One Week Later

I followed Hans’s directions to the letter, but I still quadruple-checked the address when I pulled up. It couldn’t be the right house. It was a goddamn mansion. Or at least, it was to me. The place was a two-story brick bunker with a recessed two-story entryway. The double front doors looked like they’d been handcrafted out of solid cherry, as did the shutters and matching rocking chairs on the front porch. The chandelier above the front doors though—that thing looked like some kind of reclaimed wrought iron from the Byzantine era.

The driveway, which was the width of most major highways, led straight to the front steps, then hooked to the right where a three-car garage jutted off the front of the house, creating an L-shape. Cars had begun to gather in front of the garage, so I parked my little black Mustang among them, relieved that they weren’t all Porsches and Ferraris.

I stamped my cigarette out into my ashtray, not wanting to soil Hans’s pristine white driveway, as something like dread began to seep into my blood. I’d only been in a house that grand one time, and it hadn’t ended well. I could still hear the sound of breaking glass as Knight smashed every cabinet door with a fireplace poker. I could still see the blood dripping from his forearm as he pulled out a framed photo from his mother and stepfather’s wedding. I could still smell the urine running down his stepfather’s leg as Knight choked him with his own necktie. And I could still see the crazed look in his mother’s eyes as I shielded him from her shaking pistol.

Bad things happen in pretty houses.

Run away while you still can.

Rich people are not to be trusted.

You don’t belong here, white trash.

“Stop,” I blurted, snapping my fingers.

I looked around and blinked a few times to clear the fogginess that always accompanied a flashback. “It’s gonna be fine,” I said to no one. “It’s gonna be totally…fucking…fine.”

Grabbing my purse—which I’d stuffed with a toothbrush, some toiletries, and a change of clothes before running out the door, telling my parents I was spending the night with Goth Girl—I got out of the car. The sound of music and people talking and laughter drifted up the hill from the backyard, and I blew out a sigh of relief. The backyard! I didn’t have to go inside the house at all!

With a spring in my step, I rounded the side of the estate and bounced down the grassy hill. I could see the lake at the bottom of the slope, just through the woods, the setting sun splashing it with pinks and oranges. It looked like something from a postcard. Not real life.

Definitely not my life.

The house was three stories tall in the back, thanks to a daylight basement. It had a large screened-in porch off the main floor and an even bigger stone patio underneath. The most notable thing about the patio, besides the built-in stone firepit, was the fact that it was covered in living room furniture. Someone had dragged an expensive-looking brown leather sofa, a love seat, a big screen TV, and a recliner out of the house. Hell, there was even an unplugged lamp on one of the end tables just for looks. These motherfuckers partied hard.

I spotted Goth Girl and Goth Guy first. They were sitting on a swinging bench out in the backyard, just beyond the patio, and appeared to be engaged in some kind of heated conversation. When Goth Girl’s eyes landed on me, they flared, just for a moment, before she half-smiled and waved me over.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in her signature deadpan.

“Hey, Victoria! Good to see you too. I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” I replied in an overly cheerful voice.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just…didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s cool.” I smiled a little too brightly. “Hans invited me. Do you know where he is?”

Goth Girl extended a milk-colored finger in the direction of the patio. “At the bar.”

Her face was disapproving, but she at least kept her mouth shut about Beth this time. I’d been bracing myself for another lecture. When it didn’t come, I dialed back my attitude.

Turning to Steven, I said, “Hey, thanks for letting me crash at your place when I was so sick that night. That was really nice of you. There was no way I would have made it all the way home.”

Steven’s face paled at the mention of that night, probably because he’d been having a little sleepover of his own—with Pigtails and a few grams of coke.

Goth Girl’s face paled too, if that was even possible. Snapping her head toward Steven, she spat, “BB spent the night again? When were you planning on telling me?”

“Jesus Christ,” Steven barked. “Calm down! She was there with Hans. I barely even saw her. You act like I fuck every girl who steps foot through my door!” Even while he was defending himself, Steven managed to give my body a once-over with his eyes.

Fucking creep.

“Because you do!” Goth Girl screeched.

“Shit, guys,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

But they weren’t listening to me anymore. They’d picked their lovers’ quarrel back up right where they’d left off. I backed away slowly and turned toward the patio; at which point, all the air was sucked from my lungs.

