“Gigi. Wake up.” An elbow nudges my ribs. “Wake up!”

“I wasn’t asleep,” I mutter irritably, my pen dropping from my fingers to the floor. I glower at the girl sitting next to me, then up at our boring linguistics lecturer. I feel that it’d be perfectly justifiable if I fell asleep. “Just thinking.”

“Ah-huh,” she says, and chews on the cap of her pen.

I was thinking. I swear. My brain won’t stop spinning my thoughts into threads and webs of doubt and confusion.

It’s Jarett’s fault.

Something isn’t adding up. That night with him last week… God, the memory of it has haunted me every single day and night since. So hot, the way he pressed me down, gripped my hair, fucked my mouth. Who knew I liked that so much? And later his mouth on mine, then between my legs…

I squirm on the seat, all hot and bothered all over again.

The girl beside me, whose name escapes me, shoots me a murderous look. I probably make her look bad with my behavior.

Screw her.

Jarett. His thick cock in my mouth, his groans of pleasure in my ears, his masculine scent all around me. That night he owned me. Broke me. Marked me.

I keep thinking about it, and about all the other times I met him. I have to talk to him, but if I do, I’ll be hooked again.

And I can’t figure him out.

He saved my friend, and not for the first time. He didn’t even ask me to pleasure him, until I followed him home.

He asked for payment, fucked my mouth.

Then asked me if I’m okay.

He went down on me, made me come like nobody ever has before.

And gave me his phone number.

I have it. I copied it carefully from the palm of my hand into my phone, my fingers shaking as I entered his name, and then I felt like a fool for not scrubbing it, erasing it and forgetting all about it in the first place.

Now I’m sitting in the classroom, my instincts warring, and stare at my phone that’s resting so innocently on the desk. Pretending it doesn’t contain a link to him.

It’d be so easy to text him. Ask him how his day is going. If the wound on his back is healing fine. If he’s also thinking about the time we spent together. About me, like I’m thinking about him.

Oh boy. This is bad. So bad. Why am I even considering texting him? He admitted he’s in a gang, and he obviously invited me to his apartment so I could suck him off.

But then why ask me if I’m okay, why look concerned, why all that confusing stuff? Is he trying to drive me crazy?

Crazier.

Gathering my stuff, I shove everything into my backpack and get up. I can’t take this anymore. I need to move and clear my mind.

“Miss Watson,” the lecturer snaps. “The class isn’t over. Where are you going? I’ll mark an absence if you leave now.”

“Something came up,” I mutter, and make my escape. I hurry down the hallways of the college, squeezing between groups of students talking. I need fresh air.

What’s this feeling, this indecision, this inability to get him out of my mind? After the way he behaved, after the way I behaved… any sane person would have just walked away.

But I can’t.

He’s a bad boy, and bad boys don’t turn good through the power of love. I’m not so stupid as to believe in such fairytales.

Any fairytales.

I’ve seen what bad boys do, back in Destiny. Bullies. Arrogant dicks. Violent drunkards. Selfish boys who enjoy causing pain.

No way am I doing this. I know better. I’ve learned things.

And yet I feel so lost. I need to talk to someone, but my go-to confidante is Sydney, and she’s the last person I want to see right now. I mean, I called and texted a thousand times since last week, asking if she’s okay, and she only replied with the shortest of texts to say she’s fine.

Well, screw her.

I stand, indecisive, in the hallway, streams of students flowing around me. Who can I talk to? Not my mom. Or Merc.

God, no.

I need to talk to my sister.

* * *

“Sure, you can come over,” Octavia says on the phone. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. Fantastic.” I cross the street quickly, heading to the bus stop.

“Gigi. You’re not very convincing, you know. You’re worrying me.”

“No. God, no. I’m fine.” Shit. I managed to scare my very pregnant sister. Way to go. “Everything’s just fine, I promise. I only want to see you and ask you about something.”

“You pinky-swear you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes. Please, Tati, don’t worry, okay? I’ll catch the bus and be there soon.” I fish in my purse for my bus card. “See you in a bit.”

