Five minutes in, and Carter’s already toying with me for his own amusement.

Sure, the little game about the elevator was just to mess with me. To prove a point that I wouldn’t want to carry my giant suitcase up forty-four flights of stairs.

We ride up the elevator, and I peer at Carter from beneath my giant sunglasses.

How is it possible that after five minutes of being in his presence, my temperature feels like it’s risen already?

He’s got that same smug, phased-by-nothing smile.

Same laissez-faire, does not give two shits about anyone other than himself attitude.

Same chiseled jaw and built frame that I absolutely refuse to be attracted to.

“So you’ve really never heard of voice to text?”

Carter shrugs as the elevator dings when we hit floor forty-four. “You’re welcome for being able to crash here, by the way. On such short notice.”

My chest tightens as he rolls my suitcase out of the elevator, leading the way down a hallway that screams expensive, ritzy apartment. As if I didn’t notice from the outside how this giant building is pure glass. Oh, except for the gold-plated windows on the first floor.

It’s the exact opposite of the way we both grew up in Blackwell. The biggest parts of both of our houses were our yards.

Carter jingles his keys, and I take a deep, silent breath, trying not to let my frustration show. I feel like I’m six years old again, a little kid with no keys to her own house, dependent on a parent to unlock the door.

As the door swings open, I try not to dwell on the fact that he’s right. This was unacceptably short notice, and Carter is doing me a huge favor. But is it my fault my current boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend, as of yesterday—decided to break up with me suddenly while I was on the first leg of my overnight Amtrak ride from Blackwell to Chicago?

My stomach knots as Carter hangs his key up on a ring just inside the door.

I was crying when I called my mom, and she was the one who suggested I could stay with Carter.

I resisted, but with no other options, I convinced myself Carter and I could get over the feud stemming from our misunderstanding years ago. I convinced myself it was teenage stuff, and that now, in our twenties, we could move on. So I sucked up my pride and let my mom ask Carter’s mom for me.

Moving to Chicago for dance was supposed to be a giant personal win for me—a win I badly needed.

Instead, I feel like giant failure, all alone in a big city.

He turns to face me.

To say he’s grinning would be an exaggeration. A troublemaker’s smirk tugs at the corners of his expression, as if he’s the keeper of some secret I’ll never know, but one that holds the key to my existence.

To make matters worse, as much as I wish I could deny it, the years have been extremely kind to Carter. His boyish good looks have been replaced by bigger muscles and a harder expression.

I scour him for a flaw. Even the big birthmark on his right forearm seems to round him out and give him character. My heart pounds. Yes, he’s extremely good looking.

I clench and unclench my fists at my sides.

“Welcome to my humble abode. It’s baller, I know.”

My stomach turns. He really has made a one-hundred eighty degree turn from the boy I used to know. “Yes, so humble,” I seethe sarcastically. “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten your roots.”

“Ouch. I’ll let you save your compliments for now.”

“I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“Glad to hear it. Just know, I’m not happy about this arrangement.”

I glance around. ‘Baller’ is a severe understatement. I’ve never in my life seen an apartment this loaded. It’s a corner unit, so two of the big windows point out to Lake Michigan and to the city, both with breathtaking views. The kitchen is huge, featuring a giant marble island countertop. A few steps lead down to the main living area where he’s got a big, L-shaped sofa, a flat screen TV as big as most movie screens, and a dining room table with a few chairs. There’s also a clear glass door leading out to a big balcony.

“You’ll be in the guest room. This way.”

He leads me down an off-white hallway and stops at a wooden door, flipping a light switch inside the room. He rolls my bag in.

“What do you have in here anyways? Bricks?”

I step into the room.

“Changes of clothes. It’s mostly for dance.”

“I’m surprised you’re giving that another shot. I thought you gave up on that life already,” he bites out.

I grind my teeth, face him, and take a step toward him. I pull off my sunglasses so he can see my eyes. If this stay is anything like these first ten minutes have been, I’m not going to be able to let my guard down for a single moment.

“You don’t want to start the passive aggression game with me,” I seethe. “You know I’m here for dance, no need to rub it in that I haven’t landed a professional spot yet. Besides, you know I can beat you at this game.”

