“Does it?” I whispered, letting Nick’s hands work their way up the back of my shirt.

Nick nodded just as the front door opened. Hearing voices, I drew back my fist and punched him in the face. Just once. For Brittany Saunders.

“Get the fuck off me, Nick.” I sprayed Mace in his eyes. “I told you not to touch me,” I yelled, intentionally shaking my body and putting on my best frightened chick face (Do I need to mention I was best French villager again? I don’t think so).

Nick fell on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “What the fuck, Sydney?”

Fernando and Chance both gave me looks of absolute confusion, but Gray gave me a weary, lush smile. And damn it if I couldn’t help but smile back.

Leaving two girls giggling on the porch, a couple guys bolted down the front steps and stopped at my side. “What the hell happened?” one of them asked, raking his hand through his hair.

With a dramatic cry, I yelled, “We just pulled up and he started to grope me in the car.” (Insert Lifetime movie sob.) “I told him I wasn’t interested, but he kept going after me. They”—pointing at Fernando, Gray, and Chance—“tried to stop him.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

“I feel like death.”

Fernando slammed down next to me on the couch, and I moaned.

“What happened last night?”

The whole party was spotty. I was browning out all night; I just remember glimpses. Tina touching me. Something about the engulfing black sky. And I think my face was too close to a toilet at one point. The last thing I remembered was dreaming about Sydney as a Hindu god. Eight arms and everything.

Fernando popped a pretzel in his mouth, and the crunch made my head nearly explode. “Well, you almost got sued for slander because you saw Sharbus and mentioned shit in his confidential lawsuit settlement. You know, the gag order.”

“What?”

“Yes. And you also punched him repeatedly in the face, which would’ve probably been another lawsuit.” Fernando popped another pretzel, and I snatched the bag from his hands.

“What do you mean would have?” Sitting up straight, I buried my face in my palms. “Dammit. Coach is going to be pissed.”

“But,” Fernando added with a little more pep in his tone. “Your girlfriend saved your ass.”

“Sydney?”

“No, Chance, dipshit.” Fernando rolled his eyes and flipped on the television. “Yes, Sydney. She clocked Sharbus in the face and sprayed him with Mace.”

“She did what?” Running my hand through my hair, I paused over a sore spot on the back of my head. “Is she okay?”

“Yep. She’s a smart one too, because when Echols and Berret walked outside with their girls, she totally freaked on Sharbus, claiming he groped her.” He softly laughed under his breath. “It was a good act. I’ll give her that. Echols knows Nick is a sleaze, so no one suspected she was lying.”

“I can’t believe she did that,” I said, feeling my lips move up to a proud smile. “Then what happened?”

“You should get ready for your rep brunch,” Chance announced. Entering the living room, he plopped down on his bean bag gamer chair. “Your mom will be here in a half hour.”

I swear to God, Chance would make an outstanding secretary. You should see inside his closest. It’s a wall of Post-it notes ordered chronologically and color-coded for importance. He has the next ten years of his life mapped out.

“Shut up, Chance.” I focused back on Fernando. “What happened next with Sydney?”

Fernando chuckled and grabbed the pretzels back, spilling a salty dust pile across his barrel chest. “Well, we all got in Chance’s truck and came back here. She helped you in the shower.” He gave me a wink. “She got in the shower with you, idiot. Bad time to black out. Then she dressed you and put you to bed.”

Jesus had just smiled down on me and the gates of forgiveness had opened, flowing forth a stream of hope. Tucking someone into bed is a good sign, right? That means you still care about them. Well, enough to make sure they aren’t sleeping in their own vomit outside on the porch (It’s happened twice. Don’t ask).

“Then I took her back to her truck,” Chance added, leaning back in his ridiculous chair. “I tried to tell her I wasn’t interested, but she’s got those long, slender fingers, and they just glide over your skin, you know?”

Grabbing a pretzel, I tossed it at Chance’s head, and he caught it in his mouth. “Just messing, but she did say to tell you thanks for Nirvana and good luck in the NFL.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she said to tell you she wished everything could’ve been different, but it’s too late to go back and that you should find a trophy wife with small ears for the sake of your future children.”

“Who the hell told her I was going to draft early?” Standing very slowly from the couch, I felt my brain slam against my skull. “I’m not stupid enough to believe anything out of Chett Ramsey’s mouth. Sure, he tells me the Steelers are interested, but he tells fifteen other QBs the same thing. Ditch my senior season? That’s the most important one.”

“Then why are you going to brunch with him?” Fernando mumbled, rolling his T-shirt back down his stomach. “I don’t get it.”

“He’s taking us to Palo’s for brunch. It’s hella expensive and it books four months out.” I started for the hallway. “Mom and I thought it would be funny. We’re gonna drink mimosas until his wallet cracks in half.” I grabbed my head, rethinking our plan. “At least Mom is.”

“Then what?” Chance yelled at my back. “You gonna finally man up and get your girl?”

“Yes, she’s mine to torture,” I yelled back, now sporting a shit-eating grin. “Exclusively.”

If Sydney Porter thought she could save my ass with Sharbus, lather me up with soap (so pissed I missed that), tuck me into bed, and leave me for good, she had another thing coming. I wasn’t done fighting. I didn’t spend the last six weeks trying to make her life a living hell just to watch her walk away. Short of time travel, I couldn’t change our past, but I could sure as hell change our future.

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Three minutes ‘til break end.” Brian tapped the thick glass separating his office from my studio. “Almost through. Just stay on your game, Sydney,” he warned, slapping Gray’s fake letter against the glass as a threat.

I sat behind my desk, spinning the little black recording box around the table. This little recorder. The one thing that would break Katharine’s hold over me but put me at the beck and call of Northern’s Greek Nazis.

My fight for anonymity was all but gone. Why should I care? I had Nirvana, thanks to Gray. When Darren Waters offered me a DJ spot, Gray was the first person I wanted to share the news with. He’d ruined Sunday Lane, but he’d propelled DJ Sinister to her one true love—music.

And what did Gray want? NFL? Maybe. To teach art? Sure. But I knew what he really wanted was for me to forgive him. Even if we’d never be together. I didn’t have to guess at that. He’d told me over and over as he puked into his toilet Sunday night. And several more times when I’d climbed into the shower with him so he wouldn’t slip and fall. I love you, Sydney, was the last thing he’d said to me when I tucked him into bed.

“Two minutes,” Brian yelled, pulling on his headphones.

I kicked the studio door shut so I wouldn’t hear him nagging me and looked up at the clock. Two minutes ‘til eight. I’d tucked Lily’s slip of paper next to the phone, and the numbers were taunting me to dial them. Hitting play, stop, then rewind on the recorder, I leaned back in my chair.