If silence was golden, Cassie gloating was torture. I sat cross-legged on her bed as she tried on another summery dress in preparation for our mandatory girls night. This one was white, but its virginal simplicity stopped there. In true Cassie fashion, the skirt stopped centimeters below her butt cheeks and its straps crisscrossed in a revealing pattern down the length of her back. It looked fantastic against her skin, which after only a couple days of sun already had tanned to a sexy bronze. She’d dragged me back to the beach all day, even going so far as to confiscate my phone. Since I’d totally hooked up with a very off-limits guy—in front of her—I couldn’t refuse her demands that I spend today with her. It did mean that day three of my one week was a loss. I did my best to ignore the uptick in anxiety the thought caused.

“I can’t decide which I hate more,” I said, choosing to focus on her dress quest, “your legs or how easily you tan.”

She shrugged, her eyes flickering to me in the mirror as she applied mascara. “Benefits of having a Greek mama.”

“That and the baklava,” I pointed out. My stomach rumbled at the thought and I checked my phone for the time. “Speaking of, any chance we’re eating today?”

“Looking this delish takes time, asshat.”

“Have I ever told you how endearing your nicknames are?” I asked.

“You haven’t, but there’s more where that came from if you play your cards right.” She shot me a smile over her shoulder.

I twisted a silk scarf around my fingers. She really did pack for all possible situations. I tossed it on the ever-growing heap of clothes on the bed, unable to concentrate. She had yet to start grilling me about Roman, but I knew it was coming. “I thought we were just going to grab something down the street.”

“Oh, you aren’t getting off that easily.”

“Whoa!” I stopped her. “I promised food and unlimited dirty jokes at my expense, but”—

“But nothing. I have something you want.”

“And that is?” It would be too much to hope that I was getting my phone back. Not this soon.

“I might have invited a certain hottie prof.”

“You didn’t!” Where was a nice hole to fall into when you needed one? I couldn’t believe she would do that. My fling with Roman was supposed to be just that: a fling.

“All’s fair, Jess.”

I moaned, burying my face in my hands. There was no way Cassie would be on her best behavior in front of him. In fact, it was entirely likely that she would be on her worst. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You were probably a war criminal in your last life,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Since she wasn’t always known for thinking things through, my question was genuine. “This isn’t love or war. It’s just a summer affair…in December. It’s casual, and I’m not an expert, but hanging out with friends isn’t very casual. What if he thinks it means more?”

“So it’s just a no strings attached thing? You’re playing teacher’s pet?”

“It’s not like that.” I felt the heat rising on my cheeks. This wasn’t some horny, schoolgirl crush and Roman wasn’t some predatory college professor. I didn’t even like joking about it.

Cassie spun around to face me, lipstick poised precariously in her fingers. “How is it then? You can tell me now and I’ll behave around Markson, or…”

I didn’t have to ask her what my other option was. Cassie unfiltered was hilarious when you weren’t the target of her musings. When you were—well, it could get ugly. Jillian had dumped a pitcher of beer on her once.

“Fine,” I caved. “We’ve agreed to see each other for one week.”

“One week?” she said incredulously. “What good is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s just a teacher at our college,” I reminded her, “and I’m getting over a break-up.” Sometimes I forgot that Cassie was a serial monogamist. Having a boyfriend was like having a purse to her—essential. If one broke, she went out and started shopping for a new one immediately. That went for bags and men.

Cassie laughed at me like I was nuts. “I’m getting over a break-up. You are back in the game.”

“I dated Brett for almost a year.”

“You weren’t in love with him.” Cassie waved the lipstick haphazardly as she channeled her inner, advice-dispensing diva. “You tolerated him. I’m not sure you even liked him.”

“I liked him,” I protested. Just because she couldn’t see what I had in Brett didn’t mean I hadn’t cared about him.

“Give me five adjectives describing him.”

“Nice.” I searched for more, glaring her down. “Dependable. Friendly. Responsible. Ambitious.”

“Congratulations! You just described the assistant manager of every retail store in America. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a good customer service experience.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Grabbing a nearby shoe, I chucked it at her. “Survey says shut up.”