Louis, Baker, and Trip were sitting on an Italian leather sofa with brass grommets, their feet kicked up on the unlit firepit, wearing nothing but swim trunks. But, behind them, leaning against a stone wet bar and talking to a couple I didn’t recognize was Hans fucking Oppenheimer. And he was wearing nothing but a pair of Adidas athletic shorts.

Black ones.

The sight of him made my mouth water. I’d never thought of Hans as being athletic, but with that much of his body on display, there was no doubt that he could have been a professional athlete of some kind. Maybe a soccer player? He had legs a drag queen would kill for. And those abs…

Slurp.

“Yo, LDH! You got company, bro! And she looks thirrrrrsty.”

I turned and glared at Trip, who had obviously seen my little drool session based on the evil grin he was sporting. His bare torso was already impressively sunburned, except for a sloppy white outline around a huge tattoo above his navel that read ROCK STAR. The bottle of Korbel in his right hand was almost empty, and the joint in his left hand was snatched away by Louis.

Baker peeked through his curtain of hair at me and said, “Sup, BB?”

Louis gave me a half-smile and a two-finger salute.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself to walk the last few steps over to Hans, but before I could turn around, two thick arms—one tattooed, one not—crisscrossed over my chest from behind.

Stubble grazed my ear as Hans leaned down and murmured, “Hey, Bumblebee,” so that only I could hear.

He smelled like all the best things about summer—earthiness and alcohol—and I sank into him like toes into sand.

When I turned around, I kind of wished that I hadn’t. Shirtless, sun-kissed, wet-haired Hans was a lot to take in that close.

“Did you find it okay?” He smiled, the whiteness of his teeth making his skin look even more tan.

I nodded. Speaking would have diverted too much energy away from the job at hand: Operation Stop Drooling.

“Do you want a drink? These fuckers have been at it since noon, so you’ve got some catching up to do. I got you some Jack and Coke, but we have beer too.”

Aw! He remembered what I’d ordered at the Tabernacle!

I nodded again and let him steer me over to the bar where a skinny guy in a short-sleeved button-up shirt and glasses was talking to a girl with short blonde hair. It looked a lot like mine, but she wore hers pushed forward and flipped up in the front. She was wearing no makeup, a vintage-looking Yankees jersey, and khaki cargo shorts.

“BB, these are my neighbors, Kevin and Dani.”

“Ugh.” Dani scrunched up her nose at Hans. “You make it sound like we live together. Gross.”

“Whatever,” Kevin said. “I’d make an awesome roommate.”

“Yeah, if you were a Yankees fan. No one who cheers for the Braves is allowed under my roof.”

Kevin smirked. “Which is exactly why you’re still single.”

“Oh, really?” Dani snapped back, puffing up her chest, which looked like it was probably being constricted by a sports bra under that baggy jersey. “What’s your excuse? Your face?”

“Ooh, burrrrn,” Hans said, rolling his eyes as he handed me a red plastic cup full of bubbly brown goodness.

I took a sip and tried not to wince at the sting in my throat.

Note to self: Hans makes strong-ass drinks.

“BB went to school with Victoria,” Hans said, flashing me a proud smile. “She just graduated early.”

“Congratulations,” Kevin said, tapping my plastic cup with his beer bottle. “I couldn’t wait to get out of high school. Believe it or not”—he gestured down the length of his nerdy outfit with a small smile—“I was not the most popular guy.”

Hans gave Kevin an affectionate shove. “Shut the fuck up, man.” He popped the cap on a bottle of Corona and took a swig.

Lucky bottle.

“Kevin goes to Georgia Tech for music production now. He’s helping us with our demo.”

“No shit? That’s awesome,” I said. “I can’t wait to hear it. When will it be done?”

Kevin opened his mouth to answer me, but Dani cut him off, “Hey, speaking of graduation, is Beth coming tonight? I haven’t seen her ass since your graduation party.”

I slammed my cup to my mouth to hide my horrified expression and watched Hans like a hawk over the plastic rim. Would he look guilty? Would he tell Dani they broke up? Would he give me one of his one-dimpled smiles and say, BB’s my girlfriend now, bitch?

No, he wouldn’t.

Instead, Hans simply shrugged and said, “Nah, she couldn’t make it out. She’s moving into her dorm this weekend.”

Beth was real.

