I start to burrow into the warmth at my back, but freeze when I realize what I thought was another Clay’s-bed-induced dream is actually not. My head is resting on one arm, while the other is wrapped around my waist, one hand holding my breast. Oh my God … I had sex with Clay last night. Not only did we have sex, it was quite easily the best sex I’ve ever had. Of course, that doesn’t mean much considering I can count how much sex I’ve had on one hand … well, two fingers.

Just thinking about the things he did—we did—last night makes my whole body flush with embarrassment and panic starts to creep up my throat. What am I supposed to do now? Do I stay here in bed with him? Do I leave? Do I act like nothing happened? I just don’t know. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself down. Freaking out as I lay here beside him isn’t helping anything.

Careful not to move him too much, I pull his hand off my breast and edge toward the side of the bed. I hold my breath as I try to roll off without falling and making so much noise it wakes him up. Clearly I didn’t think this through, because once I’m kneeling beside the bed, I realize one important thing I forgot—I’m naked. Completely and totally naked. I try to tiptoe around the room and grab my clothes, able to find only my panties and dress. Where did I leave my bra? Oh right … he took that off in the living room. Wonderful. There’s no way in hell I’m going out there without a top on, so braless with the dress it is.

Once I’ve put on the only articles of clothing I have, Pulling the door open as quietly as possible, I say a silent prayer it doesn’t squeak. I sag in relief as the door shuts behind me, both because there was no noise and the living area is empty. My bra and Clay’s hoodie are both behind the couch, so I run over quickly and grab them along with my shoes and phone. I don’t bother to grab my tights, they and my shoes were the first things I took off when we came in last night. Making my way quietly to the door, I leave as silently as I can and walk down the stairs as fast as I dare. The second I clear the bottom step, I pull out my phone to text my sister, even though I know she’s going to grill me about why I’m at Clay’s house at just after seven on a Saturday morning.

Crap. Here we do go.

I roll my eyes at her assumption. She knows me better than that.

Shoving my phone back in the pocket of Clay’s hoodie, I look around before walking toward the convenience store where I’m going to meet my sister. Thankfully, I don’t see Clay, his brother, or his cousin coming after me, so I think I’m in the clear.

By the time Anna’s bright red Audi pulls up, I’m about to freeze. Not only that, the three men who’ve gotten gas have completely squicked me out. One had to be in his forties, and he spent way too much time looking at my legs. The other two were probably mid-to-late twenties, and they were focused on my chest. I’m just grateful the three of them were content just looking, and they didn’t try to talk to me.

I run over to her car and grab the door handle. It doesn’t open, but the window comes down just far enough for me to see my sister smiling smugly. “So, you gonna tell me why,” her eyes travel down my body, “you’re doing the walk o’ shame, wearing what is clearly last night’s outfit, at seven in the morning … and doing it from Clay’s?”

“Anna,” I groan, “do we have to do this right now? I’m cold, I feel gross, and I don’t want to be here if he comes looking for me.”

She sighs, narrowing her eyes at me, but capitulates just before she unlocks the door so I can get in. “Fine. But, fair warning, you are going to give me all the deets as soon as we get home.”

“Whatever. I’m not telling you anything until I’ve had a shower.” I fold my arms across my chest and look straight ahead, ignoring the smug look I know she’s giving me. For all her attitude, my sister is a closet hopeless romantic, and she’s been waiting for something like this to happen to me. Knowing I’m not going to talk, she turns up the radio and starts singing along to a popular Taylor Swift song about crazy ex-girlfriends.

I’m not sure how she manages it, but Anna doesn’t ask any more questions until I’ve taken a shower. I walk into her kitchen to find her standing at the stove, something that slightly terrifies me. Anna’s great … her cooking skills? Not so much. When she sees me standing at the edge of the counter, she smirks. “The yoga pants look great on you,” she says with a snicker, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Thanks,” I tell her sarcastically. “I always wanted to walk around with pants that say ‘tap this ass’ on the butt. It’s a dream come true.”

