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  I take a step back from her, grinning sadly. “Not even to myself.”

  Her eyes watch me as I walk away, full to the brim with interest. Intelligence. She’s studying me, sorting me out with every breath, every word, every touch.

  It scares the shit out of me but at the same time I’m rooting for her. I’m looking back into her eyes with the curtains pulled back, and I’m letting her see. I’m letting her know. I’m hoping she’ll figure it out. I hope she’ll figure me out.

  Then maybe she can explain it to me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KURTIS

  June 22nd

  Windsor Condominiums

  Los Angeles, CA

  The dream starts the same as it always does.

  Music thumped heavily through the floor, vibrating the small sea glass green bottles on the shelf behind the toilet. The air was thick with the smell of jasmine soap, sweat, and chlorine. Kyla’s hair was still wet with pool water. It curled and tangled in my fingers, my tongue dancing wildly with hers as I backed her against the closed door.

  I didn’t lock it. I never did. It didn’t mean anything to me then, but knowing what I know now, I wonder if I wanted us to get caught.

  “Kurtis,” she whispered. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

  I spun her around, pushing her toward the mirror behind the sink. She stumbled in her bare feet, her wet soles slipping precariously over the cold marble floor. I took hold of her hips as her hands grasped the edge of the sink. We both swayed drunkenly as we stared at each other in that mirror, never looking in each other’s eyes. Not directly.

  “You want me to touch you?” I asked her, my voice so deep, so rough, I barely recognized it.

  “It’s all I think about.”

  I ran my palms across her stomach, sliding them up inside the thin material of her shirt. It rose easily, willingly, letting me in. Letting me see her pale, white stomach in the mirror. Letting me have more of her. All of her if I wanted, and I did. Shit, did I want her. I always had.

  “What do you think about?” I whispered.

  She shivered as she leaned her head back against my shoulder. “I think about you. Your hands. Your mouth.”

  I kissed her shoulder delicately. “Do you touch yourself when you think about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “Touch me.”

  “Show me how, Kyla,” I demanded sternly.

  I watched in the mirror as her hands touched her hips. Slowly she gathered her thin, pink skirt, one painful inch at a time. I rose my hands to her small breasts, gathering them in my palms. Pinching her pert nipples until she shuddered and gasped. Until the skirt was gone, falling like a whisper to the floor at our feet. There was nothing underneath, nothing but her skin and her thighs and a soft patch of red hair.

  I could hardly breathe as I looked at her. I’d wanted her for so long and now all I had to do was reach down and—

  “Touch it,” she pleaded. She turned her head to bring her face to mine. Her breath burst across my cheek, hot and wet. “Don’t stop. Not again. Not now.”

  I swallowed hard. There was a lump in my throat. A piece of reality lodged in my airway, trying to stop me. To warn me.

  I reached for her face, taking her chin in my hand and turning her away from me. “You have to be quiet,” I reminded her, my lips on her neck, my nose buried in her hair. I licked a line along her shoulder all the way up to her earlobe. “You can’t make a sound.”

  She sighed unevenly. “I can’t promise anything.”

  “Neither can I.”

  I bit her earlobe nearly to the point of pain. She hummed in the back of her throat, bending at the waist to push her ass into my dick, grinding on me. Killing me. My hands slipped lower. My fingers brushed hers aside, searching for more skin. I looked in the mirror just for a second to see her, to see us, and the sight was a punch to my gut. It was wrong and right and so perfectly screwed up that I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop.

  I closed my eyes as I touched her. I wanted to watch but the war in me was being lost on every front. I gave up ground in everything I did, losing and losing until I wasn’t sure what was left. Desire and disgust raced through me in equal parts as I slid my finger over the slick mound of her clit, making her gasp. Making her buck and tremble, plead and curse, pulling at my hair until it hurt. She made my dick swell and my heart break with every touch. And when she told me she couldn’t wait anymore, when she leaned forward to brace her hands against the wall, I faltered. I died a little inside.