Beth had been invited to the party.

Beth had better things to do, so I got to be her little substitute for the night.

And Hans didn’t even have the decency to act ashamed.

Goth Girl had warned me about him, and I hadn’t listened.

Hans is a flirty drunk. Hans has a girlfriend.

I felt so fucking stupid. And angry. And, suddenly, kind of drunk.

My cup was empty, my head was spinning, and my face felt as red as Trip’s sunburned chest.

Setting the crumpled plastic cup on the bar, I sputtered, “I just remembered, I, um…need to ask Victoria something. It was nice to meet you guys.”

Then, I turned and hightailed it across the patio, through the maze of furniture, and over to where Goth Girl and Steven had been sitting on the bench swing. But when I got there, the swing was empty. I looked around, but they were gone. And I was super dizzy. That cup had to have had two or three shots of whiskey in it, and I hadn’t eaten all day. My chest and throat felt tight, like I wanted to cry, and my stomach felt like it was being eaten from the inside out by acid and straight alcohol.

I wanted to leave, just get in my car and go, but it was starting to get dark, and I wasn’t confident that I could find my way home sober, let alone tipsy and emotional. I hadn’t printed out directions or anything; I was just going to let Hans tell me how to get back in the morning.

I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.

Digging the toes of my boots into the grass to keep from swinging—swinging made me dizzier—I gave myself a drunken pep talk.

Okay, so you’re stuck. An hour away from home. With a bunch of assholes. Well, guess what? Lucky for you, you’re Brooke fucking Bradley. You don’t pout at parties. You are the party. You don’t chase boys—okay, you totally do but not tonight. Tonight, you make that boy chase you. You hold your head high and try not to puke, and you march your ass right back over there and flirt with his best friend.

Ew, not Trip. I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.

No, the other one. Kevin.

Yes! He’s kinda cute—in a nerdy way. Perfect! Kevin, here I come!

I was just about to put my cigarette out on the bottom of my boot and go ask Kevin to tell me more about music production when I spotted Hans walking straight toward me, concern etched all over his face.

Shit.

“Hey, B. You okay?”

No. Fucker.

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to smoke on your patio. Everything looks so perfect.”

Hans sat down next to me, causing the swing to sway back and forth and my dizziness to come back with a vengeance. I wanted to slap his thigh and tell him to make it stop. I wanted to slap his face for not telling me about his girlfriend. And then I wanted to kiss the shit out of it because, damn, he was gorgeous.

“Mind if I bum one?”

I huffed and pulled my Camels and a lighter out of my purse. Shoving them in his direction, I said, “Sure. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks?” Hans said, accepting my bitter offering.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared straight ahead into the woods between Hans’s house and his neighbor’s. There was just a hint of twilight left, and the fireflies were having a party of their own just beyond the tree line. The pretty scenery pissed me off even more.

If Hans didn’t have a fucking girlfriend, this would be really goddamn romantic.

Hans exhaled to the side while keeping his eyes on me. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You seem…upset.”

“Oh, I’m great,” I spat, grabbing my purse and standing up. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” As I walked over to the bar, I dropped my cigarette butt into somebody’s empty beer bottle on the firepit.

Ooh, I bet that looked badass. I hope he saw that. Asshole.

Dani and Baker were sitting on the love seat, drinking cans of Miller High Life and watching—surprise, surprise—a Yankees game. Trip and Louis were on the sofa, unleashing their munchies on some chips and salsa. And Kevin was over at the bar, popping the cap off a bottle of Corona.

What a coincidence. That’s where I’m headed.

“Hey, Kevin.” I smiled, batting my eyelashes. “Would you mind making me a drink? Hans made the last one too strong.”

Kevin’s face flushed. “Uh, sure. Yeah.” He set his beer down and fumbled around, looking for supplies.

While he squirmed and tried to make small talk, I noticed a pizza box sitting on the bar. I remembered the way Knight used to force-feed me before he let me drink with him. It had been so humiliating, but he was right. I never got sick when I ate first.

Sighing in defeat, I opened the box and pulled out a slice of pepperoni. I didn’t know who’d ordered the pizza, and I didn’t care. I considered it asshole tax.

Kevin handed over my drink with a hopeful look on his face. When I took a sip and bubbles tickled my nose instead of alcohol scorching my throat, I smiled.

“Oh my God. So much better. Thank you.”

He looked down at his hands and smiled.

“This isn’t your pizza,” I said with my mouth half-full, “is it?”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah, but I got it for everyone.”

“Dude. You’re my fucking hero right now.”

Kevin’s smile widened. I wanted to reach over and pinch his nerdy little cheeks.

Just then, Goth Girl and Steven came stumbling out of the basement through a set of ornate French doors, sporting some serious sex hair and nuzzling each other like a couple of honeymooners.

Guess those two made up.

Looking around, Goth Girl suddenly screeched to a stop.

“Oh my fucking God,” she slurred. “I thought this was a party. Are you guys seriously watching…baseball?” Her face screwed up in disgust.

Steven swayed on his feet, watching Goth Girl with hearts in his glassy eyes. I knew that look. I knew those grinding teeth too.

No wonder they’re getting along so well. They’re fucking rolling.

“Ooh! I know!” Goth Girl gasped, turning back toward Steven and pawing at his clothes. “Let’s go skinny-dipping!”

Nobody said a word, except for Trip, who jumped up on the sofa cushions and shouted, “Fuck yeah!”

“BB!” Goth Girl yelled even though I was, like, five feet away. “You have to come. Let’s go swim in the moonlight.”

She took hold of my elbow and dragged me away from the bar. I grabbed my cup and gave Kevin an apologetic look as Goth Girl bumped into and bounced off of every piece of furniture between us and the yard.

I scanned the patio for Hans, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the recliner, he wasn’t on the love seat, and he definitely wasn’t on the couch that Trip had just leaped off of.

I didn’t spot him until I stepped onto the lawn. He was sitting on the bench swing, right where I’d left him, looking utterly dejected. The light from the patio hit him sideways, splashing all over his tattooed arm and splattering across the convex parts of his body. His pecs. His cheekbones. The lock of black hair that had fallen into his face. And his left hand, which was holding a cigarette up to his scowling mouth.

Gah, all I said was that I was going to get a drink. I didn’t tell him he had to wait there until I came back.

I wanted to feel justified in bitchiness as I sauntered by, on my way to do a striptease for everyone on the dock, but I didn’t.

Not even a little bit.

I felt like the biggest asshole of them all.

A splash echoed through the trees, followed by Trip’s voice yelling, “The water’s fine, motherfuckers! Come on!”

Goth Girl, Steven, and I leaned on each other for support as we made our way down the stairs of death to the dock. They weren’t so much stairs as they were just flat patches of dirt punctuated by railroad ties going down the hill. I tried not to stumble. Tried not to spill my drink. But most of my effort and concentration was being spent on trying not to look over my shoulder at Hans.

The stairs deposited us right at the water’s edge where a narrow dock extended into the water at least thirty feet before expanding into a deck the size of my parents’ living room. Next to the sitting area was a slip where the Oppenheimers parked their speedboat, and above that was a second-story observation deck. Out beyond the end of the dock, floating in the blackened water, were a half-dozen inflatable rafts, doughnuts, and sea creatures, all tethered to the wooden structure.

Trip had already commandeered the orca.

Grateful that the three people down there were the three I cared the least about seeing me naked, I set my cup on the edge of the dock and began the disrobing process. Of course, by the time I got my big-ass boots, socks, and skintight ripped jeans off, everybody else was down there too.

Louis and Baker dropped trou and dived in right behind Goth Girl and Steven, snatching up two more of the available floaties. Kevin and Dani grabbed a couple of beers out of a fridge over by the boat. Then they climbed aboard and turned on the radio to listen to the rest of the ball game. The last one down the stairs was Hans.

I didn’t turn around as he approached, but I could feel him. He was radiating tension, which only amplified mine. I ignored him as he passed by but watched shamelessly as he tore off his athletic shorts and dived into the inky abyss before me. It was too dark to see much more than his perfect ass as it arched gracefully into the air and out of sight, but it was just enough to make me start to forget why I was mad at him in the first place.

Oh, right. Beth.

I didn’t know Beth, but I’d been Beth. And the fact that Hans was now naked in the presence of three girls who were not Beth made me see fucking red.