Anna loses the hold she has on her laughter when I mention what’s on the back of my pants. “Oh my God. That’s awesome. Can you please, just tell me one more time, what’s on the back of your pants?” I open my mouth, but she darts out of the room. “Hang on, just let me get my phone. This has to go on Snapchat.” She walks back into the room; her phone held out in front of her and a huge smile on her face. “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me what the back of the pants says. Or wait, just turn around. That might be better.”

My eyes narrow as I watch her struggle not to lose it completely. “There’s no way I’m doing either. Where on earth did you buy these anyway? Skanks R Us?”

The sound that comes out of her mouth is sarcastic. Waving me off she admits, “Psh, I didn’t just buy them. I had them specially made.” Of course she did. Anna is and will always be a fifteen-year-old boy at heart. Ignoring her, I take a seat at the bar. She sighs, but puts her phone down. “You’re absolutely no fun; you know that? I don’t know how we’re even related.”

“I think it’s more mom that doesn’t know how she’s related to you if you wanna know the truth.” Anna snorts but doesn’t agree or disagree.

Instead, she reaches into the cabinet closest to the stove to grab a couple of plates to divide the eggs on. I figure she’s going to sit beside me, but she doesn’t. Leaning against the counter across from me, she grabs the ketchup, squirting so much on her eggs I don’t know how she’s going to taste anything else. When she notices my grimace, she shrugs. “What? I like ketchup on my eggs.” Her defensive tone is a direct contradiction to the nonchalant way she raised her shoulder, but I’m used to her doing this. She’s been drowning eggs in ketchup for as long as I can remember. It’s another reason I don’t know how we’re related because no one else in our family does that.

“Sooo,” she starts, dragging out the word just as I take my first bite. “Are you going to tell me how you ended up spending the night at Clay’s? Or,” she winks at me, “did you spend the night with Max?” I start to choke on the eggs I was trying to swallow—again, not a great cook. I’m pretty sure I just choked on a shell. Anna takes my choking as an admission of guilt and her eyes go cartoon character wide. “Holy shit!” she shrieks. “I was just kidding about the Max thing, but that’s it, isn’t it? You finally got up enough lady balls,” I roll my eyes, “to bone your high school obsession!” Holding up a hand, she steps closer. “High five, hooker!”

“You’re an idiot. I didn’t ‘bone’ Max.” She drops her hand, giving me a sad puppy dog look, but before she can say anything, I continue. “I ended up at Clay’s because he brought me home from my date.” Wanting to divert her attention from the fact that she picked me up there, I hurry to tell her, “When I got home, Becca was in our room … talking shit about me.”

Anna’s face changes from glee to pissed off in about an eighth of a second. “She did what? I will cut a bitch.”

“Calm down, Cujo. Jeez.” As much as I don’t want to, I tell her what Becca said, how much her words hurt me. After, I confess, “Now I’m pretty positive she’s the one who’s been spreading rumors around campus about Clay and me.”

Pissed off on my behalf, Anna starts ranting. “That cunty whore. Ugh. Like she has any business saying anything about anyone. She’s probably screwed half of the campus, if not more.” I watch as she paces across the small kitchen, hands in the air as she talks and her food completely forgotten. Coming to a stop right in front of me, she puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me you at least said something to her.” I can’t tell her that because I avoided a confrontation and went down to Scarlett’s room instead. She knows based on what I’m sure is a guilty look on my face and groans. “Kat. Seriously? You didn’t say a word? No calling her out, no calling her a bitch, nothing? Let me guess; you sent Clay a text asking him to come back and get you, then slept on his couch, am I right?”

“No, not at all.” Ha! Looks like big sis doesn’t know me as well as she thinks. “If you must know, I went down to Scarlett’s, planning to call you and just spend the night here.”

Now Anna looks interested. “But you didn’t.” She plops down on the stool beside me. “So, what? Scarlett wasn’t there, and you decided to call him instead of me?” I don’t answer, and she folds her arms on the counter, dropping her head down on top of them with an exasperated sigh and making her next words muffled. “Please tell me. I can’t take the suspense!”

