t think that their parents are too weird.” “That’s a lost cause, you know. Our kids are going to be so embarrassed of us. And any possible boyfriend is going to run in the other direction when he sees

you.” “Good, because our kids aren’t dating until they’re eighty-five.” “Nick!” “You’re right. That’s too young. Ninety-six, then. So, let me ask the question for the sake of our future children.” Daphne laughs. I get serious, because this is serious, and I need to make this count. “I love you. I love living with you. I love being with you. I love fighting with you. I love making up with you. I always want to be the man you love, the one who makes you happy and feel loved, cherished, and adored. I promise to do all those things

and more. I want to spend our lives together. I want to have kids with you. I want to grow old with you. I just want to love you, to call you my wife. Daphne, will you marry me?” Daphne doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t bother swiping away her tears. She does exactly what I love most about her. She joins me on the floor, her body knocking into mine, as she wraps her arms tightly around me. She trembles with happiness in my arms, and I close my eyes, breathing her in. She pulls away just enough to meet my gaze. “Hell yes.” I slide the engagement ring onto her

finger. It’s a perfect fit. “I love you,” Daphne says. “I know.” I smile and kiss her, long and hot, and debate about two seconds before taking her to our bedroom. But who needs a bed? Certainly not me. And Daphne, naked, with just the diamond solitaire on her finger steals my breath away. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. Caleb and Hailey I KNOCK ON THE DOOR, and one of my sisters opens it. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Daphne says. “It’s bad luck.” “Daphne, please get my soon-to-be

wife. I promise to stay on the other side of the door. I won’t look.” Daphne looks like she wants to argue, but softens when she sees my face. “Okay, Caleb. I’ll get Hailey. But no peeking.” “Promise,” I say. And I have every intention of keeping that promise. I know that Hailey doesn’t want me to see her in her dress until she walks down the aisle. But I need to talk to her. “Caleb?” It’s Hailey. I completely close my eyes in relief at hearing her voice. At the joy and love that fills me and staggers me. I’m so lucky to have her and her love. I lean against the door. “Hey,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Ohhhh, Caleb,” she says softly, and I feel her press against the other side of the door. “I love you, too.” My throat tightens. I really want to see her. Kiss her. Touch her. I reach out my hand and feel a kick in my heart when her hand touches mine. “And I still can’t believe you said yes,” I say, my voice thick. “That you’ll be walking down that aisle to me. I love you, Hailey, and I’m going to love you until the day I die.” I hear her sniffling. “Caleb,” she says. “You are my whole world. You give me your love and you opened your heart and family to me. But most importantly, you gave me you. I love

you so much, and I can’t believe you’re mine.” “And I can’t believe you’re mine,” I say. “That you’ll be my wife. I want to kiss you, but I’ll wait until we say I do. Until we put our rings on. Until we’re declared husband and wife.” “I can’t wait,” she says softly. “Look for me. I’ll be the bride walking to you.” “And I’ll be the guy at the end of aisle. Waiting for you, always.” I give her hand one last squeeze and then I head out. What seems like days later—but is probably really only an hour or two—I’m waiting at the end of the aisle. We’re getting married and having the reception

at The Lake, a venue that is along the shoreline of Lake Champlain. It’s the July Fourth weekend, and all of our friends are here. Nick is my best man. Jamie, Griff, Dylan, and Kai are my groomsman. Daphne is Hailey’s maid of honor and Alex Randall, Hailey’s former co-star and a super famous movie star, is Hailey’s man of honor. Alex is also going to walk Hailey down the aisle. My sisters are bridesmaids as is Kate, who married Dylan in February. Kai and Steph tied the knot a year after we graduated college. Zelda and Jamie are marrying in the fall, while Daphne and Nick have set a date for this New Year’s Eve. Griff and Evie

eloped last month. The bridesmaids and then Daphne walk down the aisle. The flower girl and ring bearer are next. The ring bearer just so happens to be our dog, Goliath. We had to include Goliath. Our cat, Sunday, is happily lazing about at our home. The rings are attached around Goliath’s collar, and I swear that he walks with pride down the aisle. My father holds onto his leash and stands to the side when he reaches the end. Goliath’s tail wags with excitement and he gives a sharp bark, obviously ready for what will come next. Right there with you, buddy.

