"Beth seems like a nice girl."

Adam looked up from the study guide, surprised to see Dale leaning in the doorway. Where the hell had he come from? Yeah, Adam had been focused on studying but he still should have heard the other man approaching through the bunk room.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? Seriously?"

"Okay. She is nice. Does that make you feel better?"

"It's not me who needs to feel better."

Adam frowned, considered asking Dale what the hell he was talking about, then changed his mind. He didn't feel like having a conversation about Beth. Hell, he didn't feel like having a conversation about anything. He'd been in a foul mood for the last seven days, ever since dropping Beth off at her car the morning after he made the mistake of taking her back to her place.

Mistake. Yeah, right. It had been more than a mistake. What the fuck had he been thinking? He never took women back to his place. Never. So why the hell had he broken his own rules with Beth?

He'd been asking himself that question for the last week and the only answer he could come up with pissed him off.

Guilt.

Pure, unmitigated guilt.

What he didn't understand is why. Guilt over what? The only thing between them was sex. Nothing more, nothing less. This was no different than any other hook-up he'd had in the last eight months. Hook-up, fuck a few times, go their separate ways. That was the way it was supposed to work. No complications, no guilt.

Except it wasn't going that way with Beth, and it fucking pissed him off. She wasn't supposed to be any different than the other women he'd fucked.

Except she was.

And what they'd done a week ago in his bed wasn't fucking. It had been…different. It was like he couldn't get enough of her and he didn't know why.

She was different, and that worried him. Was it because this was all new to her? Could it be as simple as some kind of warped, misplaced protectiveness he felt for her? But why?

That's what it all came down to—the why. But damn if he had the fucking answer to it.

They'd had their three times together. By his own rules, it was done and over with. He hadn't called her. Hadn't sent her a text. Fair enough, since she hadn't called or texted him, either. And he hadn't checked in the chatroom to see if she was in there.

He hadn't been in the chatroom at all. Every single time he thought about logging on, his stomach clenched and filled with bile—because he was afraid he'd see Beth there, looking for a hook-up. The idea of her being with anyone else—

He couldn't even finish the thought, not without running the risk of having his dinner come right back up.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" Adam raised his head and scowled at Dale. "Fine. Why?"

"Because you haven't heard a single word I said. And you look like you're ready to hurl."

"I'm fine. Just studying, that's all."

"If you say so." Dale shifted, ran one hand through his brown hair, then crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So, are you and Beth a thing now?"

"Fuck no. You should know better."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I don't date. I don't have relationships. You know that."

"Then why the hell did you bring her with you last week? Sure looked like a date to me."

"It wasn't a date. I just didn't feel like listening to everyone give me shit if I showed up solo."

"Not sure if I'm buying that."

"I don't give a shit what you're buying. It was just a hook-up, that's all. Nothing more to it than that."

Dale studied him through a frown. A minute went by, then another, until Adam started to squirm in the ancient desk chair. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Rusty springs creaked with each movement and he had to force himself to stay still.

But Dale kept looking at him, his gaze penetrating and completely unreadable. Adam finally slammed the book closed. "Why the fuck are you staring at me like that?"

"Just trying to figure out if I should tell you or not."

"Tell me what?"

Dale shrugged then pushed away from the doorframe. "Nothing. It's not important."

"Bullshit. You can't say something like that then just turn around and walk away. Now out with it. Tell me what?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter, not really."

"You have got to be kidding me. Stop the fucking games already."

"No games. I was just going to give you some advice, that's all."

"Yeah? This ought to be good. What kind of advice could you possibly give me?"

"Just that the next time you feel like playing around in a parking lot, you should make sure the fucking interior light is turned off."

Dale's words slammed into him, robbing him of breath for a painfully long second. Heat rushed to Adam's face and he looked away, feeling like he'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Hell, he had been caught.

He ran both hands over his face then up through his hair. "Fuck. Seriously? How much did you see?"

"Enough to know what the fuck you were doing."

"Shit. Why the hell are you just now telling me this? Why didn't you say something our first day in?"

"Because I wasn't sure you really needed to know. I'm still not sure."

"Fuck. Did anyone else see?" Not that it was a big deal, not really. So what if they'd been seen? Beth had been covered—from the waist up, anyway. No way would anyone have been able to see lower than her chest, not while she was sitting in the passenger seat. And he'd been covered too, hidden by the open door of his SUV. It wasn't like anyone could have actually seen him jerking off or shooting his wad over the gravel lot.