If she goes into early labor because I stressed her out, I’ll never be able to live with myself. Maybe going to Octavia for help was a stupid idea.

But who else could I talk to?

I chew on this as the bus arrives, and I climb inside, shivering in my thin red jacket. Finding a seat at the back, I unwind my earbuds from around my phone and plug my ears, shutting out the buzz of the other commuters.

I hit play and lean back as the first notes of “You Don’t Own Me,” the remake by Grace with G-Eazy, rock me. Humming, I press my forehead against the cold glass of the window, staring out at the streets and houses and people rolling by.

Octavia understands me. She didn’t fall in love with a bad boy but with an honest-to-god wild man. Instead of listening to all of us and ditching him when he behaved badly, when he was confusing her with mixed signals, she held on to him, and married him a year later. Now she’s about to have his baby.

She’s on to something. She knows how to judge human character. If nothing else, at least she knows how to tame wild men, and may have some advice for me.

Hey, I’m desperate.

Rummaging in my purse, I find my lipstick and slather my lips in red as we roll through the suburbs. I check my phone, scroll through my contacts just to see Jarett’s name among them.

Pathetic, Gigi. Totally pathetic.

Sighing, I gather my purse and backpack, and get off at my stop, then trudge down the street to Octavia and Matt’s house. From afar I see the front porch and the oak tree in the garden, and smile.

We may live in the same city, but I often find myself missing Octavia. We’re a very closely-knit little family. For as long as I can remember, it was only Mom, Octavia, Merc and me versus the world, and that was just fine by me. I didn’t need anyone else. These were the people I trusted, and nobody else.

Of course now to this small circle was added Matt, Octavia’s husband, and his kids, his mom, and soon Octavia’s baby. Sydney was an addition as well, though excuse me for having my doubts right now about the wisdom of that—and Jarett.

I used to trust him. Trust him to have my back. To listen to my stories without judgment. To be there—with the secret hope he’d eventually open up to me, just like I had to him. That he’d want more from me, just like I did from him.

And here I am, bewildered and aching with something I don’t dare name.

I ring the bell, and drum my fingers on my leg while waiting for Octavia to open the door, nervous. I don’t want to talk about this, about my confusion, my feelings, my mistakes and doubts.

Problem is, I can’t seem to find a solution on my own. I want to believe that Jarett is good, deep inside. That his bad moments can be explained.

What am I doing? What do I think Octavia will tell me? God…

I turn to leave, but the door opens, and Octavia calls my name.

Turning back around, I paste a smile on my face. “Tati. How are you? How is Bean?” I nod at her belly, and oh my god, it’s enormous. I try not to gawk. “All good?”

“We are. Come on in.” She leans in and I kiss her cheek, then walk inside the warm and cozy house she and Matt keep. “The kids are at their grandma’s. It’s just us.”

“Oh good,” I say, distracted as she waddles toward the living room. “Is Bean behaving?”

She and Matt decided they don’t want to know the gender of the baby, who therefore has no name, so I named him or her Bean. I think it’s perfect.

“Yeah. Getting too crowded in there, I think.” She settles down gingerly. “Now talk to me. You got me so worried. I thought something bad had happened.”

“Sorry,” I say again and sit across from her, in one of the armchairs. “I honestly didn’t mean to alarm you. Something’s on my mind, that’s all, and I wanted your opinion.”

“About what?”

“About Jarett.”

“That’s not a something,” she mutters, leaning back, wedging a cushion behind her with a sigh. “Jarett… isn’t that the guy you had a crush on a couple of years back?”

Okay, so everyone and their grandmother knew about that. Go figure.

“I don’t really know anything about him, Gigi,” Octavia says, more quietly. “Not more than you do, anyway. Let me see… He lived in our old neighborhood. He was adopted, I think? Had a stupid shit of a brother. You often walked with Jarett home from the bus stop. You had a crush on him. Have a crush on him, from the look of things.”

I roll my eyes. “I like him, okay? But here’s the thing. He’s a bit of a douche sometimes... and Merc told me Jarett’s in a gang—”

“Oh God.” Octavia pales. “Gangs are dangerous.”

“I know that.”

“And if he’s acting all douchey with you…”

“Not always.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Are you listening to yourself? ‘Not always?’ And that’s good enough for you? A guy who treats you well sometimes, but is mostly an asshole to you?”

I cringe. “It’s not like that…”

“Then what is it like?”

“He’s… an ass sometimes, true. But other times he’s the Jarett I knew. Concerned, and nice.”

She sighs. “When he’s trying to get into your panties?”

“I, uh.” My face warms up.

Her brows go up. “He’s already dipped his hand in the cookie jar?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Okay, okay.” She lifts her hands in a placating gesture. “What exactly does he do when he’s being an ass?”

“He gets all upset sometimes for no clear reason.”

And he makes me go down on him. Although I want it. Want it too much.

But I can’t tell her that. God, no.

“Okay… and when he’s not being an ass?”

“What do you mean?” I frown, lost in thought.

“Give me an example of how nice he is, so nice he makes you forget all the other times when he’s being a jerk.”

“He, um… He protects Sydney when she gets into trouble.” At Octavia’s widening eyes I backtrack. “Protected her. Once. When she got caught in a fight. Wrong time, wrong place, okay? And… he gave me his number in case I ever need help.”

“Come on, Gigi, that’s not much to go on.”

“His brother,” I blurt out. “He told his brother off when he tried to force himself on me in a club.”

“Force himself on you? Jesus, Gigi. Why didn’t you say something?” Octavia presses a hand to her belly, her mouth a hard line, and I rub at my mouth, angry at myself for worrying her, even if it wasn’t my intention.

“Oh God,” I whisper. Clear my throat. “Look, nothing happened. His brother probably just wanted a kiss and a grope, okay? And before you tell me I’m grounded or something—because by the way I’m not five anymore, Tati, just FYI—I don’t go to seedy clubs, and I don’t go alone, so drop the lecture. Nothing has ever happened to me.”

Liar.

“Anyway,” I rush on, “the thing is… Jarett’s so, so very nice sometimes. Protective. Sweet. And…” I swallow hard, my face burning hotter. “And sexy.”

Octavia frowns. “Gigi…”

“Not every gang member is a criminal. I bet it’s bad influences, right? His brother, he’s a bad influence. Worst of the worse, you can’t get worse than—”

“Gigi. Stop talking.”

I stop.

Ringing silence fills my ears.

Octavia is watching me intently, her forehead creased. She sighs. “Look, I don’t know what to say. Sorry. I’m not the right person to ask about this.”

“Of course you are. You’re my sister.” I twist my hands together. “Come on, Tati… I could really use your advice.”

“Then stay away from him.”

I huff in frustration. “I can’t.”

“So here’s the thing. You don’t want my advice. Not really. No, Gigi, listen.” She lifts her hand to silence me. “You want me to tell you you’re right. That he can be saved. That he’s worth it.”

“Isn’t he?”

“I don’t know that.”

“Please, sis. Throw me a bone here.”

Her mouth tightens. “Okay. Let me tell you one thing I’ve learned: if you really believe he’s worth it, then don’t listen to me, or anyone else.”

I fold my arms under my boobs and glare at her harder. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious, Gigi. You don’t want my opinion, because you know more than I do about him. You’re confused because you see things I don’t. You experienced him in ways I haven’t, and that is important. With Matt it was the same. You and everyone told me to steer clear of him, remember?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shame flooding me. “My advice was crap. Matt is wonderful.”

“That’s exactly the thing. You didn’t know how wonderful he is. He didn’t let others see. But I’d seen the other side of him, the one he was hiding. And deep inside of me I knew he wasn’t who everyone thought he was. That the front he showed to the world was a defensive wall, and that only I could see past it to the real him. Maybe that’s what’s happening with Jarret.” She shrugs. “Maybe that’s what’s happening with you.”