My heart jumps in my throat as I wait for Hailey. I stare at the closed doors, willing them to open. At times like this, I wish I was a Jedi. The wedding march begins to play. The doors are finally opened. And my breath leaves my body. My pulse races. I start to see a hint of white. Just a hint, and I’m lost. And then there she is. Hailey. My love. My heart. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Mine. She walks to me, with tears in those lovely blue eyes of hers, her dark hair coiled up in some intricate knot. I

immediately think of undoing her hair, of how much I look forward to taking her dress off and making love to her later tonight. My blood simmers with need. Hailey is mouthwatering. She’s absolutely glowing in her wedding dress. It hugs her in all the right places and is utterly romantic looking with its lace and silk and tasteful sparkles. She takes my breath away. She has my heart. She has me. I still can’t believe I have her. That she loves me. I step forward to take Hailey’s hand. I meet Alex’s blue eyes and nod my head at him. Alex has become a good friend of

mine and has totally straightened out his life. And I’ll never forget what he did for Hailey all those years ago. How he continues to be a friend to her. Hailey takes my arm, and we face the justice of the peace. We say our vows. Put our rings on as we say I do. I kiss her after we’re declared husband and wife. I smile at her. I love her. And I ask her the question that I asked her years ago, when we were in college. “Ready?” I ask. She smiles in recognition. “I’m ready.” We raise our hands in the air and beam as our loved ones clap and cheer. We walk back down the aisle, ready for whatever life brings our way. Because

with love . . . Anything and everything is possible.

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Other Books by Elyssa Patrick With Me Stay With Me – Currently free! Go With Me Try With Me Dream With Me A With Me Novel Box Set (the first three books) Rock Stars in Love As You Wish One Hit Wonder

Not in any series Four Weddings and a Break Up Take a Chance on Me

Acknowledgements As always, thank you to my family for their unwavering support and belief in me. Thank you to my wonderful critique partners and friends, Tiffany Clare, Maggie Robinson, and Kristina Coi. Tiff and Maggie, thank you for reading this book way too many times to count. Words can’t begin to express how much you three Vixens mean to me. (Hint: it’s a whole lot.) A huge thank you to my good friend, Kristen Callihan, for answering my SOS

e-mail and providing me with an amazing beta read. Your suggestions were onpoint, and you saved my butt on this book. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you, Tamara Morgan, for reading this (plus all the other new scenes), and for telling me that I should stick to my original vision for the hero. We’ve been on this wild, bumpy ride for what feels like forever, and your friendship has always meant the world to me. Thank you to my fantastic cover designer, Trish Schmitt, who didn’t blink an eye when I said that I needed a new cover for this book and gave me gorgeous options to choose from. Trish, you always

blow me away with your creativity and generosity. I would also like to thank my copyeditors, Jena O’Connor and Dana Waganer, for their hard work and quick turnaround. And thank you to my proofreader, Lillie Applegarth, for her eagle eye and finding things that I missed. Thank you, Janine Ballard, Julie James, and Stacey Agdern, for answering some questions I had. Janine, you’ve always been such a good friend, and Julie, I’m always thankful for your advice and support. Another big shout out and thank you to my amazing Facebook group. This awesome group of readers gave me feedback on cover options for this book,

encouraged me, and their excitement for this book pushed me during long, hard days of writing. Thank you: Stephanie Gibson, Vi Dao, Melody Dawn, Jo Evans, Shannon Ellis, Marie Fowler, Kelli Carter, Heather Mullins, Melinda Utendorf, and Angie. It’s also thanks to Vi Dao, who encouraged me to include the other couples’ epilogues, and to Melinda Utendorf, who cited another author who did this, that helped me make the decision to do this. And, as always, if you’re reading this book, thank you. Thank you for everything.

Copyright This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. ISBN-13: 978-0-9895835-6-5 Kindle Edition Dream With Me: © 2016 by Elyssa Patrick Cover design © Pickyme Artist Cover photograph © bezikus|Shutterstock.com Formatted by BB eBooks All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner

whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews.