“One of your breasts is bigger than the other.” Her left.

Another thumbs-up.

The smacking noises grew at a steady pace, and I made a note to have Jack detail it later. Pressing my palms down against her ears, I closed my eyes. Because if DJ couldn’t hear and QB couldn’t see, the next words out of my mouth wouldn’t be real.

“I love you, Sydney Porter.”

When I opened them, she gave me another thumbs-up.

Then she said, “I loathe you too, Gray Peters.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I opened my eyes to a dark room and a ceiling sprinkled with glow-in-the-dark stars. Moving my body in a slow snow angel-like formation, I inhaled a breath of relief.

I was the only one in Gray Peters’s bed.

A low snoring sound came from the floor below me, and peering over the edge, I saw Peters lying in a fetal position on his rug. He’d pulled all the covers off the bed, leaving me totally exposed. I gently tugged his bedspread back up, and he stirred.

“Sydney?”

“No, it’s Fernando… Go back to sleep or I’ll roll off the bed and smother you.”

He laughed and sat up straight. Holding his head, he let out the low groan of a severely hung-over twenty-something. “Jesus Christ. What happened last night?”

I tugged up the rest of the covers and turned on my side. “The question is what didn’t happen last night, Peters, and for the record,”—I flipped a finger between him and myself—“we didn’t happen.”

“I know,” he said a little half-heartedly. “Can I get on the bed? This hard floor is leaving my hip sore.”

Before I could answer hell no, he jumped in bed and pulled the covers up. I nudged him with my elbow, and he fell back out.

“I should go home.” I sat up and realized I was wearing a large white T-shirt. “Shit. What happened to my dress?”

He raised a hand above the mattress edge and pointed to a skintight blue dress, now cut into long strips, in the corner. “You came in here complaining about societal pressures on women to wear uncomfortable sausage tube casings, then grabbed a pair of scissors off the desk and started cutting from the crotch up.”

“What? No way.” Reaching down, I made sure I still had on my underwear. “Were you in here? Oh my God.”

He laughed and let out another painful moan. “No, Allison came in here with you. She helped you cut it and then found a T-shirt in one of my drawers. Then you put on a pair of my socks, grabbed my sunglasses, and slid across the living room floor with Allison, singing Beyoncé.”

“I would never.” I gasped, and he laughed harder. “Beyoncé?”

“Trust me. You did. Fernando got it on video. It’s probably on YouTube now. He’s been big into YouTube since his DJ stardom.”

I lay back in bed, and Peters released a whimper like a man who’d just lost a bar fight.

“What are you wearing, Peters?” I peered back over the edge, but I still hadn’t quite adjusted to the room’s darkness. “Do you have clothes on?”

“A T-shirt and boxers.”

I lifted the covers. “Fine, get in… No touching.”

A second later, Peters hopped into bed, and I’d made a wall of pillows between the two of us as a barrier. Despite using four pillows, there was still one for each of our heads.

“You’re like a girl with all these pillows. Allison would be envious. Speaking of, is she still here? How’d she get home?”

“I gave Jack your keys,” he said casually, turning on his side. “He took her home. They were sucking face all night.”

I reached a hand through a crack in the pillows and pinched his ass.

“Ouch,” he hissed, flipping over on his back.

“Why the F would you do that? How the hell am I supposed to get home… in only a T-shirt and my heels?” I growled and slammed my head back on the pillow.

“Relax, Sinister.” He sat up and flipped on his phone. “It’s four AM. I’ll take you home in few hours.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flexing his biceps. I knew he wasn’t trying to show off, but his muscles had egos of their own. When he lowered his hand, he dropped it on my ankle and gave it a quick, tender squeeze. “Are you thirsty? I need water.”

I jerked my leg back. “Sure, water would be good. Just make sure you give me a fair score on the pussy scale this time.”

“Fucking hell, Sydney. I told you I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do that. I swear on my grandpa’s grave.”

Letting out an exhausted sigh, I nodded, but he couldn’t see me as he left the shadows and opened his door. When he came back, he flipped a reading light on by his desk, introducing a dim glow into the room. Then he handed me a bottle of water and slid back into bed.

“You should see your hair right now.”

He smiled, and I frowned, noticing his looked perfect. I lifted a hand to my rat’s nest, trying to flatten it down.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just me. Do you remember anything from last night?”

I looked down at my red, chaffed knees. “I remember crawling out of the garage when it was clear Jack and Allison were steaming up the place.”

I thought back on the night, trying to concentrate through my stormy head. “I remember taking shots with Fernando while discussing our mutual love of brie cheese and pinot noir. Who knew Fernando had such a sophisticated palate?”

Peters laughed and clinked his bottle of water against mine. “To new comrades,” he said, then took a drink. I gave him a small smile, but inside, I was filled with dread. In less than twenty-four hours, word would get back to my dream assassin, and Peters and I would go right back to square one.

“I don’t think we can be friends after today, Peters.” I leaned across him and set my bottle on the nightstand. “You don’t understand. I fucked up big time, and the entire campus is going to hate me. I can’t say why, but trust me. You’ll know.”

He looked down and played with the edge of our pillowcase Berlin wall. “Let’s just cross that road when we come to it, Porter. Until whatever you say is going to happen actually happens, let’s just be civil with one another.”

Nodding slowly, I lay back on the bed with my heart still pounding in my chest. “I can’t believe I ended up in your bed… Jesus.”

He held his hands up as if to prove he didn’t touch me. “I was a perfect gentlemen, Sinister. Even when you were on your hands and knees, begging me, I said, Yes, Sydney. I understand I take your breath away… No, I wasn’t aware you’ve been dreaming of me for the last two years… I know my ass is—”

“Shut up.” I turned, grinning into my pillow. God, he was cute even when he was an ass.

Peters laughed, and I flipped on my side. The hem of my shirt pulled up to my waist, and his eyes darted to the curve of my hip. I didn’t pull the shirt down. I watched him watch me—half hoping he’d become a hormonal teenager and make a move.

Instead, he reached over and pulled the covers up to my waist. “You look cold,” he said with a small frown on his face.

“Thanks.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment.

“No problem.” He locked eyes with me, his dark hair framing the side of his face, perfectly cutting across his cheekbones. When I felt a surge of heat down under, I shifted, trying to let it escape, but it was a wasted effort. “Are you going to the mom’s weekend brunch with Jack? It’s a football event, but the food’s pretty good ‘cause it’s not catered by Northern.”

I smiled. “Darn. I was looking forward to rocket dogs for breakfast, but word is there’s a mysterious shortage on campus. Fernando told me about the alumminati.”

He cleared his throat, which was now red and rashy. “What did he say?” He closed his eyes and a look washed over his face liked he was standing in front of a firing squad.