The club lights flicker. The deep bass of the music pounds through my body and sweat trickles between my breasts as I sway my hips in rhythm with the beats. I feel hands grab onto my waist. When I look up at Heather, she shakes her head to tell me no. I spin around and come face to face with a guy sporting spikey brown hair, a spray tan, and a sideways visor, attempting to ram his crotch against my ass. Scooting away from him, I grab onto Heather and dance with her. Her hands go to my ass, and she squeezes it so hard I’m certain I’ll have a bruise.

“My girlfriend,” she yells over the music. “Leave her alone or I’ll cut your dick off, and no—we don’t share, so fuck off.”

The guy swats his hand through the air before stumbling over to another random girl and grinding on her. Dance clubs—a phenomenon all in their own. A place where you come to get shitfaced and basically dry hump strangers. Every one-night stand I’ve had was the direct result of a dance club, and most of them—terrible decisions.

“Thanks, babe,” I say, kissing her cheek.

“It’s what I’m here for. We are not going to have a repeat of the Ronald incident.”

“Oh, hell no.”

Ronald was the last one-night stand I had. I woke up the morning after to him, his retainer, and about fifteen cats laid on his bed. Oh, and let’s not forget the Iron Man posters on his bedroom wall. From what I can recall, I actually passed out while we were having sex, but evidently gave him my number because he kept calling me over and over. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

A cute blond guy comes up behind Heather as the song ends. His hands go to her waist. She glances over her shoulder, takes a quick look, then turns back to me and smiles.

The song “My Pony” comes on and Heather squeals and claps her hands. The next thing I know, fingers are digging into my hips, and some guy is grinding against me like he’s Channing Tatum in Magic Mike. His hands slide up my waist, then down the front of my thighs, pulling my skirt up.

Heather has literally stopped moving and is staring at him. “Oh, my fucking God. He’s hot,” she mouths as she nods. “Fuck him. FUCK him.”

There’s a hard thrust against my ass, and I can seriously feel an erection pressing into my crack. His pecs press against my exposed back, his hot breath fans over my neck, and he smells like expensive cologne. He moves my hips in rhythm with his and fuck—he can dance.

The longer we dance, the more heated it becomes. His hands are roaming all over my body, pulling the hem of my shirt up as they move over to palm my breasts. The way this guy is touching me is ungodly, and although I should probably at least turn around and see what he looks like, I kind of like the fact that I can’t see him. Taking one hand away from my hips, he sweeps my hair to the side as his other hand glides over my thigh. A low groan rumbles from his throat as his warm thumb skims the lace of my thong, sending a jolt of arousal throughout my body. In one fluid movement, he spins me around to face him. And I almost stop breathing.

Honey-brown eyes. Distinct jawline covered in a slight five o’clock shadow. My gaze drops to those full, full lips. And I think for a second I may have a fucking heart attack. I have literally been dry humping my ex for the past five minutes. Like a fucking slut.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Tyler says, backing away from me.

My pulse kicks up. Adrenaline floods my system. And I do the only thing one can do in a situation such as this: I spin around so fast I nearly get whiplash and bail, shouldering my way through the crowded dance floor and straight to the bar because I need a shot, or two, or ten. I make a beeline to an open spot and lean over the counter, my elbows slipping in spilled beer when I go to grab my head. “This is not happening,” I say under my breath.

The guy next to me takes his drink and moves on, then, I feel a shoulder bump against mine. “Jemma…” Tyler’s voice is deeper than I remember, but then again, I haven’t talked to him since he was nineteen.

Exhaling, I turn to face him, and well, I can’t form words. Now that we’re off the dancefloor and in the light of the bar, I can really see him, and he’s somehow even more fucking gorgeous than I remember. Half Lebanese and American—that mixture is nothing short of exotic. He was that guy in high school that all the girls fawned over, but I don’t even know that he noticed because he was always mine. Always. I swallow in an attempt to force my heart out of my throat. I don’t know what’s worse right now, the fact that I was slut dropping on him like that, or the fact that it felt so damn good.

“What…” I shake my head and shrug. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Uh, well I live here…”

“In LA?” I pause. He bites down on his lip, and I notice a glint. He got his lip pierced? “You live in California? In LA?” I ask.

“Yeah…” he laughs and fuck him for those dimples that just popped out and those eyelashes that are so thick they mimic eyeliner.

