Rain’s apartment was small, with sloped ceilings on either side except in the kitchen and bathroom, so since I’m nearly six-three, I had to stay toward the center of the living room. The place was clean and bright, although it was obvious a child lived there, as there were toys and dolls on shelves around the small dining area and in the living room. There was a single bedroom to the right as we came in, with two beds, a double for her and a single for her daughter, I presumed.

It certainly didn’t look like the apartment of a woman of the reputation Rain had garnered.

“How do you stand up in here?” I asked, joking. She had to be at least five-seven.

She shrugged. “I hit my head a lot, especially when I’m cleaning. My mom owns the building, so it doesn’t cost me much, although I still pay rent; otherwise, she couldn’t afford the mortgage. I could live with her for nothing, but I want to make my own way. Although, I feel bad knowing she could get more for this place than I give her.”

She pointed at the couch. “Have a seat. Just be careful when you stand up.”

Since the steep slope was above the left side of the couch, I opted for the right.

“Where’s your daughter?”

“With my mom. She usually stays over on nights I work. I used to pick her up, especially when she was younger, but it’s not so easy to carry her anymore. If she wakes up, she doesn’t want to go back to sleep, and if she has school in the morning, it’s hard. My mom brings her to the restaurant in the morning, and we have breakfast together before she goes to school.”

“Pictures?”

She looked surprised. “You want to see pictures of my kid?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

She jumped up and just missed striking her head on the ceiling. She pulled several albums from a set of low shelves and dumped them on the secondhand coffee table in front of me.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of tequila, shot glasses, a shaker of salt, and a plate of cut limes.

“Rough day?” I teased.

She rolled her eyes and laughed as she poured two shots. “You could say that.”

We did our shots, then she settled in beside me and opened the first album.

“You’re going to be sorry you asked.” She wore the unguarded smile I liked so much.

“I doubt it.”

In the first pictures she showed me, I hardly recognized her. Her hair was darker and she looked like a kid herself, holding her daughter in the hospital bed, tired but smiling.

“My mom took that right after Izzy was born.”

“You look so young—I mean, barely even legal.”

“I wasn’t. I was almost seventeen when Izzy was born.”

“Where’s her father?”

“Who knows? We met when he was a senior, and I was a sophomore. Captain of the football team, all that stuff. I was a cheerleader, of course.” She gave me a wicked smile. “If you’re good, I’ll show you my pompoms.”

There was the flirt again.

“Anyway, I went a little wild after my dad was killed. My mom didn’t have it in her to straighten me out, and even if she’d tried, I would have fought her. She was grieving and withdrawn, and with no one to keep me in line, I was out of control, which was probably what Jeff liked about me. Diane’s mother finally sat me down and threatened to kick my ass into the next decade, but by then I was already pregnant. Jeff and I broke up as soon as he found out. He went away to college. He was around after he graduated, but he took a job out of state a few months ago and hasn’t seen Izzy since. His parents used to see her more often, but since they moved away, other than that week they took her back in August, she doesn’t see them much either anymore.”

She poured another two shots. “I don’t usually drink at home, but I think I deserve it today.”

I hoisted my glass, and clicked the rim against hers. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m an alcoholic or something.”

“I don’t. Besides, who cares what I think?”

Her eyes caught mine, round and serious. “I care.”

I couldn’t ever remember having that feeling like butterflies in my chest—that was some girl thing—but damn if I didn’t get them when she looked at me like that. This girl was so far under my skin, it almost scared me. Almost.

We looked through more of her photo albums. I could see the gradual transformation from Rain the wild child teenager to Rain the single mother to Rain the white-hot blond bombshell and potential Playboy centerfold.

I flipped to another picture of her daughter. Izzy’s hair was naturally the color Rain dyed hers, and she had the same ice-blue eyes. The only difference was her naturally curly hair and her missing front teeth, at least in the most recent photo.

“Your daughter is beautiful,” I said. “She looks just like you.”

Rain looked pleased. “Everyone says that. I don’t really see much of Jeff in her, which is fine by me.”

“Your mother’s no slouch either,” I pointed out.

Dorinda wasn’t quite as tall as Rain. She didn’t look much past her early forties, and had a similar build and coloring.

“She’ll be happy to hear you think so. She thinks you’re pretty cute too, by the way.”

I couldn’t hold back my grin. “You’ve talked to your mother about me?”

“Don’t get too excited. My mother wants to fix me up with every man who walks in who’s over twenty-one, under eighty, and not wearing a wedding ring.” She grinned. “You, my friend, are at the top of her list.”

Terrific, I was in the friend zone.

She poured another shot, but I stopped her before she poured one for me.

“I have to drive, remember?”

The way she hesitated, the way she bit her lip, I wondered if she was going to ask me to stay. Or was it wishful thinking? And if she did, would I?

Given what she was going through and the fact that she was still clearly in love with that clown, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to desert her, but I needed to protect myself—and I was already feeling pretty damn exposed.

She downed two more shots.

I considered taking the bottle away, as she was already drunk.

“I know this is none of my business, and you certainly don’t have to answer, but I’m wondering what you’re planning to do.”

She looked at me, somewhat askew. “About what?”

“About your situation with Preston.” I hated even saying the son of a bitch’s name.

“I don’t know,” she said, and then buried her face against my chest and began to cry.

I hated it. I hated that I’d pushed her. I hated that she loved someone else and that he was clearly too stupid to make her the priority she deserved to be.

I also hated that if he hurt her in the worst way possible, by dumping her, it might be the only chance I’d have to make her mine. I wanted to be there for her, regardless, but what kind of a friend wants to see you hurt?

A selfish one. That’s what kind.

She pushed herself off of me and sniffed. “I think I’m drunk.”

Even with a tearstained face and black streaks under her eyes, she was beautiful.

I tucked her back under my arm and kissed the top of her head. Like a friend would do. “I think you’re right.”

I held her for a long time, even after she fell asleep against me. It was almost three, and I was fried. Gently, I lifted her off of me and carried her into her bedroom, where I placed her on the bed. I pulled the blanket over her, and even though it made me feel like some kind of creeper, I kissed her cheek. It was warm, and that intoxicating mix of vanilla and coconut wrapped itself around me.

I debated whether to head home or sleep on the couch, and since I didn’t know if she’d need help with her car in the morning, I opted for the couch. I helped myself to one more shot of tequila, hoping it might help me sleep.

It was hard enough to sleep at home, thinking about her on the other side of town. With nothing but a wall between us, it might be damn near impossible.