  She told me to take her and I knew I had to stop.

  I also knew I couldn’t.

  Self-loathing ripped through me as I unzipped my pants. Bile rose in my throat when I pulled my dick free and guided it blindly toward her entrance. Her heat pulled me in and I told myself I had no choice. This wasn’t me. It wasn’t us. It wasn’t our fault.

  “Touch me,” she moaned.

  My eyes snapped open, shocked by the sound of a voice that didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t Kyla.

  I stared into the mirror, looking into her eyes for the first time. Staring back at me was another woman. Another desire, this one fresher and stronger.

  Harper.

  She was completely naked, her full breasts hanging heavily beneath her, the dark, unblemished skin of her back exposed to me. My hands held her hips as she worked her round ass into my groin, slow and tortuous. I gaped at her in disbelief. In blind arousal. Kyla was gone, and with her went the guilt. In her place was an explosive relief, a new fantasy. A new desire that left me burning inside. I’d thought about Harper before, but now she felt real. As real as anything ever had. I could feel her body against mine. I could smell the citrus scent of her skin. And suddenly I couldn’t hold out any more.

  I took hold of my dick, pressed the tip against her lips, and I thrust deep inside her.

  My phone is ringing. It mingles in my mind with the sound of Harper’s voice crying out in ecstasy as I drive inside her. She evaporates from my hands and my primal growl morphs in my throat to one of annoyance.

  That dream has ended in a nightmare every time I’ve had it for the last three years. Finally today it felt right, and now it’s gone.

  I’ll kill the asshole who interrupted it.

  “Hello?” I answer the phone gruffly.

  Colt laughs, unfazed. “Good morning to you too, Sunshine.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Rough night?”

  “Rough life.” I roll over on my back, running my hand over my bleary eyes. “What do you want, Colt?”

  “Recall is in effect, man. Trey is bringing in the troops. Time to play some football.”

  “When and where?”

  “One hour. Sorensen Park. You gonna be there?”

  I grunt as I swing my feet onto the floor. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “You gonna be smiling?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  Colt snorts. “Dude, I don’t even know if you have teeth. That’s how often I’ve seen you smile.”

  “You need me to call anybody else?” I ask, ignoring the dig.

  “Nah, we’re good. It’s just the offense. None of the rookies. We’re not allowed to touch ‘em yet.”

  “What are we playing? Two hand?”

  “Flag. Coach’s orders. Not that he has anything to do with this in any way, of course.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “This is completely optional and purely recreational.”

  “Right. Right. I’ll see you there in an hour.”

  “See you there. And, hey, Kurtis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “Later, Avery.”

  “Later, Sunshine.”

  ***

  It’s already getting hot when I step out of my Blazer onto the asphalt. It was eighty yesterday, it’ll be eighty again today, and when the temp only drops down to sixty or so at night it does
n’t cool anything off. The summer is coming and she’s going to be a bitch. I should get the AC fixed in my poor blue beater, but if I did I’d never roll the windows down and I’d miss the fresh air. The feel of the wind rushing through the cab. It reminds me of being back home in Jersey when the summers would heat up and Tommy and I would hit the beach. My shitbox of a car didn’t have AC back then either. It smelled like Burger King wrappers and oil. The upholstery was ripped in thirty different places and the radio only worked when the moon was in proper alignment. It was trash and I loved it. Tommy and I, we were trash too, but we didn’t know it. Not yet. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered back then.

  “Yo, Matthews,” Tyus calls from three spaces over. He’s stepping out of a sleek, black Mercedes with murdered out windows, a giant Kodiaks decal across the back. I don’t know how he can see out of it to drive.

  “What’s up, man?”

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  I stop on the grass to wait for him. “What about?”

  He jogs toward me, his eyes scanning the parking lot. A couple of other cars are pulling in, but they’re still parking. We’re alone for now. “I wanted to ask you about the camera crew. You talked to them yet?”