Shocked doesn’t cover this. The last time I spoke to Tyler, he was in New York. Hell, the last time I stalked his Facebook—because yes I do that every so often—he was still there. And here I stand, staring into the eyes of the boy who used to be my world. We grew up next door to each other. He was my first crush, my first kiss, and as cliché as it is, we lost our virginity to each other. And out of all the firsts I had with Tyler, the one that is the most salient in my mind is that he was my first broken heart. He crushed me. He had a full paid scholarship to NYU, so I can’t fault him for moving, but what we had wasn’t just some normal love—it was an epic love. And epic loves should stand the test of time, but ours didn’t. We didn’t fight for it, we just let it go because six months after he left we broke up and shortly after that he had a new girlfriend while I was still trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. The hardest part of it all was that throughout my life, if nothing else, I had him, and then one day, I didn’t.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, blatantly dragging his eyes over me. His gaze stops on my exposed legs before lifting to my face. He smirks. “Damn,” he says. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

That angry part of me wants to shove a middle finger in his face and tell him to fuck off, the hurt side still wants him, and that drunk side wants revenge. I swallow. “Thanks,” I say as I turn back to the bar.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I got it.”

“Yeah, yeah. What do you want to drink?”

“Tequila.”

“You want tequila? What happened to vodka?”

“Tastes change.”

“Some taste…” he says, grinning as he steps up to the bar.

“You really think you’re gonna get the bartenders attention before—”

“The regular?” the bartender asks.

Here I am with my tits basically out, and Tyler takes one step toward the bar and gets his order taken.

“Yeah, and a tequila shot. Thanks, Will.” He glances down at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “What was that you were saying, I wouldn’t what?”

I roll my eyes. “A regular at a night club. Wouldn’t be a drunk would you?”

“Nah, not at all.”

Within seconds, he’s handing me a shot glass. I tip the tequila back, and it burns on the way down. My eyes water from the sting as I fight back a cough. “Thanks for the shot,” I say turning to walk away.

“Hey, where you going, titch?” Tyler grabs onto my arm.

Fuck. My heart just did that stupid flutter thing and sank to the pit of my stomach. Titch. That’s what he’s called me since we were kids because he said it’s what they call small people in England. I hated that name, but grew to love it.

“You here with someone?” he asks.

“My friend.”

He nods.

“I gotta…” I rip my hand out of his hold, and he narrows his gaze on me. “I gotta, you know, get back over there before she starts to worry.”

“Don’t wanna catch up?”

Oh, fuck you. “Not much to catch up on,” I say.

“Oh, come on, you’re on a TV show for kids now. Plenty to catch up on.” He smirks and it makes me loathe him even more.

“No, there’s not.”

“You’re still mad at me, I see.”

“Oh, so sure of ourselves, huh? Fuck off, Tyler.”

“We were kids, Jemma. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know?

I walk away, and he’s right behind me.

“Tyler, I have nothing for you.”

I head toward the dancefloor, and he grabs my hand. “Where you going?” he asks.

“I told you. To my friend.”

“The friend you were dancing with?” He smiles and nods to the end of the bar. “Isn’t that her over there?” I follow his gaze to the side of the room to find Heather snuggled up to the blond guy she was dancing with earlier.

“Yeah,” I groan. “That’s her.”

“Well, guess what? That guy wrapped around her waist—that’s my roommate.”

Of course, it is. Huffing, I make my way toward her, Tyler’s still right behind me. Tyler’s apparent roommate arches his brows, nodding as his gaze veers down to Heather. “You ‘bout ready to head home,” he asks.

“Uh, yeah…sure,” Tyler says rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

Heather grins. “He’s pretty, Jemma,” she slurs, looking at Tyler. “And guess what? They are roommates.”

“I know,” I groan.

Tyler walks past me as Heather pushes away from the roommate and stumbles over to me. Placing her hand on my shoulder, she leans in close to my face. “That guy is hot enough that if I fuck him, it doesn’t make me a whore, right?”

“What?”

She puts her nose inches from mine, her eyes slightly crossing. “He’s hot enough that it cancels out the whore in me, right?”

I back away from the smell of alcohol permeating the air and take a quick once over of the guy. Tall, built, blond; total Hollister model material. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good,” she smiles. “I’ll fuck him, you fuck the other one, and we can be non-sluts together.”