Is it? How do I know?

“You always seemed so sure of yourself,” I whisper. “So sure of Matt, from the start.”

“But the truth is that I doubted myself, and him, until he proved himself to me. By changing. By putting me first. Until then, I wasn’t sure at all.”

I wave a hand at her to silence her. “Jesus, stop. You’re killing my older-sister cult here. You’re supposed to know everything. I used to sacrifice imaginary goats at your altar.”

Octavia snickers.

I mull over all this. So my sister isn’t omniscient, can’t read minds and can’t foresee the future. Shocking. Where do I go from here?

“So let me summarize.” I look at her for confirmation. “You weren’t sure about your man. And still you stuck to your guns. Gave it a try. Gave him a chance. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Another shrug. “Maybe.”

“Stop being cryptic, sis. I’m desperate here.”

“I’m trying to tell you nobody can give you the advice you want, brat. Only you can decide if Jarett is worthy of my little sister, and you don’t seem to have enough evidence in order to decide yet. Therefore you need to study the matter more. Gather more clues. And then, Gigi, please… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Really?” I put my hands on my hips. “Like what? Elope? Go on a road trip around the country? Move to Africa with him?”

“So many bad ideas...”

“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “Mom would have a fit if she overheard this conversation.”

And eloping with Jarett shouldn’t sound so appealing.

Jesus take the wheel.

“Speaking of Mom,” Octavia says, “tell her that her grandbaby is not here yet. She keeps asking. She’s driving me up the wall. Like I’d have the baby and not tell her, hide here at the house? What is she thinking?”

“Well, she’s probably just worried because you’re almost due. I mean, you do look…” At her dark look I hesitate. ‘Big like a whale’ may not go down well. Just a hunch. “Um, radiant?” I suggest.

“Go away,” she says disgustedly.

“I’m going. Goodbye, Bean! And rest well, sis. You’ll call me if the baby decides to come, right? If your water breaks, or you feel any contractions, or—”

“Go. Away.”

Snickering, I bend to kiss her cheek and get the hell away.

* * *

“Gigi! Come help me for a sec!” Mom calls out the moment I step inside our house. The smell of freshly baked cake coming from the kitchen makes my stomach growl.

“Coming!” Shrugging off my jacket and dropping my backpack at the door, I follow my nose and find my mother setting a baking tray on the table, hands sheathed in huge pink oven mitts Merc and I bought her last Christmas.

“There you are,” she says brightly. “Help me get the other tray out, and put the icing on the cakes that have cooled down.”

Okay, I can do that. I’ve turned into Mom’s assistant ever since Octavia moved in with Matt and his kids. I mean, I do my best, but I can never be Octavia. Girl knows everything—how to cook and bake and clean and wash and keep a household in order.

Unlike me. Setting the house on fire would be easier for me than cleaning it.

I manage to get the other tray out of the oven without burning myself—this time—and set it on the mat to cool, then grab the icing bowl and give it a swirl with the spatula.

This is actually a part I really enjoy: icing cakes. Decorating them. Fixing them.

Wait a sec… Is that what I’m trying to do with Jarett? Fix him?

I freeze, the spatula held up in the air. Good God. Am I that predictable? That simple to figure out, and an idiot to boot? Making the same mistake girls the world over have made since the dawn of time?

No, I’m not going to freak out now. Well, not worse than I have.

Gather more clues, Octavia told me earlier, or something like that. More information before you make up your mind.

If only it were that easy. Find information about Jarett, where?

“Have you heard from Octavia?” Mom asks, breaking through my thoughts. “I’m so worried about her.”

“Why? I just saw her. She seems fine.”

“Oh, how is she doing?” She wipes her hands on her apron. “She’s not telling me anything anymore. She likes to keep me in the dark.”

I blink. “Mom. That’s so melodramatic.”

If you knew my mom, you’d know she’s a perfectly easy-going person. She’s never pushy, never oppressing, never annoying. But it looks like the idea of a grandkid has changed her in unpredictable ways. What’s this new possessive vibe coming off her?