  “Yeah, a few days ago.”

  “What’d you tell ‘em about the Draft?”

  “Nothing.”

  He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Nothing? Really?”

  “They didn’t ask about it. I didn’t talk about it.”

  “You talk to anyone about it?”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t know your life.”

  “There’s nothing to know.”

  “Are you for real? All you do is keep secrets.”

  “So why are you worried about me keeping yours?”

  A bright red Nissan comes flying up to the edge of the parking lot. It stops neatly inside a space, the engine revving slightly before calming down. Lowry slowly climbs out of the passenger seat, waving to Tyus and I. On the driver’s side Colt bounds out, a shit eating grin on his face.

  “What’s up, boys?” he calls. “You ready to play?”

  “Would we fuckin’ be here if we weren’t?” Tyus shouts back.

  “God, you’re both such morning people. This will be fun. Oh shit, wait!” Colt jogs back to his car. He pulls a purple box out of the back seat before running toward us again. I recognize the color immediately; Mad Batter Bakery. The place his fiancé runs with Rona.

  The sight of the box sends a jolt through my system, memories flooding my brain. I did very unsanitary things with Rona in that kitchen. Delicious, sugar sweet, and laughing things. Rona is infectious like that. Happy and light in ways I can barely remember. Ways I didn’t deserve, but I loved it while it lasted. We were never going to be forever, her and I, but the time I had with her was like a vacation from myself. Like living in a snapshot of another me in another time when I could have been anything and anyone.

  Hope, that’s what Rona is. That’s what she made me feel.

  That’s why I had to leave.

  Colt opens the box to show us the inside. It’s filled with small, round donuts, each one topped with a rudimentary smiley face drawn in yellow icing. “Lilly helped me make them fresh this morning.” He smiles proudly. “I decorated them myself.”

  “I’ve seen your girl freehand Starry Night on a cake in perfect detail,” Tyus tells him dryly, snagging a one-eyed face from the box. “No shit you decorated these.”

  I take one with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. “Tell her thank you for me.”

  “I will,” Colt promises. “She’ll be excited you took one.”

  “Why?”

  “She likes you.”

  “She doesn’t know me.”

  He shrugs. “That’s just how Lilly is. She likes everybody. Well, everybody but reporters.”

  “We have that in common.”

  “That and Rona.”

  He’s baiting me, looking for a reaction.

  I take a large bite out of the donut, chewing slowly, giving him nothing.

  Colt smiles as he watches me. He knows what I’m doing. “Anyway, what were you ladies gossiping about? It looked serious.”

  “You wouldn’t know serious if it bit you on the dick,” Tyus tells him.

  “Is this how you’re going to be all day? Bitchy?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Give me another donut. Maybe it’ll help.”

  Colt opens the box for him. “That’s right, Bridget Jones. Eat your feelings. There ya go.”

  “You’re a real piece of shit, Avery. You know that?”

  “I’ve heard it somewhere before, yeah. Seriously, though, what were you talking about?”

  “The documentary crew,” I answer vaguely, because as close as they are, Tyus obviously doesn’t want to talk to Colt about the night of the Draft. But we have to give the guy something to shut him up.

  Colt is like a puppy. An over-energized puppy on speed. He’s relentless both on and off the field.

  “Have you guys been interviewed?” Tyus asks Colt and Lowry.

  “Not me,” Lowry answers. “I’m not big time enough.”

  “You’re a starter,” Colt argues.

  Lowry shrugs. “So is Lefao, but they’re not talking to him either.”

  “Lefao is a fatass, that’s why. He’d want to talk about Twinkies the whole time.”

  “Like you’re one to talk, DQ.”

  “Are they interviewing you?” I ask Colt.

  He snorts. “Yeah, of course. I’m the Sugar Rush. Who else were they going to talk to?”