“Um…” My eyes find Tyler at the bar with his roommate. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“No, sex is so uncomplicated, Jemma. It’s a basic animal instinct.”

“Right and—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a shot glass is shoved in front of my face. “Body shots and then we leave,” the roommate says, winking at Heather and me.

“It’s better with lime,” Tyler says. I turn to find him smiling and holding up a lime wedge.

“I’m not leaving with you,” I argue.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re drunk.”

“And?” I shrug. “I’ll call a cab.”

“She’s obviously going home with us…” he nods over to Heather whose now deep throating the roommate.

“Well, good for her.”

“You’ll be all alone.” He smiles.

“Yep. Think I can manage it. Thanks for the concern, though.”

“I doubt that.” He laughs. “Unless you’ve suddenly gotten over your fear of staying in a house by yourself…”

“I’m twenty-three, not seven, Tyler.”

I glare at him. I used to sleep in the hallway outside of my parent’s room because I hated sleeping by myself. Of course, since Tyler was my best friend, I told him how scared I was, and he, of course, had a solution. Most nights, he would climb the tree between our houses and I’d let him in my room. “This way you don’t have to be alone, titch,” he told me. “As long as you have me, I won’t let you be alone. Promise.” That memory chokes me up, and now I hate him even more because that was a lie. He did leave me alone.

He dumps the shot of tequila in his mouth. Shaking his head, he blows a breath through his lips. “Whew, so much better with lime, and this was the last wedge, lucky for you I’m a gentleman and saved it for you.”

There’s a slight flitter in my stomach when Tyler places the wedge between his teeth and points at the shot in my hand. He takes a step toward me, and I empty the tequila in my mouth. He grabs the back of my head, his fingers scratching against my scalp as he brings my face to his. And then, I jerk free of his grip and take the lime out of his mouth—with my hands.

“Lame, Jemma,” Heather says, stumbling toward the exit. “So lame I can’t live with you any longer. I’m changing the locks. I swear to God,”

“Damn, that mad?” Tyler says.

I narrow my gaze at him. “No, I just don’t want my mouth on you. I don’t know where it’s been the last four years.”

I walk toward the exit and grab onto Heather’s arm as she steps through the door. “Are you seriously going home with him?”

Her gaze narrows on me. “Yeah, I thought we went over this. I’m fucking him—” she thumbs over toward Tyler, “You’re banging him…”

“This is how people get killed, you know that?”

She shrugs. “I’ll take my chances. He’s hot, and I’m horny.”

A cab pulls to the curb, and Heather opens the door.

Tyler steps up beside me. “You gonna come?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You can cuss me out. It’ll be fun.” He smiles. “Seriously, it’d be nice to catch up.”

I step to the side to hail another cab.

“Goddamn, I forgot how stubborn you are,” he says in a groan. “Just get in the taxi, would you?”

“I don’t want to.”

He steps up beside me. “So, you are going to take a cab alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me what I’m going to do?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Oh, fuck off. That’s a shitty attempt to get me to go home with you.”

“Girls have been getting fucking raped taking cabs by themselves.”

I glare at him because I am well aware of that.

“Look,” he says. “You can come back to my house. I’ll sober up and drive you home, or I’ll just ride in the cab with you to your place then take it home.”

“Of course.” I laugh, annoyed at him. “I’m a woman, I’m incapable of doing anything alone.”

“No,” he grits his teeth and leans in close to me. “There are sick fucks out there and, under the current circumstances, it’s not safe.”

“Are you two coming or what?” Heather calls from the back of the cab.

I glance between her and Tyler and throw my hands up. “Jesus Christ…” It’s not worth arguing about. I climb into the back of the cab and Tyler scoots in beside me, slamming the door.

“You’re unbelievable,” I say beneath my breath.

“And you’re stubborn.”

“Ugh.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the back of the seat.

“Where to?” the cab driver asks.

“Hancock Park.”

I roll my eyes. Hancock Park is expensive. His body is even nicer than it was, and now, he obviously has money. We ride for twenty minutes in silence. Heather and Tyler’s roommate, who I’ve now found out is named Jake, are lip-locked and every time she moves, her high heel digs into my leg.

The cab turns onto a residential street lined with palm trees. Tyler shifts next to me. “Of all the people I could have run into tonight,” he says, leaning in by my ear. “I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise.” The heat from his breath fans across my neck and chill bumps race over my skin.