So what? So he was just gonna pretend like he doesn’t have a girlfriend, invite me over, get me drunk, fuck me in his mansion, and then send me on my way? Maybe call me again the next time Beth isn’t available to satisfy his needs? And his bandmates are all completely okay with it? This is exactly why my mom told me to stay away from musicians, I thought as I pulled my Death to the Pixies tank top over my head. Far too angry to feel self-conscious about my flat chest, I unclasped my four-pound liquid-filled prosthetic boobs and dropped my water bra on top of my growing pile of clothes.

As I stepped out of my red cotton thong, hoping that Hans was being gobbled up by an alligator out there, I heard Trip yell, “Holy shit, LDH! Your girl’s got titty rings, bro!”

A rabble of laughter, whistles, and mumbles followed, causing my cheeks—already heated by rage—to burn even brighter. I squinted into the darkness and saw five of the six floaties occupied. But no Hans.

Hmm. Maybe a gator did get him. I smiled to myself.

I was not about to ruin my hair and makeup by diving in like everybody else, so I grabbed my cup and walked back down the narrow dock to where the lake met the land. Wading in, I was surprised at how warm the water was, how soft the lakebed felt beneath my feet. How loud the crickets were and how many stars were in the sky.

Rich people even have more stars than the rest of us, I thought, taking a gulp from my red plastic cup. Then another.

As I waded in deeper, I spotted a constellation that I’d only read about in school—Cassiopeia. I just looked up, and there it was. I don’t know why, but that made me angrier than anything. My whole life, I’d thought I was just incapable of finding constellations. I’d thought there was something wrong with me. It turned out, the only thing wrong with me was my fucking zip code.

The sound of screaming and laughing pulled my attention away from the cosmos to the place where Trip was trying to capsize Baker and Louis, over on the other end of the dock. Everyone was cursing and giggling and splashing Trip as he swam around the floaties, chanting the bass line from the Jaws theme song and grabbing their legs. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so fucking pissed.

And if the sight of a six-foot-three-inch raven-haired demigod rising out of the water before me hadn’t stolen my breath from my lungs.

Hans’s face was villainous as he emerged from the darkness. He ran his hands through his jet-black hair, slicking it back. Water rolled off his hard chest in rivulets, reminding me to cover my own with my free hand.

So there I stood, drink in one hand, breast in the other, waist-deep in shark-infested waters, waiting to see what fresh bullshit Hans was going to pull. I expected him to try to charm me or guilt-trip me or get me to share the last floatie with him.

I did not expect him to immediately reach for my boob.

I was about to slap him away and toss what was left of my Jack and Coke in his face when I felt Hans’s wet thumb graze my chest-tube scar—an angry-looking gash just beside my right breast. Felt his palm flatten against my recently healed ribs. Felt his soul, my old familiar friend, trying to heal me from the outside in.

Hans lifted his soft gray-blue eyes, which were framed in wet black daggers, and exhaled through perfectly parted lips. “Is that…from your accident?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s fine though.” I swallowed. “I’m fine.”

Hans’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. “It’s not fine.”

I squinted at his beautiful, furious face in the dark, searching for a constellation among all the confusion. I couldn’t figure him out. I couldn’t understand why his touch felt like home when we were practically strangers to one another.

Hans pressed his forehead to mine and growled two clipped words through his gritted teeth. Two words that would change everything.

“Leave him.”

Huh?

“What?”

Hans’s right hand rose out of the water and clamped around my rib cage on the opposite side. “Leave him, BB. Be with me.”

“Leave who?” I asked, pulling away to search his face for answers in the dark.

“Your fucking boyfriend,” Hans snapped. “The one who did this to you.” Hans’s massive hand flexed around my protruding ribs. “The one who was stalking you at the Masquerade. The one who has you too scared to even look at me tonight.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I exclaimed. “You have a—”

Hans’s lips sealed over mine, swallowing my accusation along with my doubts, my questions, my insecurities. It wasn’t the kiss of a guy trying to score a piece of ass at a party. It was the kiss.

As Hans’s mouth moved against mine, coaxing memories forward from a time when that kiss had worn a different pair of lips, I sighed and succumbed. Hans didn’t belong to someone else. He never had. He’d been mine since the dawn of time.

“Girlfriend,” Hans whispered against my lips, cupping my face with his damp hands. He’d taken the ugly word on the tip of my tongue and turned it into something beautiful. A gift for me to wear.

“Girlfriend,” I whispered back, smiling against his mouth.