Not sure, no matter how cute he is. How devastatingly handsome he is.

Crap.

“Can you show me?” He lets his arms fall loosely to his sides, and my gaze dips to his low-slung, faded jeans. This isn’t one of the pairs we bought together. Nope, these are old and soft, worn almost transparent in places. One big rip shows me his tanned knee.

How can I be ready to jump back into bed with him when I was in his arms—and pinned underneath him, writhing in pleasure—less than an hour ago? He’s turning me into a nympho.

Totally his fault.

“It’s a recipe my dad likes to make when I’m home.” And speaking of which, I should call them, see how they’re doing. They were thinking about coming to visit. “It’s breakfast muffin cups.”

“Sweet, huh?” He leans over the bowl where I’ve mixed the ingredients. “Like cake?”

“No, these are salty. You make the basic mixture with flour and eggs and milk, but you can add cheese and ham and bits of dried tomato. Never had them?”

“Show me how to make them.” He’s looking at me eagerly, his eyes shining. “I wanna learn.”

I open my mouth to ask if he’s kidding me—boys in my experience aren’t really into cooking—but I recall what he told me, about having a kitchen for the first time and wanting to learn how to prepare food.

“Sure. I’ll show you.” I grab the silicon baking molds and the spoon, then gesture for him to take a seat. “I can give you the ingredients and quantities. You mix them up well, and then you preheat the oven. Pour the mixture into these molds,” I demonstrate, filling one after another, “shove them into the oven and wait until they turn golden and crispy on top.”

“Let me try.” He reaches for the bowl and spoon, and I pass them to him. He fills the molds, his eyes lighting up in delight.

I turn my face away. Weird how this moves me. I get a feeling I’m seeing a side of him nobody has ever seen. That he has let down his defenses and is trusting me not to mock him.

If anyone can understand that fear, it’s me.

We put the cups into the preheated oven, and as soon as I turn around, he backs me up against the counter, his warm breath ghosting over my mouth.

“I have to go to Damage Control,” he says, and it takes me a moment to understand the words, fixated as I am on the green-blue of his eyes and the shape of his body pressed to mine. “Training. Zane wants to talk to me, too.”

That’s it, I think dazedly. This is when he says I’ll be seeing you around, that we can be friends and it was nice, thanks. Maybe that’s why he’s been showing me this disarmingly boyish side of him. He wants to be friends with me.

Not that this makes a lick of sense—I mean, why the heck would a guy as sexy and popular as Jesse want to be friends with me?—but my brain is off to la-la land with him so close and personal and in my space.

Probably also why I miss most of what he’s saying, until the word “wedding” catches my attention.

“Holy crap, I forgot about the wedding.” For about twelve blissful hours—the length of time Jesse has been here. “Shit.”

“Christ, the idea really scares you, doesn’t it?”

So close, I can’t hide from him.

“I have a bad feeling about it.” Then again I always do, when it comes to social gatherings. “I don’t have good memories from parties.”

“Time to make new ones then.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” The words spill out of me, my mouth going too fast for my brain to catch up. “Meeting up with girls at parties, have them suck you off is your way of making new memories?”

His grin fades. “And if it is?”

“Are you serious now?”

“What do you want me to say?” He pulls away, his jaw clenching. “It fucking worked until I met you. I thought it worked, anyway. I thought that what it was all about, and it was a damn deal better than having sex with older women for a few bucks.”

“And that’s supposed to make this any better?”

Holy crap. Don’t know why I can’t stop the words from falling from my mouth. Is it hormones—is it that time of the month already? I can’t whip up any conscious thinking to put a brake on my insecurities pouring out, disguised as accusations.

He rubs the back of his head and resettles his cap. The light in his eyes has dimmed. “Embers…”

Why am I trying to hurt him? I think I want him to get it over with—tell me it’s over, tell me the truth.

So I do it instead. “Are you going back to that? To making new memories with girls at parties? Are we just friends now?”

“Dammit, we aren’t friends.” His hands fist at his sides. “I can’t be friends with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you too fucking much.”

I nod, my throat tight, both relieved and disappointed. It’s just about sex, and I knew it, so why am I feeling so shitty right now? “Right.”

He sighs. “Hell, Embers, what do you want me to say?”

“The truth. That’s all. ”

I hear the door of Kayla’s bedroom creak open, and he hears it, too. He freezes for a second, then takes a step toward me.

“I want you. And I like you. I’ve never felt this way before, okay? I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’ve never had a girlfriend, for God’s sakes.”

A shiver wracks me. “What are you saying, JJ?”

“I’m saying…” He lifts a hand to my face, strokes his knuckles over my cheek, and his lashes lower, shadowing his gaze. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. Can’t we take it one step at a time? Let me take you to the wedding.”

“Okay,” I whisper and wonder if I’ve lost my mind completely for agreeing to this. “The wedding.”

And then we’ll see in how many pieces I can shatter.

Chapter Sixteen

Jesse

My nerves are shot. What the fuck was I thinking, making it sound like we have something? Talking of girlfriends and shit. Why, just because we slept together? That means nothing. I don’t have to promise anything. Hell, I can’t promise anything. I have nothing to give. I have no roots and no scruples. I’m a bastard orphan slut. Can it get any worse than this?

I stride into her bedroom and grab my T-shirt, dragging over my head angrily. Who am I bullshitting? Just sex. It wasn’t. Not for me. I know it in every fiber of my being. It was amazing. Mind-blowing. Unforgettable.

Like she is, and the way I need her is scaring the holy fucking shit out of me. For so long I convinced myself I don’t need anybody. After I lost Helen, I had to, or I’d have gone round the bend.

Never needed anyone until now. Lying with her in my arms, holding her, kissing her, planning to go to a fucking wedding reception with her…

Dammit, even now my heart booms at the thought and a grin spreads over my face. She makes me feel… warm inside. Good. Whole.

Happy.

And damn, I like the fact she doesn’t want me to be with other girls. Like she wants me for herself.

I want to make her mine. But I’ve never been anyone’s and never had anyone. How does that work?

Zane. I’ll ask him.

My decision taken, I relax and sit on the bed to pull on my socks and boots, taking in her room from this angle. She has more of her jewelry lining her walls, bracelets and pendants made of beads and wire. A photo of herself with two older people catches my eye. Takes me a moment to realize they have to be her parents.

Duh, J. This is what’s normal, not you. You’re the odd one out, with no family.

Rubbing a hand over my face, wondering why Amber would even think of hooking up with me, let alone be my girlfriend, I take one last look around and head out to say goodbye.

Voices drift over from the open kitchen door and I stall. One is Amber, and the other must be Kayla.

“I can see why you like him,” Kayla is saying. “I get it. I mean, that face, that chest, and ass-cheeks you can crack nuts between—what’s there not to like?”