“Yep. Surprise alright.”

The cab stops in front of a nice house. A really nice house with landscape lighting reflecting off the white stucco front and arched doorway over the porch.

Heather’s ass is practically in my lap, and I smack it, then shove her out of the way. “Can you get off each other long enough to make it inside the house?”

She tears away from Jake and looks out the window. “Holy shit!” Heather slurs. “This is where you live?”

“Yeah,” Jake says.

“What the hell do you two do for a living?”

“We getting out?” Tyler asks, slinging the door open.

Jake slides across, followed by Heather, who stumbles out like a baby deer with new legs.

I may be angry at him, but I am drunk, and he is fucking hot, and damn, was he good in bed. I follow them up the sidewalk, trying to pep-talk myself on the way to the front of the house. This is how bad things start: You go home with a guy, he says it’s just friendly, and the next thing you know you’re bowed over the bed fisting his sheets while staring at his damn cat. A few tequila shots are not an excuse to fuck your ex. My gaze lands on his ass. But really, it’s not like I would be adding any numbers to my list. It would be kind of like it never even happened. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jemma. Control your fucking vagina.

Tyler shoves the key into the lock and pushes the door open. We step into a small foyer that opens up to a large living room and kitchen.

“Wow, you two must make some money. What are you fucking high-end escorts?” Heather asks.

Tyler coughs, tosses the keys on the entrance table, and walks to the kitchen to open the fridge.

“We just moved in,” Jake says. “Tyler got a…” he clears his throat. “A promotion.”

“This is fucking amazing,” Heather says as she slams into the frame of the door. “Whoops. This,” she points through the open doorway, “is where I meant to go. Double vision’s a motherfucker, you know?”

It is amazing. Everything is new and sleek. God, I just got fired for a sex tape with an ex and can’t even get a hemorrhoid commercial, and he’s probably a lawyer like he always wanted to be—wait, he’s not had enough time to go through law school. What the hell does he do?

A few seconds later, a door down the hallway bangs shut and now it’s just Tyler and me in the living room. Outstanding. “You want something to drink?” he asks, walking toward the kitchen.

“Sure.”

“Water?”

I hear a cabinet open. “Yeah, thanks.”

I glance around the room for a moment before heading toward the picture window. The streetlamp shines down on the rows of palms planted along the curb. When I left my apartment earlier this evening, I never thought I would be standing in the middle of that boy’s living room at the end of the night. It’s crazy that after so many years, that attraction hasn’t waned at all, if anything, it’s worse because instead of a boy, he’s a man. A very attractive, very muscular, evidently very successful man. Usually when you end up at some random person’s house after a night of drinks, you have no idea what to expect. It could be great, it could be shit and in that uncertainty lies a bit of hesitation. Sex with Tyler was never shit. Everything else about him has gotten better, more mature with age so I can only imagine what the sex is like now.

I watch his reflection in the window as he steps up behind me. His eyes are trained on my back as he slowly sweeps my hair to the side. His long fingers trail over the side of my throat. I tense under his touch, but I don’t want him to stop. It feels too good.

His fingers skim up the back of my neck, slowly scratching into my hair.

What do I do here? There’s still something between us, some undercurrent that’s familiar and foreign all at the same time. “Your house is really nice,” I say. That sounded so stupid. Jesus, could I be any more obvious?

He hands me a glass of water and steps back. I watch in the window as he takes a seat on the couch and kicks off his shoes. “I didn’t drink too much. I can take you home in a little bit if you want.”

“Yeah…sure.” I remain facing the window.

“Sorry if I seemed like an ass, I just…wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, you know?”

In my head, all I can manage to think is: Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Great! Exactly what I want to do: listen to my friend banging some random guy. I take a sip of water and then a muffled thud, thud, bang, thud, bang echoes down the hallway. I swallow. This is awkward as hell. “Actually, do you have any liquor?” I ask.

“What?” he laughs.

I turn around. “Like some tequila or vodka or anything?”

The banging grows more frantic.

“Uh,” he narrows his gaze. “Yeah…” He stands and makes his way back into the kitchen, and I follow him.

“Help yourself,” he says as he opens a cabinet and steps to the side.

I select a bottle of tequila, Petron, to be exact, and pull the cork out. “Glasses?”

