She puts her hands to her face. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that. I am so sorry.”

I grin. “Well, I’m sure as hell not. Holy shit, woman.”

She peers up at me, wary. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, too late, princess. I’ve got ideas. Lots of ideas. You don’t kiss a guy like that and expect him to forget it.”

“It was an act.” But her gaze flicks away and her cheeks go pink.

I lean against my bike. “It was hot as fuck. You can’t fake that.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

Ha. She wasn’t denying the hot as fuck part. “All right, how ’bout I make you a deal? I won’t sleep with you unless you ask me to.”

She snorts. “Would you like a sidecar for that ego of yours?”

“Come on, seriously. Putting aside the question of whether you’ll be able to resist my infinite charm or not, no one should spend her twenty-first birthday alone, especially after that spectacular throwdown upstairs. It’s time to celebrate.”

“No, it’s time to get a pint of ice cream and do an ugly cry. Because I guarantee you, as soon as this adrenaline wears off, it’s not gonna be pretty. You need to get out while the gettin’s good because it’s gonna be all snot and chick flicks in an hour.”

“No fucking way. This is not a tragedy. You just got rid of a dickbag boyfriend and a skank of a roommate. You, princess, are a free woman and the town is yours tonight. Plus, you told them you weren’t going home. You can’t lose that poker hand.”

She groans. “I had to add that part, didn’t I? God, I just want to curl up in bed.”

“No bed to go to except mine.”

“Opportunist.”

“Always.” I grab the helmet and put it in her hands. “But there’s another option besides finding a place to crash.”

She shoots me a suspicious look, but I can tell she’s working hard to keep it together. The girl has had the shit day of all shit days. And the minute she slows down, it’s going to take her down hard. So I know what my job needs to be.

“The other option is you don’t go to sleep at all.” I pull my phone from my pocket and show her the time. “It’s almost nine. Sun’ll be up in about ten hours.”

“Ten?” She cringes. “That seems like forever.”

“If you’re going to mope around, yes. But you know what they say about time flying. All we need to do is find something fun to do each hour. Then you can walk into your place looking like the badass wild girl you want them to think you are.”

She gives me a skeptical lift of her brow. “You want to spend the next ten hours with me? We don’t even like each other.”

Wrong. “I’m liking you better all the time, princess. Come on. Get on the bike. Hour one, I’ll take you to my favorite bar, and you can tell ’em it’s your twenty-first. Everyone will buy you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink.”

“What about cake?”

“Cake?” She perks up a little. “What kind of cake?”

“The best cake.” I straddle the bike and pat the spot behind me. “Let’s ride, birthday girl. I want to get out of here before the cops arrive to charge you with death of a handbag and ball bashing.”

“No promises that I’m done with the ball bashing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She sighs, but I can tell I’ve won. Cake was the clincher. She eyes me for a moment longer then relents. “Fine.”

But before she can get on the bike, I take her hand and drag her close. Her leg brushes my thigh. She stiffens, almost as if bracing for another kiss—one I probably could take, based on the way she’s looking at me. But instead, I put my mouth close to her ear and whisper, “And don’t close your eyes this time. You’re missing all the good stuff.”

Chapter 4

Natalie

I manage to keep my eyes open for most of the ride since Monroe chooses side roads instead of getting back onto the interstate. I still hold on to him like my life depends on it—and I guess it does—but this time it’s less from fear of falling off and more about the fact that everything in my life feels like it’s crumbling around me, and holding on to something solid grounds me.

I can’t really process what’s happened. Every time I picture the cozy scene between Caleb and Rebecca, the anger rushes through me all over again, drowning me in rage. I’m sure I looked like a lunatic, kneeing Caleb, ruining Rebecca’s precious purse. Hello, Jerry Springer moment. But it was like all the little annoyances I’d tucked away throughout my relationship with Caleb had gathered together in a ball of crazy and exploded all at once.

It makes me sick to think I reacted like that. That’s my mother’s style—freaking out, making a spectacle. And she at least has the excuse of being drunk or blitzed on her pills when she has her outbursts. I acted like a psycho while stone-cold sober.

And the worst part is that it had felt so damn good to go off. Like my screwed-up genes had simply been waiting for me to go into drama-queen mode.

But regardless of how I must’ve looked, the whole thing might’ve been worth it just to see Caleb’s face after I kissed Monroe. I’d shocked him. And my boyfriend didn’t ruffle easily. Ex-boyfriend. I hope he’s still sitting at that table I reserved, completely distracted because he’s picturing what I’m doing with Monroe right now.

Because I know I planted that seed in his brain and then dumped fertilizer on it with my little show. The kiss hadn’t been sweet; it had bordered on obscene. It was definitely not how I usually kiss Caleb, and he knew it.

It had been a kiss that made me want things I shouldn’t, and I have a feeling my response hadn’t been a secret to any onlookers. Monroe had taken control halfway through the kiss, and in that moment, I’d sort of forgotten I was doing it for show. I’d lost myself. If he would’ve turned and pushed me against the nearby wall to keep things going, I probably would’ve let him.

So as we cruise along the roads of downtown Austin now, my mind replaying that kiss over and over again, the idea of a one-night stand is gaining some appeal. I’ve never had one of those. White trash girls get white trash reputations without even having to do the crime. In eighth grade, I wore red lipstick to school one day and had gotten called a whore for it. So after getting the hell out of my nowhere Oklahoma town for college, I’d honed my image and my behavior so that no one could ever make those kinds of assumptions about me again.

But I’m almost out of college now, a grown woman. And I like sex, dammit. Shouldn’t I be able to have it with who I want, when I want, even if it isn’t with someone I plan to have a long-term relationship with? The answer is obviously yes. And Monroe would probably be the perfect candidate. He’s made it clear that he’ll scratch that bad-boy itch if I have one. And he sure as hell won’t be the type trying to send me flowers tomorrow.

Hot sex with a stranger. It would be so very un-me. Which is exactly what I need right now. I want to leave that girl who has a cheating boyfriend, a conniving roommate, and broken-down car behind at the curb outside that restaurant. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.

But even with all that, I know I’m not going to sleep with Monroe.

Because there’s one line I can’t talk myself into crossing. If I ever have a one-night stand, I want it to be about me and the guy. Not because I’m trying to prove a point or get revenge or soothe my wounded pride. No one deserves to be used like that, even if he’s a willing victim.

So I’ll go have cake with Monroe, thank him for trying to cheer me up, and then I’ll suck up my pride and go home. Let Rebecca have her laugh at my expense. I’ll survive. I’ve dealt with meaner girls than her.