“There’s still time to drop it,” I snap back.

Mock horror twists Ashton’s distractingly beautiful face. “And not enjoy your pleasant company twice a week for an entire semester? Heavens, no!”

I shake my head with resignation. “Okay, seriously, Ashton. Back off.”

“Or what?”

“Or . . . I’m going to tell Connor.”

“No, you won’t,” he says softly.

“Why? Because you think he won’t want me after? I have a feeling you’re wrong.” I don’t have that feeling at all. In fact, I have the feeling that Ashton is right. But I also have the urge to have the upper hand on him. For once, dammit!

Leaning to the side until his shoulder presses against mine, he murmurs, “No . . . because you’re in love with me.”

A strangle gurgling sound escapes my throat.

Upper hand gone.

My heart hammers in my throat. I’m really not sure how to respond to that but my gut says that I have to, partly to defend myself, partly because I know he likes embarrassing me. It takes a few swallows to form words. “If loving you means wanting to rip your balls off, then . . .” I turn to lay what I hope is a steely gaze on him. His face is inches away from mine but I don’t back off. “Yes. I’m madly in love with you.”

Kacey would be so proud.

I’m not sure what I expected in response. I’ve never threatened anyone like that before. Maybe a flinch, maybe a shift away from this crazy girl who talks of maiming his genitals? Definitely not that damn smirk again. And I think he may have leaned in even closer. “I love getting you all riled up, Irish.” He grabs one of my books and scribbles something on the inside cover, and then tucks in a folded piece of paper. “I just remembered . . . I already took this course three years ago. I aced it. Call me if you need help with your papers.” With that, he scoops his notebook up. I turn in my seat and watch as he bounds up the stairs before the prof officially releases us, earning glances from pretty much every female and a few guys in the class.

I shake my head as I flip open the book to read “Irish loves Ashton” with a big heart and a phone number scrawled across the inside of the front cover. “Dammit,” I mumble. He just defaced a two-hundred-dollar textbook with this nickname I still haven’t asked about. On the plus side, he’s no longer in the class.

Curious to see what the note says, I unfold it.

The only thing I regret is that it ever ended. And I’m the one who’s jealous. Insanely so.

My heart rate skyrockets.

“Nice skirt,” he says as his hands slide up my bare thighs, sending fire shooting upward. I’m standing in front of him as he sits on the edge of his bed. And I’m shaking. Strong fingers curl around the backs of my thighs and squeeze, dangerously close to where I’ve never been touched before. My body’s reacting to him, though. My heart rate is racing, my breathing quickening, and I feel myself getting wet. Sliding his hands up, he hooks his thumbs under the band in my panties. He pulls them down until they fall to the ground on their own. I step out of them.

“Come here.” He gestures to his lap and I comply, letting him guide my one knee to one side of him and the other to the other side of him so that I’m straddling him, my hands gripping his shoulders, marveling at their strength. He pushes my skirt up to pool around my waist and I’m instantly self-conscious. “Look at me,” he orders and I do, watching his dark eyes bore into mine, holding them there. Never shifting. I hold that stare as he reaches around to settle one hand on the small of my back. I hold that stare as his other hand moves up my inner thigh. My breath hitches as he touches me. “Don’t look away from me, Irish,” he whispers as his fingers push inside, first one, then another . . .

I wake with a gasp, the textbook lying across my stomach sliding off and making a loud noise as it hits the ground. Ohmigod. What the hell was that? That was a dream. I just had an afternoon nap with a dirty dream about Ashton. Ohmigod. I sit up in bed and look around. I’m alone. Thank God I’m alone! A strange discomfort stirs between my thighs. It feels . . . frustrating? Is this what Storm and Kacey are always talking about?

I wish I had time to sort this out. But someone is knocking on my door. That must be what woke me up in the first place. If the dream hadn’t been interrupted, would I have had dream sex with Ashton? No . . . my brain doesn’t even know how to conjure that up.

Maybe if I weren’t so frazzled, I would have looked in the mirror. That would have been smart. But Ashton and apparently anything to do with Ashton turns me into a primate.

And so I simply throw open the door.

“Connor!” I exclaim with way too much enthusiasm, my eyes widening in surprise.

I see his eyes shift down and I follow them to appraise my pair of ratty Lululemons and my dad’s old Princeton sweatshirt—three sizes too big for me. “What are you doing here?” I stealthily drag my fingers through my hair. I don’t need a mirror to tell me that it’s a wild mess.

He steps in with an easy smile, one hand coming from around his back to reveal a large pot of green leaves. “Here.”

I tilt my head and frown as I examine it. “Clover?”

“To remind you of me while you’re in here, being a good student.”

“Wow.” I swallow as my cheeks burn. Yes, that’s what I was doing in here. Being a good student. “Thank you.” I try to slow my breathing and act normally.

“How are classes so far?”

“Busy. I’m already swamped with English lit.”

“Are you liking it?”

“It’s . . . interesting.” A hand unconsciously brushes against the folded note in my pocket. The one permanently creased from all the times I’ve folded and unfolded it, running my fingers along the edges, trying to puzzle it out. Trying to make sense of my reaction to it and why it’s made me so giddy when it should make me angry. It’s as though Ashton telling me that he doesn’t regret what happened has now given my brain license to flash inappropriate memories from that one night at an alarmingly more frequent rate, leaving me flushed and scattered and unable to focus. Even Reagan has noticed.

“I won’t keep you, then.” I squeal as, grabbing my waist, Connor lifts me up onto the top bunk. Considering I’m about 125 pounds, that’s not easy. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised, I realize, noting the definition of his arms in that gray-striped shirt he’s wearing today. He’s not quite as tall or broad as Ashton, but he’s built almost as well as him.

Ashton . . . my thoughts always veer back to Ashton.

Sliding his hands from my waist, Connor rests them on my knees. “We’re going out tomorrow to Shawshanks. It’s a local bar. Do you want to come?”

“Sure.” I smile and nod.

“Are you really sure? I mean, Ty’s going to be there.”

“In his kilt?”

“Nah, they won’t let him through the door in that,” Connor chuckles, shaking his head as if remembering something. “Well, not again, anyway.”

“Well, I can handle Ty.”

“Yeah? And what about Ashton?”

My stomach does a flip. What does he mean? What does Connor know? What—

“I know you don’t think too highly of him after last Saturday night. I saw the look on your face. You know, after he dropped Dana off . . .” His words drift off like he doesn’t want to come right out and say it.

“You mean when he was being a philandering pig?” I don’t know why I said it. Maybe saying something so mean out loud will remind me of why Ashton is all wrong and I should burn up that damn piece of paper and threaten my subconscious with a lobotomy. I bite the inside of my lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Exactly.”

Connor gives my knee an affectionate squeeze. “Well, I’m happy that you don’t find him as appealing as every other female on this planet seems to find him. But he’s not that bad. He just doesn’t think with his brain most of the time.” Stepping up onto the ladder rungs until he’s level with my face, he leans in to kiss me. This time I feel his tongue slide over my bottom lip, gently finding its way in to curl around mine. Never forceful, never insistent. Just . . . nice. “See you tomorrow, Livie,” he murmurs. Then, hopping off and shooting me a broad smile and a wink, he leaves my dorm room.