“That’s a Jimmy Choo!” She picked the heel up and cradled it like it might be injured.

“You’re hopeless.” I flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling fan.

A second later, she appeared over me, twisting her silky black hair into a stylish knot on the top of her head. “I’m the PR and Marketing expert, remember? All I’m saying is that I’m not fucking buying what you’re selling.”

“What would you suggest? Roman isn’t exactly on the market. We have an agreement. This can’t happen in Olympic Falls.” She might want it to be something more, but why couldn’t she see that it couldn’t be?

“I’m suggesting you have fun and let what happens happen,” she said gently. “You know my mantra: I am a badass. I deserve better. I will demand more. And honey, Roman is the definition of more. I mean, honestly, how long have you wanted to bone him?”

I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. “You did not just say bone him.”

“I’m fluent in adolescent male,” she said with a shrug. “Stop avoiding my question.”

“Since last year, I guess.” I didn’t add that now that I thought about it I could probably give her an exact number of days, minutes, and hours. Of course, judging from her triumphant smirk, I didn’t have to.

“Since you saw him, and that was before he opened his mouth and turned out to be your intellectual equal. Let’s face it, Jess, you have a sweater vest fetish. And the fact that he’s smokin’ hot—tall, dark, and handsome—and speaks Spanish doesn’t hurt.”

“I speak Spanish,” a deep, husky voice said behind us, “but you wouldn’t be talking about me, right?”

I sat up straight to find Roman hovering in the entry. He’d left his dark hair wild, and it waved carelessly behind his ears. He’d shaved though, which would have been a disappointment, except that when he smiled at me, I caught sight of a dimple. How was it possible that he could be even sexier? At least he was dressed down in a gray, fitted T-shirt and khaki shorts. Cassie might have been right about how hot he looked in his sweater vests back home. Dressed casually, he matched my own breezy, blue sundress and flip-flops. No one around here would know that we existed in two different worlds back home.

“I told you you were overdressed,” I said, turning on Cassie.

“Not for the clubs.” She continued to tug on a heel, but I grabbed her arm.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

She grinned sweetly, displaying her perfect teeth and the Disney princess smile that didn’t match up with her sailor mouth. “It’s tequila night.”

“Every night is tequila night here. This is a terrible idea,” I said. “Remember the last time you had tequila? You almost got arrested.”

“I actually don’t remember,” she said with a wink. “But I bet you two do. Isn’t that the magical night that brought you crazy kids together? If it wasn’t for me and tequila, you wouldn’t be playing pop quiz in the doorway.” Cassie sauntered out of the room, flashing a coy smirk to Roman as she passed. “I should get more credit for my matchmaking.”

“Trouble-maker,” I muttered under my breath as I followed her out.

“At least this time I’ll be around to chaperone.” Roman slung an arm over my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “How much trouble could she get in with both of us to take care of her?”

I didn’t answer him, because I was pretty sure he didn’t actually want to know.

The tequila blazed down my throat and I dropped the shot glass back on the bar. It landed with a plonk that reverberated through my already fuzzy brain as Cassie pushed another toward me. I held up my hand, waving off the offer. “No more.”

“C’mon,” she coaxed, handing me another lime. “One more for me, doll.”

“I think I’m dying,” I moaned. I’d lost count of the shots and the margaritas she had foisted on me. “I’m going to retract your best friend status. Just as soon as I figure out which one of you is real.”

“Maybe that’s enough,” Roman suggested lightly, but Cassie glared at him. Lesser men had withered under her gaze, but he only raised his eyebrows. He’d been a good sport so far, going along with the night of debauchery she’d inflicted on both of us. Probably since he knew, as I did, that we were doing penance for not being upfront with her about our little arrangement.

“Do you want to have a best friend tomorrow?” My words spluttered from me, and I wiped at the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to my forehead. It was too hot in here. I needed air, and I definitely need a reprieve from the tequila.

Cassie didn’t seem eager to grant me either. “One more and I’ll give you your fucking get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“Cassie,” Roman said her name in warning, but I waved him off. This was a matter of principle now. I’d agreed to a girls night and the only way out was through.