“She never tells me how she is. Never calls me. I’ll never even know if the baby comes.”

“Mom. The baby is still in. In case you were wondering. And Octavia is fine, and will let us know if little Bean decides to come. Okay?”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts. You’ll be the first to know. You can’t doubt that, right?” I give her a quick hug. “Seriously.”

“I know.” She gives me a watery smile. “It’s just… I want to be there for her. My mom wasn’t there for me, and I missed her so badly. I needed her. And I’m right here, offering to cook and clean and help, and your sister won’t let me.”

“You cooked, like, ten dishes last week and took them over to her. They still haven’t finished them.”

“It’s not the same. I want to be by her side.”

“Mom, she knows that. And you are. That doesn’t mean you need to be attached at the hip. When the baby comes, she’ll call you. I’m guessing that she and Matt want some time alone now, before Bean arrives, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” Her smile brightens, and she wipes at her eyes jerkily. “Of course you’re right. You’re wise, my little Augusta.”

“Uh, no, Mom. I’m not.” I check out the cooling cakes, set in a row on the table. “I just know how much Octavia loves you.” I look up and wink at her. “We all do. Even Mr. Nelson.”

Her face colors, and she pats her cheeks. “Hush.”

Paul Nelson is a neighbor, and he and Mom have been dating for most of the past year. They’re like schoolchildren, kissing behind doors and going out for romantic dinners, apparently. I haven’t seen much of that, but Merc swears it’s true. Merc knows everything that goes on in this city.

Mom is endearingly shy when talking about this Paul Nelson, and I wonder if they’ve gone beyond kissing and hand-holding yet. She has yet to introduce us to him, so when I pass outside his house sometimes and he’s in the garden, it’s kind of awkward. I want to go—hey, isn’t my mom the shit? Aren’t you totally in love with her? Isn’t she the best?

But I don’t.

I’m discreet and awesome that way, and I will let them do this in their own sweet time.

Smoothing the spatula over the cake, I check that the icing is perfect, before moving to the next cake.

“This one,” Mom says, pointing at the cake as I slather icing on top of it, “is for Becky, bless her kind soul. She always liked my cakes. Her husband, too, though he passed on way too early.”

“Sounds like a sad story,” I mutter, slapping icing on the sides of the cake and spreading it. “What’s her favorite cake?”

“Coffee cake, even if she doesn’t remember much these days.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Mom always has all these stories about people. It’s soothing to listen to her, half-turning my brain off, as she prattles about neighbors in Destiny, and here in St. Louis, and people she met at work, and in the homes and hospitals she visits. Her memory of people is phenomenal.

“She got sick. Alzheimer’s. Progressed pretty fast, too. She doesn’t remember who I am, or where she is on most days.”

“Oh no.” I stop, inexplicable sorrow filling me for this woman I don’t know. “That’s so sad.”

“It is. Such a nice lady. Helped me so much when we first moved here. She had me over for coffee with the other neighbors every Saturday.”

“She was our neighbor?”

“Lived down the street. You know, people said it wasn’t a good neighborhood, that gangs ruled it, but my memories from that time are good.”

Gangs. Jarett.

Of course Mom knew all our neighbors. What if she knows what I need to find out? “Mom—”

“Jesus, look at the time!” Mom grabs more boxes and piles them up on the table. “Help me pack them up, Gigi. Janet is picking me up any moment now.”

“Okay, but, Mom.” I help her pack up the cakes, then place them inside cloth bags, my frustration mounting. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What, honey? Can it wait? I’ll be so late.”

“Yeah, sure.” We load the cakes in the back of the car in a frenzy, Janet, one of Mom’s friends, talking on her phone the whole time and glancing at us through the rearview mirror.

I wouldn’t ask Mom about Jarett, if she remembers him and if she knows anything about him, with this lady in her beehive hairdo listening in.

After I watch them drive away, I head back to the house, feeling defeated.

Who can tell me about Jarett? There’s no one left… except Jarett himself.