Even though this is a conversation I didn’t ever want to have, I can’t help but laugh at her dramatics. Anna should have been an actress instead of a photographer. “Fine,” I sigh. “I did go to Scarlett’s, but I didn’t get to tell her about what Becca said. We only talked about my disaster of a date with Aaron—“

Anna’s head comes up at that, and she interrupts to ask, “Disaster? What happened?” I explain how he was pretty much a douche, and how Clay spent the date texting me before being the one to bring me home. “Ahh,” she says knowingly, “so that’s how he came to bring you back to the dorm instead of Aaron. I was wondering, but didn’t want to pry.”

I snort in disbelief. Anna not want to pry? Yeah, right. “Anyway.” I tell her about Clay’s texting and the conversation we had at his apartment. She almost falls off the chair laughing when I tell her what Clay called Becca.

“That’s fantastic! I knew I liked that boy! What happened next?” She’s listening with rapt attention, but I don’t know how to tell her this part. I kind of want to keep it to myself. “Kat! Why are you blushing?” I look down at the countertop, refusing to answer, and she gasps. “OMG. You did the nasty with Clay, didn’t you?” I can’t exactly dispute that, and I know my face is turning bright red. When I bite down on my lip, she bounces out of her chair and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me tight. “I am so proud of you right now!”

Pushing her off of me, I stand, turning to face her. “You realize that’s twisted, right? My sister shouldn’t be so excited about me having sex with some random guy.”

“Ahh,” she says smugly, one eyebrow raised, “but Clay isn’t just ‘some random guy,’ is he?” When I don’t respond, she keeps taunting me. “For all you think you’ve been in love with Max this whole time, I think you’re wrong.”

Rearing back, I look at her in shock. “Uh, no, I’m pretty sure I know how I feel.”

“Baloney. You forget, I’ve known you your entire life.” Duh, she’s almost four years older than me. “I think you only wanted Max because you knew he didn’t think of you like that. Max was safe. Besides, he would have been just as happy hanging out at our house instead of his, but you were the one who always wanted to go over there. You wanted to see Clay.”

I can do nothing but stare at her. Surely that’s not true … is it? No, it can’t be. “I think you’ve lost it. Clay and I have never gotten along.” I hate the pleading sound of my voice. I’m not sure now who I’m trying to convince, her or me. Before Anna can say anything, my phone’s text tone sounds through the room. She gets to it first, and for probably the thousandth time, I wish I had put a lock code on it that wasn’t so easy for her to figure out.

“Oh, will you look at that! It’s lover boy himself.” Then she proceeds to read off the message.

“Hmm,” she muses, “how should we respond?” We? Like I have any control over what she says. I look over her shoulder as she types a response as me.

“Like he’s going to believe that’s me” I hiss. Unlike Anna, I don’t shorten every word I can. She nods, changing the text to sound more like me before sending. His response comes quickly, and Anna grins at what he says before reading it out to me.

“Oh, this is perfect. We’ll go to the fight; you can see him all bare-chested and sweaty … then bang him in the locker room.”

My head falls forward, my forehead meeting her shoulder. “Anna,” I groan, “he said he was going to the fight, not that he’s fighting.”

“I notice you didn’t complain about banging him in the locker room.” She steps away, forcing me to look up at her, and puts one hand on her chest. Anna sniffs like she’s about to start crying. “I’m just so proud.” I try to grab my phone away from her, but she replies to his text before I can.

Once she’s assured of her invite, she hands the phone back to me. “Do you wanna help me today? I’ll pay you. I’m playing photographer for Ben since Toby’s out of town. He’s covering Lucas Graves and Robin Masterson’s wedding. You know there will be lots of great food … and plenty of country singers.” She waggles her eyebrows eat me. “Who knows, maybe you’ll meet some rich guy, and Clay will be a distant memory.”

“I’m ignoring you.” I walk back towards her room, saying, “I’ll go, but I’m not wearing these pants.”

Anna follows behind me, pouting. “Fine … party pooper.”