I groaned as I raised the shot glass to my lips. My hands trembled, my throat already constricting at the thought of another drop of liquor, but I forced myself to shoot it. Roman scooped the glass from my hands, setting it down just in time to catch me as I attempted to stand up from my barstool. I swayed on wobbly feet, but his grip was steady and he held me closely to him. I attempted to pull away, knowing despite the boozy haze that this was definitely not in our one-week plan. Nope, rescuing your drunk lover definitely fell into girlfriend/boyfriend territory. But my attempted autonomy had unforeseen consequences.

“I don’t feel so good.” Clutching my stomach, I choked back the tequila threatening to exit its point of entry.

“We should get her back.”

“Okay,” Cassie agreed. There was a firmness to Roman’s proclamation that not even she could question. She tossed down a stack of bills and led the way, pushing through the crowds of coeds enjoying the overcrowded tourist bar. Cassie had matched me shot for shot, but even with my head swimming and my eyes seeing double, I saw no sign that she was suffering the same ill effects of three hours of hard drinking. When we reached the street I expected to feel relief, but the fresh air made my stomach roll and twist. I bent, instinct telling me that tonight wasn’t going to end well.

“Just a couple of blocks.” Roman said soothingly, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that could comfort me was the thought of unconsciousness.

“And then I can die?” I slurred.

“You’re not dying,” Cassie said.

I think I said I seriously doubted that, but I couldn’t really tell what words were actually making it out of my mouth anymore. It was like trying to wake up from a coma. I could hear. I could think. But my body had gone rogue. It was out of my control, and I didn’t like it. Fighting the urge to collapse on the pavement, I made it back to the villa. At the door Roman lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bathroom. He either had the gift of prophecy or he’d experienced the joys of tequila before. As it turned out, being in his arms was very comforting. Unfortunately, I was about to upchuck all over him.

“Go away.” I shooed him toward the door, but the movement sent me over the edge and I lunged for the toilet.

“Like hell.” A soft hand swept the hair off my neck and held it back.

Here I was, praying to the porcelain god in front of Roman Markson—poet, professor, exceptional lover. If tonight didn’t kill me, my embarrassment tomorrow probably would. Thankfully, my body chose that moment to commit mutiny before I could dwell on that fact. When I sat back on my heels a few minutes later, tears swam in my eyes.

“Do you want to go into the bed?” His voice was soft with concern.

I shook my head. I was pretty sure there was a repeat performance of my recent stomach evacuation coming.

Roman laughed and dropped down beside me, leaning over to plant a kiss on the top of my head. Lines blurred around me, and not just the tile on the wall. This was not happening. Except I couldn’t really understand what was happening. Even in my booze saturated brain I knew the fundamentals—who, what, when, where. The why was what eluded me. Roman with his sinfully good looks could be out with any woman tonight or, at least, be enjoying an uneventful night back home. Instead he was hanging out on the bathroom floor with my drunk ass. Or I was imagining things.

I needed something concrete to anchor me, so I rested my head on the cabinet next to me. The wood felt cool and welcome on my feverish skin. “Since I’m dying I can tell you that I have liked you forever.”

Had I actually said that? Roman’s grin told me that it had come out of my mouth.

“Would it jeopardize your view of my professionalism if I said the same?”

I nodded. “I was your student.”

Why the hell had I said that? Damn Cassie and her tequila. It was like she’d force-fed me truth serum. I couldn’t keep all the stupid thoughts in my head from tumbling out.

“You were,” he said, “but I’m just a student, too, remember? And you aren’t in my classes.”

“Anymore.” There were those blurred lines again. He was a Ph.D. student, but he was also an instructor. I hadn’t memorized the student code of conduct, but I was pretty sure we’d broken a few of the university’s rules already. Jess would have cared about that, but Jessica Stone was drunk. Jessica didn’t care about the rules. Jessica was in Mexico, but now Jess was about to throw up again.

When Roman finally carried me to bed, the world around me was spinning. But even as I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it to stop, one thing was clear. Roman wasn’t going anywhere. Thankfully I was too drunk for that fact to seep in as he climbed into bed beside me.

Tomorrow I wouldn’t be drunk, but I had a feeling I’d still be confused.