  Tyus gestures between the two of us. “Matthews and me. Domata. Linden. Sunders. Ricter.”

  “Okay, alright. I get it.”

  “Caplan,” I add. “Douglas.”

  “Jesus! I said I get it.”

  “Notton.”

  Colt chuckles. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but shut up, Matthews.”

  I smile, popping the last of my donut in my mouth.

  Lowry nods to Colt. “Hey, we on for the fourth?”

  “Every year, baby. Without fail.” He looks at me, hesitating for half a second. “You in?”

  “For what?”

  “Fourth of July party at my place.”

  “Most of the team shows up,” Lowry explains. “A few of the cheerleaders will be there. That whole camera crew is even coming. Only guys with families and kids won’t be there.”

  “And you,” Colt accuses. “You didn’t show last year. No surprise.”

  “You gotta come this year, man. Party with us. Loosen up. Shake that Montana dust off.”

  I lick the sweet taste of sugar off my lower lip, scanning the field. Thinking. “Maybe.”

  “’Maybe,’” Tyus echoes. “Yeah, I know what that means. That’s Matthews speak for ‘hell no’.”

  “I didn’t know I had my own language.”

  “It’s mostly glares and frowns.”

  “Some grunts,” Lowry agrees. “A few mic drops.”

  I shake my head. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’re like an old man on his porch trying to keep kids off his lawn,” Colt continues, ignoring my question.

  “I’m only twenty-six,” I protest.

  “You act sixty-eight. You need to chill. Put down the shotgun and get off the damn porch before you actually are sixty-eight and you feel a hundred and three.”

  Lowry holds his hand out, opening his palm dramatically. “Mic drop. That’s what the hell that means.”

  “You know what, fuck you guys. I’ll be there,” I tell them, surprising everyone. Including myself.

  “For real?” Tyus asks. “You’re gonna party?”

  “If I’m still invited.”

  “Definitely,” Colt answers eagerly.

  “Good.” I put my back to them, heading for the field. “I’ll see you bitches there.”

  “Mic drop!” Lowry laughs after me
.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HARPER

  July 4th

  Palmetto Warehouse

  Los Angeles, CA

  Colt Avery knows how to throw one hell of a party. This does not come as a surprise to me.

  Out of all of the men on the team that we’ve interviewed, Colt is the most transparent. He’s blunt but honest, real in a way that’s unnerving. Charming nearly to a fault. He’s funny and crass, but oddly sweet. His endless energy is the center of every situation, especially tonight.

  He invited the crew to this party on two conditions; we adhere to the strict bathing-suits-only dress code and we come to party. No cameras, no interviews. Nothing is on the record.

  Ordinarily I would have said no. I don’t mix business with pleasure. At least I try not to. But over the last year, hell, during the last week, my resolve has been tested and come up wanting. I don’t like feeling this out of control, but the draw is just too strong. That’s what brought me here tonight. The strength of the pull Kurtis Matthews has on me. I don’t even know if he’ll be here, but it’s more likely he’ll show up at Colt’s party than my apartment, so I’ll take that shot. I’ll throw on a bikini and down a couple Mai Tais, all in the hope of falling into those deep, blue eyes.

  When we got here I didn’t believe Travis. He said that Colt owns the entire building, something that seemed unlikely considering the size of this place, but I’ve heard it from two other people that it’s true. There are three floors to this old warehouse. The first has stayed a parking garage while the other floors have been converted into apartments, both remodeled to the nines. The third floor apartment is locked up tight and the second filled with beer and booze. We’ve vacated it, though. It was the entry point where you got your first drink, but from there you’re ushered up to the roof. The real party is here where Tiki torches burn, music thumps, and a mass of white lawn chairs are spread sporadically over the honey colored deck. Misters hang from poles at every corner giving relief from the imposing heat that has begun to fade with the sun. The water crackles and snaps hypnotically over the torches every time the wind changes, like firecrackers waiting to burst into life.