He turns around, grabs a glass and hands it to me. I go to the fridge, get some ice, then fill the cup to the brim with tequila.

He points inside the cabinet. “No mixer?”

“No.”

I hear Heather moaning, and I tip the glass back, taking a few gulps.

When I glance back at Tyler, he’s leaned against the counter, smirking.

“What?”

He shrugs.

I walk to his sink, take a glass and fill it with ice and tequila then hand it to him.

“I didn’t say I wanted a drink.”

“Well, I didn’t want to get in the cab,” I say, walking back to the living room, trying to ignore the hammering sound echoing down the hallway. “So,” I say as I fall back onto the couch, “When did you move to California?”

“Two years ago.”

“Huh.” I take another gulp of the tequila. I need something to help me through this fucking nightmare. “Finish up at NYU?”

“No…”

I can tell by the blank expression on his face something happened. “Taking a break?” I ask.

“Something like that. What about you? Are you in school?”

“Nope. Stopped going when I got that role…” I trail off praying to God he hasn’t seen that tape.

“Yeah, understandable.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, well, the not talking kind of silence because that damn headboard is still bumping against the wall pretty hard. Right now the she-bitch in me wants to make him regret losing me. I want him to want me and obsess over me the way he used to. I want to prove that I was right when I believed the love we had was an epic love, even if it goes nowhere.

He inhales. “I actually failed out of NYU,” he says before turning up his glass.

“That sucks.”

“Yep.”

And…silence again.

“Jemma. I never meant to, we—”

“So, what do you do now then? If you aren’t in school and all, I mean, this is a really nice house. You aren’t selling drugs or some shit are you?”

His lips lay flat across his face, and he exhales a low groan. “No, of course not.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

“You know I—”

“So what do you do, Tyler?” I want him to stop trying to rehash the past because I am not going there with him. Hell, I don’t even want to be in his house right now, well, I mean, I kind of do, but I don’t.

“I work.”

“Where?”

He glares at me. “I’m a service provider for a multi-million-dollar company.”

I take another long sip of the liquor. My eyes stray to his lip ring. “When did you get your lip pierced?”

“A year ago.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks.”

And here we sit, slamming back about four shots worth of tequila. After a few moments of silence, a slow chuckle leaks from Tyler’s mouth.

“What?” I ask, turning to look at him.

“Remember the first time we had an argument?”

“Oh, don’t even go there. That was your fault!”

“You told me to do it.”

“You were older; you should have known better.”

His laugh deepens, and he tosses his head back against the couch cushion, dragging his hands down his face. “You wanted a bonfire.”

“Yeah, because you freaked me out with all those ghost stories and you said the only way to keep Frankenstein away was with fire. It made sense.” I fight a laugh because it sounds so ridiculous.

“So, I did what any best friend would do, and I made you a fire.”

“You set the entire yard on fire, Tyler. The tree house, the fence, the doghouse—all up in flames.”

Now we’re both laughing.

“My Dad was so pissed at me,” he says. “They took my Nintendo away for three months.”

“Yeah, which is why you cut my pigtail off, huh?

He smiles. “I did that because Tommy Fisher had a crush on you.” He reaches over and flicks my hair. “I thought if you weren’t as cute he’d leave you alone.”

That makes my heart hurt. I stare at him, and it’s hard, it’s really hard. Twelve years of my life revolved around Tyler. I hate him because I felt abandoned, but more than anything I hate him because no matter what, deep down inside, I never was able to really stop loving him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I call bullshit on that. His absence over the past four years has let me deny everything, it’s allowed me to forget the way his dimples pop out when he smiles, the sound of his voice, the way he makes me feel safe. I liked it when I’d forgotten those things because you don’t miss things you’ve forgotten you lost.

My heart’s sitting in the back of my throat, my skin flushing with a nervous heat. And for a moment, I think I should kiss him just because I’ve forgotten what his lips feel like. Tyler’s gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips as he slowly leans in toward me. Panicking, I hop up and walk to the window. I watch his reflection in the glass. He stares at me for a brief moment then drops his head and leans over his knees. Who would have thought four years later this could still feel so raw? Honestly, I believed he’d just gone on with his life, never regretting a thing, but it’s obvious right now that’s not the case. When I lost him I didn’t just lose a boyfriend, I lost my best friend. I lost my everything.

