The image of Pierce in a black tux flashes in my mind. My breathing accelerates just imagining it.

Dana notices, passing me a shot. “Drink this, and I’ll get you another one. You’re going to need it.” I down it, realizing just how much I do need it. I’ll be lucky if I sleep at all tonight.

“What am I going to do?” I ask, putting back another shot as soon as Charlie pours it.

“You are going to go out with your boss. It’s not like Blake gives a shit anyway, and if he does, this will wake him up. I can’t believe this,” she says, practically dancing at the end of the bar. One of the two guys still inside whistles, drawing a sneer from her.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Enjoy the ride, Lila. Most women would line up to be where you are right now.”

Maybe she’s right. This should be fun, or at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself to get through it. This is about fun and nothing more.

The whole ride home I ponder how I’m going to tell Blake. If he’s home tomorrow night, I don’t want it to be a surprise. I’ve witnessed his temper, and I don’t need him swinging at my boss. Besides, I’d want to know—not get hit in the face with it.

When I walk into the apartment, I don’t see Blake, but the light in his room is on. I set my purse on the kitchen counter and stare off at the wall, trying to decide what I should do next. I haven’t seen him since Wednesday night, but I know if I go in there, I’m going to feel guiltier about accepting Pierce’s invitation. Deep inside, I know it shouldn’t be this way. What Blake and I have is an understanding, one that includes lots and lots of hot sex; it’s getting weird, though, because I can’t even think about him with anyone else, touching another woman the way he touches me.

Deciding I can just tell him tomorrow, I take a quick shower and slip into my flannel pajamas. My long red hair is a matted mess from being wrapped in the towel so I comb through it carefully, letting the damp strands fall onto my back.

“Hey,” Blake says, surprising me by stepping in behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck. It feels so intimate—so opposite of anything we’ve let our hearts be. It’s impossible to stand here and not relax into it.

Looking up, I catch his reflection in the mirror. I can tell he’s been painting. His hair is messed up, and his black T-shirt is covered in specks of red and blue.

“Hi.” I smile, leaning even further into him.

His lips press to my sensitive, damp skin, moving from one shoulder blade to the other. “I didn’t hear you come home.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you.” I cover his hands with mine, relishing in the feel of his lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you, actually. There’s somewhere I want to take you if you’re up for it.”

“Tonight?” I have no idea what time it is, but it was after three when I came in.

“Or we can go tomorrow night,” he says between kisses.

That brings what I have to tell him back to the forefront of my mind. I quickly push it away, wanting to stay like this a little longer. “Tonight works.” Not like I was going to sleep anytime soon anyway.

He squeezes me, feathering my neck with more kisses before pulling away. “I’ll give you a couple minutes to change. Wear something comfortable.”

As he walks away, I can’t help but think that this is the Blake I like. Sweet. Charming. The one who shows me that there’s more to what we have than just meaningless sex.

There’s no way I can tell this Blake about tomorrow night.

I quickly throw on a pair of faded blue jeans and a worn gray hoodie. Morning will be here before we know it, so I tie my unruly hair into a tight knot at the top of my head, anticipating the possibility of running into the early morning crowd. Before going to find Blake, I pull my jacket from the closet and slide my feet into my chucks.

I don’t have to go far. He’s leaning against the counter with his hands tucked into his jean pockets. “Ready?” he asks, smiling.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.” He looks edible in an oversized gray sweater and charcoal beanie. Preppy was my type through most of high school and college. That’s not the case anymore. My new type is sexy-just-kind-of-pulled-together bad boy.

When he wraps his fingers around mine, I hide my bulging eyes by looking down at my shoes. Something is different. This is a different version of us.

He leads us out of the building, not stopping until we’re alongside an older, dark-colored car. “Lila, I’d like you to meet Frank.”

I’m stupefied. It might be the vodka, or the fact that I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours.

“The car, Lemon Drop. It’s the only thing from high school that’s still with me so I thought he deserved a name.”

I slept with Blake before knowing what kind of car he drove, or that he even had a car. Nice, Lila.

“Are we taking him somewhere?” I ask, running my fingers over the smooth paint.

“Fuck yes.” He places the key in the passenger side door, then opens it for me. “Get in.”

After I’m safely inside, he runs along the front of the car and jumps in the driver’s seat. The whole car vibrates when he turns the key.

“What kind of car is this?” I ask as he peels out into the street.

“1969 Pontiac Trans Am. I usually keep him in my parents’ garage for the winter, but I missed him.”

I laugh when it dawns on me that he’s talking about the car the way I wish he’d talk about me. For the first time, I wish my name were Frank. “It’s nice.”

“Damn right it is.”

The car purrs loudly as we make our way down deserted city streets. The farther we drive, the more curious I become about where he’s taking me. I know he won’t tell me, but I trust him.

A couple minutes later, the car comes to a stop in front of a row of old warehouse buildings. It’s dark and quiet, a little scary actually. “Is this it?” I ask, running my palms over my blue jeans.

“Maybe,” he replies before climbing out of the car. I watch him round the front then he’s at my door. Without question, I stand up next to him, letting him pull me against his strong, warm body. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He guides us through the darkness, not once letting go of me. This isn’t a neighborhood I’d go to alone, even during the day. There’s one streetlight about a block away and not a house in sight. A creaking sound repeats in the distance, like an old wrought iron gate opening and closing. Definitely creepy.

Blake lets go of me just long enough to unlock an old metal door to one of the buildings. He looks back at me before opening it. “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

My mouth gapes. Under the faint streetlight, I see vulnerability. A man who always seems to know exactly what he wants doesn’t look so sure.

“Why not?” I finally ask, not even sure where we are exactly.

He shrugs, tucking his hands deep in his pockets. “It’s the diary of a mad man.”

It’s hard to know what to say to that so I say exactly what I think. “I can’t wait to see it.”

He reaches up, caressing my cheek with the back of his fingers. The night sounds are the only thing I hear. He the only thing I see. Then his fingers fall away . . . the spell between us broken as he pushes open the door.

I’m not sure what to expect as I step inside, but as soon as he flicks the lights on, the air leaves my body. There are paintings everywhere. Large. Small. Hanging. Resting against every corner and on easels. Some covered, some exposed. Every color imaginable is displayed within them.

“These are amazing.” I’m awestruck as I circle the expansive room. I got a small peek at his work once, but nothing like this . . . this is the Museum of Blake in full display. I pay more attention than I normally would, concentrating on every detail in hopes of drawing a piece of him from it. Abstract art is my favorite, but I don’t like it on him.