He held his hands up. “Alright, I can take a hint when I’m not wanted. I’ll chill and watch from across the room.”

“Who is she?” Max asked.

“A girl we met at one of the frat parties,” Dax answered, his eyes scrutinizing me oddly, as if he were trying to suss me out. “Declan seems to have a crush on her.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckled. “I don’t blame you. I do too.”

Max grunted. “Huh. Well, anyone’s better than Nadia. I never liked that girl. All she wanted was to ride your coattails.”

Dax’s eyes shifted over to Elizabeth. “You better hurry if you want to talk to her. She’s about to bolt.”

I ate up the distance between our tables. She turned, her face planting itself in my chest, her body flush against mine.

Heat ran through me, my groin tightening at the contact. Since the night in my flat, she’d weighed on my mind. Mostly with visions of me pounding into her. Against my wall. On the kitchen table. On the floor.

“Whoa,” I said, taking her shoulders to steady her. “You okay?”

She peered up at me, and my fingers itched to smooth out the worry lines I saw on her face. “Declan? What are you doing here?”

“Just having breakfast. Small world, huh?” I smiled down, resisting the urge to question her about the shadows in her blue eyes. She nodded, still visibly upset, as I stared over her shoulder at the table she’d left behind. A woman who resembled Elizabeth gaped at us while the man’s eyes narrowed in on me.

I glanced back down at her and spoke softly. “Do I need to kick anyone’s arse?”

“No,” she said, a look of desperation flickering across her face. “Just get me out of here before I say something I’ll regret.”

I didn’t even pause. Whatever she needed right at that moment, I wanted to give it to her. I took her hand and led her through the maze of the restaurant, sending a wave to Dax and Max as we passed their table.

Elizabeth didn’t even see them there.

We went out the doors, and she came to a halt in the carpark as she looked around in a daze. Her shoulders hunched in on themselves and she let out a frustrated sound, her hands digging through her purse. “God, I’m so frazzled I don’t even remember where I parked.”

I wanted to march back into that diner and find out exactly what had happened.

“What’s going on? Who were those people?” The lady had to be her mum, but I wasn’t so sure about the man.

She inhaled at my question and turned away from me, as if she didn’t want to face me. “I appreciate you coming over to help, but I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re hurting, Elizabeth. Sometimes, it helps to talk.” Shit, I didn’t know what else to say. I felt like a blundering wanker. But I wanted to make her feel better.

“You want me to talk? I’ll talk. I’ll tell you that my whole life is ruined and some days it’s all I can do to remember the girl I used to be. I’ve never had much, but two years ago I lost everything. My innocence, my creativity, then my Granny, everything.” Her voice trembled, rippling with pain. “And you’d think she’d understand, but no, I’m always the one reaching out and begging her—my mother—to just see me. She wanted to abort me. She doesn’t think I know that, but I overheard her telling Granny once.” She covered her face. “God, I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff. It doesn’t even make sense to you.”

I picked up her hand and took the keys she’d clasped in her fist. “Come on. I’ll drive you home. You shouldn’t be alone.”

She sniffed, and I braced myself for tears that never came, and frankly, I wasn’t surprised. She might be vulnerable, but I sensed the steel underneath.

She sighed and gave me a curious look. “What about your car?”

“I came with Dax. He can drive by himself.” I would send him a text before we left.

I waited anxiously while she decided.

She sighed and sent me a wry half-smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you were here today. You always seem to be right where I need you.”

I nodded and scanned the carpark until I found her white Camry. We walked over to it, and I opened the passenger door for her. Her blue eyes roved over my face as I buckled her in, our arms brushing. Sparks.

This girl. Her. What was it about her that had me twisted up in knots?

Since the moment she’d walked in that party, I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind.

Shit. But she was all wrong for me. I mean, she was skittish as a colt. How in the hell would she ever fit in my world?

She won’t, the cynic in me said.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she said suddenly as I set her purse at her feet. Her eyes searched mine. She continued. “I mean, I made a fool of myself at your party, then I came in your apartment and hit on you and then pushed you away right when things got heavy …” She swallowed and gazed out the window. “I’m sorry. I’m a real bitch.”

I exhaled and bent down on my knees next to her seat. We stared at each other.

Breathlessness mixed with exhilaration hit me, as if I were about to take a dive off a cliff straight into an ocean below. I pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m nice to you because you’re worth it, Elizabeth.”

THAT AFTERNOON I took a nap feeling as worn and thin as old paper, as if I’d been folded and refolded a million times.

Visits with Mom tended to do that, but today had been the worst ever.

I made a mental note to call her tomorrow after the dust had settled to make sure she and Karl had given up on their plan.

I groaned and rolled out of bed from my nap and got dressed, pulling on a pair of black eyelet shorts and a halter top. I brushed my hair in a ponytail and applied makeup with a heavier hand than usual. My body was jumpy and twitchy. I needed out of the apartment, but I couldn’t think of a single place to go. Blake and Shelley had gone to lunch together earlier, and I hadn’t heard back from either of them.

After pacing around the apartment, I peeked out the balcony window to check out Declan’s place. He’d mentioned going to work out on the way home and then seeing Dax, so I assumed he hadn’t returned.

The minutes ticked by. I paced past my extra bedroom a few times but nothing eased me. Something insistent clawed at my brain, itching to get out. Finally, I stepped inside the extra bedroom and turned the light on. My artist pad sat out on a small desk with a myriad of colored pencils next to it—just waiting for me to draw.

Not thinking about it too much, I walked over to the pad and opened it, thumbing through some of the old designs I’d created. After a few minutes of mulling, I grabbed one of the pencils and twirled it between my fingers.

I licked my suddenly dry lips, feeling the tendrils of inspiration for the first time in ages.

And the thing is, my hand seemed to know exactly what I needed to create. Something vibrant. Beautiful.

I closed my eyes and pictured the tattoo on Declan’s neck.

I recalled the reverence in his voice when he’d talked about his mother.

What must it be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of emotion—from Declan?

With furious fingers, I drew half a dozen different dragonflies and then used colored pencils to decorate them. Some were big, some were small, but all had that ethereal quality I imagined a dragonfly had.

I pictured engraving a dragonfly on a bracelet. Or a plaque on a necklace.

No, no.

But the more I thought of it, the more I realized I was thinking way too much about Declan and not just the dragonfly. Frustrated, I set the pad aside.

I didn’t need to think about him.

He was exactly what I didn’t need.

I stood and paced, shaking my hands out.