The emotions are eating away at me, confusing me. I fight it for a few minutes. I fight it hard, but the alcohol hates me and I blurt out, “Come here.” As soon as those words fly out of my mouth, I regret them, and I rest my forehead against the cool pane of glass in front of me.

Not a second later, he’s behind me, standing too close, his long, agile fingers skimming over my arm. “I miss you, titch.” He grips my arm and spins me around.

“Tyler—” I say because he’s so damn close, but before I can utter another word, his warm lips are over mine. Now I’m weak. So fucking weak.

Taking me by the shoulders, he pins me against the window. I give in. I shouldn’t, but you tell me the guy who was your everything, that broke your heart—you tell me that he has you pinned against a wall years later and you would say no.

His tongue parts my lips, dipping into my mouth in that slow, seductive way I’ve yet to find since him and I moan. My hands slip over his biceps, over the bulges and defined ridges. His hands cup my face, tilting my head so he can tongue me deeper and harder. Fuck my life, this kiss is sex—this is what sex is supposed to be, and I still have all my clothes on. Every part of my body is heated, every last inch of me tingling. I’m wet and I hate him for it.

He pulls away with his palms still gripping my face. “I can’t help it,” he says.

I hesitate because if I kiss him again, it’s over.

“I shouldn’t…” His lips are on mine again. “Tell me no,” he says in a groan against my mouth before tearing me from the wall and backing me toward the hall.

“Why…” I breathe between deep kisses, slipping my hands beneath his shirt to feel over his hard, hot stomach.

“Because…”

“Shhh.”

“There’s…” We bang into the wall— “something I need to tell you.”

“Shhhh. Fuck, just shut up already, Tyler. I don’t care.”

And I don’t. I don’t care what his reasons are. I don’t care what he regrets or doesn’t regret. I just want to fuck him.

“Fuck, Jemma.”

Within seconds, my shirt is over my head, my bra undone and he’s palming my breasts. My back hits another wall before a door swings open. His hands work my skirt over my hips then, I’m falling, and he’s coming with me. My shoulders hit the soft mattress. He’s over me, kissing me, his lips trailing down my neck, his hands on my breasts, sliding down my stomach. My fingers skim under his shirt and yank it over his head. He unzips his fly and I help him push his jeans and boxers over his ass.

“So fucking hot,” he breathes over my stomach as he works my thong down my thighs. I glance down to find him staring up at me, his light brown eyes shredding into parts of me I don’t let anyone else get to. “There’s something—” his lips press over my hipbone and my back involuntarily lifts. Tyler pulls my thong from my ankles and tosses them to the side. “Something…”

“Don’t,” I say threading my fingers through his hair. “Just,” I swallow. “Just don't.”

And with that his warm mouth covers me, his tongue fucking me so deep, so soft, so—fucking God, I can’t find the word. All that feeling does is make me want to melt, fucking forget there is anything in this world aside from his mouth on me. My thighs fall apart, my hips thrust upwards and my fists ball in his soft sheets.

“Goddamn, you are so gorgeous,” he says in a groan, his fingers digging into my thighs. “God—” he licks over me— “fucking—” a hot breath blows across me—“damn.” I swear he’s about to break skin with his death grip on my thighs

One deep thrust of his tongue, one rake of his teeth over my clit, and my muscles are already tensing. He pushes my legs farther apart and slowly traces one hand between my thighs. His finger brushes over me. There’s a warm breath, and now his finger is sinking deep inside of me, curling and flexing in just the right spots as he continues to flick his tongue over me. I breathe in on a moan, writhing on his bed from how damn good he feels.

“Tyler,” I whisper. “Stop.” I want him to stop because if he doesn’t I’m going to come and I’m not ready. I want this to last as long as possible.

A soft breath blows over my sensitive skin. “Fuck no.” Groaning, his mouth covers me again, the slight rumble causing my back to arch away from the mattress.

“Just fuck me already,” I say.

“No.”

He keeps at me, sucking, licking, nipping, and just when I am about to lose it, the second that heat begins to drown my entire body, Tyler hops up.

I hear a drawer open then slam. Foil tears.

A few moments later and he’s hovering over me. “You’re okay with this?”

“Yes,” I say in one single breath as I pull his face back to mine. As soon as our lips meet, he slowly pushes into me. I shift, adjusting my hips to let him sink in deeper. This feels so familiar. So right yet so wrong. This is not where I belong and is all at the same time.