And so what if they had? Big deal. He'd done a hell of a lot more, things that would raise everyone's eyebrows if they learned about them. Being caught jerking off was pretty fucking mild.

But it wasn't the idea of anyone seeing him—he didn't care about that. Beth was a different story. The idea that someone had witnessed Beth being finger-fucked, that someone else had seen her reaction and watched how she came undone when she climaxed…that was enough to send his blood boiling. Nobody else had a right to witness that. Nobody else had a right to see the intensity—the honesty—of her reactions.

Adam pushed out of the chair, too nervous to sit. He spun around in a circle, jammed his clenched fists into the front pockets of his pants, and glared at Dale. "Well? Who else saw?"

"Nobody. Just me and Melanie. She didn't realize what was going on at first. She wanted to go over and say goodnight. I had to stop her and explain."

"Great. Just fucking great. Wonderful." Adam didn't know whether to laugh—or punch a wall. It was too easy to imagine Melanie's bright smile as she walked over, totally oblivious to what was going on until it was too late.

"That's it, nobody else?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"Yeah, well." Adam shifted, cleared his throat. "I'll keep that in mind next time. Sorry you had to explain."

"I didn't tell you for you to apologize. I told you because I don't know if you know what the fuck you're doing."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, Beth seemed like a nice girl. You should probably stop and think before you use someone like that—"

"I wasn't using her so you can just stop that bullshit now."

"No? You sure about that? Listen, I know you're into some weird shit. Whatever. To each his own. Whatever makes you happy. But I get the feeling Beth isn't like that—"

"How the hell do you think I met her? Trust me, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Nobody was using anybody."

Surprise flared in Dale's eyes and he quickly looked away. He blew out a quick breath then turned back to Adam. "So she really wasn't a date, then? There's really nothing going on between you two?"

"No, she wasn't, and no, there isn't."

"Sorry. My mistake, then. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Yeah, whatever. No big deal."

Dale nodded then turned around to leave. He'd gone two steps before stopping and turning back. "By the way, Melanie says you're both the same shade of green."

Adam rolled his eyes. Dale's girlfriend was an artist who swore she saw people and things in terms of colors. Not auras, but real, honest-to-goodness colors. Whatever the fuck that meant. Melanie was a sweet woman, always friendly and open, but sometimes the weirdest shit came out of her mouth. Adam had learned months ago not to question it, to just nod and change the conversation to something not quite so woo-woo.

And he didn't want to ask, knew he shouldn't. But he couldn't stop himself. "Okay. We're green. What the hell does that even mean?"

"No fucking clue. But she said it was odd that two people had almost the exact same color. Same, but different."

"You know you're starting to sound as out there as she does, right?"

"Hey, I'm just telling you what she said. She also said yours was growing darker, the edges turning black. That worried her for some reason."

Adam rolled his eyes again. "Yeah, okay. Thanks for the warning."

Dale chuckled then turned to leave. He stopped again with a grunt of impatience. "Before I forget. Lauren said Kenny's getting us tickets to the hockey game next week. You in?"

Lauren, Dale's sister, was engaged to Kenny Haskell, a professional hockey player for the Baltimore Banners. Adam wasn't sure why, but Kenny would occasionally get a bunch of tickets for them—and they were usually great seats in the lower bowl. Adam tried to go whenever he had the chance.

"Yeah, I'm in. I could go for some hockey."

"One or two?"

"One or two what?"

"Tickets. Do you want one or two?"

Adam opened his mouth, ready to tell him he only needed one. He changed his mind at the last minute. "Two."

Dale's brows shot up in surprise but he didn't say anything, just nodded and turned to leave once more. Adam held his breath, waiting for him to turn back a third time, but he didn't.

He released the breath he'd been holding then moved back to the desk and lowered himself into the chair. He opened the book he'd been studying but couldn't focus on the words. His concentration was shot. Hell, it had been shot even before Dale came in and bothered him.

It had been shot for the last seven days, ever since he dropped Beth off at her car. He couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop the irrational guilt he felt whenever an image of her popped into his mind.

He needed to do something to get over this…whatever the hell this was. Not another hook-up—he wasn't in the mood, figured he probably just needed a break. So maybe a date. A real date. Surely he could find someone to ask out. He had the perfect excuse now: the hockey game.

That's exactly what he'd do. Find a date to take to the game. He had a week to find someone. Not a problem.

No problem at all.