His arms brace beside me, and as soon as he’s all the way inside me, he stills, his chest resting against mine. I can feel his heart thumping. I hate this because this should be a one-night stand, but the thing I am realizing is no matter how many years later it is, when you love someone the way I loved Tyler, well, when you say you’re over it, you’re lying. Fucking someone your heart wants is not a one-night stand.

“Shit,” he says, a slight growl in his voice as he pushes himself so deep inside me it hurts. That pain that makes you want to say stop but go deeper—that is the threshold he’s at right now. My nails slice into his skin as they trail down his taught back to his ass. His hands reach under my ass, and he scoots to the edge of the bed, dragging me with him. Groaning, he lifts me from the mattress. I wrap my legs around his waist. He thrusts and I ride, and the next thing I know, I’m against the wall with my hands pinned above my head as he drives into me. A few minutes later, I’m straddling his hips, riding him on the floor. And somehow, I end up back on the bed, my head hanging off the edge while he relentlessly fucks me, pinching my clit between his fingers.

“I can’t even tell you how good your pussy feels,” he manages to say through his clenched jaw. “Shit, Jemma.” He furiously circles my clit, thrusting so hard and deep that my head is nearly touching the floor. Everything in me tightens. My vision goes white, and all inhibitions flee. I moan. I cry. I swat at his sweat soaked skin as my entire body loses control under his touch.

Seconds later, he goes rigid, his fingers digging into my hips when he collapses on top of me. His hard, heavy breaths blowing over my neck cause my body to tense because it can take no more stimulation.

“Fuck…” he says with a post-sex blissful laugh.

And all I can do is try to catch my breath and stop the room from spinning. I did not leave my apartment expecting this tonight, and how I’m going to deal with this—I have no idea.

So I do the only thing I can right now, I flop back on the pillow, and I fall asleep next to the boy that used to mean the world to me.

The sun pours in from the half opened blinds, and I shift in the bed. When I pull in a breath, all I smell is Dolce and Gabbana, which reminds me that I’m not in my apartment. My eyes fly open, and I sit up so fast my head spins. Tyler’s sprawled out on the bed, one arm over his head, the other resting on his defined stomach. The sheets lay right below the deep guidelines cut into his hips. The way the sun glistens off his tanned skin is all but sickening.

“Jemma,” I hear Heather whisper my name from behind the door. “Jemma!” That time it sounded more like a hiss.

I look around the room for my clothes, grab my thong and bra from the floor, my skirt from the foot of the bed, and quickly pull them on as I scour the room for my shirt. Shit, that came off in the hall. I tiptoe to the door. The hinges barely creak when I slip out of the bedroom.

Heather’s slumped against the wall with one arm held out, my shirt dangling from her finger. “Need this?”

I snatch it from her and pull it over my head. When she looks up, I can’t help but laugh. Her hair is disheveled, the remaining makeup she has on is smeared all over on her face, and she has hickeys on her neck.

“Hickeys?” I say. “Really, Heather?”

She swats her hand through the air and grumbles. “It’s one o’clock. We gotta go. I called a cab already.”

“Yeah, okay…um, just… just let me, uh…” I feel like I should tell him bye or something—but then again, maybe a little rejection would serve him right?

“That good, huh?”

I shake my head as we make our way down the hall to the front door. “I can’t even begin to tell you how fucked up this is.”

“Oh, shit, did he have a little dick? I hate when that happens. All hot and fucking stacked and then they drop their drawers and it’s like, really? What a fucking waste.” She opens the door.

“No, Heather. Jesus, you are such a perv.”

The front door bangs shut behind me as I step onto the porch. The patio pavers burn my bare feet on the way down to the curb.

“Okay, so what was the deal?”

“That guy, that’s my ex.”

“Wait, what? No. Tyler? The ex.”

I see the cab pulling onto the street. “Yep.”

“Oh…wow. That’s some messed up shit. Why didn’t you say something?”

I shrug. “You were so drunk you wouldn’t have remembered anyway.”

“Yeah,” she snorts out a laugh, “black out Heather came out to play last night.”

The brakes on the cab screech as it comes to a halt. As soon as the door shuts, she looks over at me. “So, basically, I’m the whore then because you recycled a fuck and I just added one to my list. That’s cheating, Jemma, cheating.”