He furrows his brow. “A little good natured ribbing won’t hurt you. It’ll toughen you up. You’ve always taken yourself too seriously. That’s your problem.”

“Oh! I’ve been here for ten minutes and you’re already diagnosing my issues? Thanks, Freud. I’ll take a pass.”

“Believe whatever you want. The fact you’re getting your panties in a bunch tells me all I need to know.”

“I’m not going to be spoken down to while I’m living here. You’re doing me a favor, yes. Because my stupid—” I stutter, and clear my throat. “My ex broke up with me twelve hours ago. Consider your small gesture of letting me use this room as a way to make up for shitty men everywhere.”

“Ohhh, so that’s why you needed a place to crash on such short notice.” Carter nods slowly, letting out a little chuckle. “Don’t blame me that you can’t find a loyal man.”

My blood boils. “Don’t do this. Can we please just be civil while I’m here?”

His jaw twitches.“You really need to learn how to take a joke, Laces.”

I cross my arms, refusing to acknowledge his use of my childhood nickname.

“Why don’t you give me the tour, and I’ll be going to bed soon.”

“Bed? Already? It’s not even nine o’clock.”

“I have dance early tomorrow. And would you please give me an extra key?”

His nostrils flare, and his eyes widen. “Did I just get a ‘please?’ Let me take your temperature.” He places the back of his hand against my forehead.

I snatch his hand off my head by the wrist. “Just give me the damn key.”

I follow him as he heads out of the room, a little upset with myself because I feel like I’ve let Carter win a small battle. I showed him that he was getting to me.

Note to self: brainstorm how to put Carter back in his place.

The man thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity. His attitude is evident in everything, from the way he walks, talks, struts, and plays basketball.

“We’ve got the kitchen here. Couch and living area over there. TV,” he says, pointing out the ridiculous television.

“Used for gaming, films, and watching the Sports Channel highlights.”

I hear a low purring, and a grey cat approaches me, rubs my legs. “Aww,” I say, reaching down to pet the cat.

“And you’ve met Smokey,” he says. “She keeps an eye on everything around here.” he winks.

“And what’s this?” I ask, pointing to a corner with some wires and a speaker.

“This,” he says, is where you plug in—or I should say—where I plug in my tunes when I need some musical therapy. Or at the end of a date.”

I freeze up, picturing how many girls must throw themselves at him.

And I’m sure when he gets them back to this apartment, it’s not hard to seal the deal, if that’s what he’s looking for.

“Let’s agree to keep each others’ romantic situations out of each others’ minds,” I say.

Shuddering, it crosses my mind that Carter is probably dating a lot while he’s in the city.

“Oh? I mean, you’re the one who brought up that you just broke up with your ex.”

I swallow and say the painful truth. “He dumped me.”

“Oh. My mom didn’t mention that.” Carter’s eyes flit from my bags back to me, and for a split second I think he might actually show a shred of empathy.

There’s an awkward beat, and then he keeps on. “Anyway, this leads to the outside.” He continues, sliding a door open to the balcony. “This is where I like to overlook my kingdom.”

“Kingdom? This overlooks the city of Chicago.”

“Exactly,” he smirks.

I grind my teeth and shake my head. I walked right into that one.

“And this is the hot tub,” he continues. “With the weather getting nice, I’ll be out here a lot.”

“Yeah? With the guys?”

“Ha. Yeah, I’ll have the occasional steaks and cigars meet up out here with ‘the guys.’ But usually this is where I bring girls to let them know they’ve won the prize.”

“Prize? What prize?” I look around the balcony. Other than the hot tub and an empty table and chairs, there doesn’t seem to be anything.

He smirks, and turns his head away from the gorgeous view of the city overlooking the lake. “I mean me, Babycakes,” he says with a wink.

I roll my eyes.

It’s hard for me to believe this is the same Carter I used to ride bikes around with when we were in middle school. The same Carter whose basketball games I used to dance the halftime shows for junior year, then go to Wendy’s and get hamburgers, have pickle races, and then make out in his car, sitting in my driveway and hoping my mom or dad wouldn’t peel open the window shade and see us.

I wonder if he still has shades of that nice person deep down. But the old Carter seems mostly gone, replaced by this combative version of Carter. My stomach lurches a little, and I wonder if maybe I’m partly to blame for this changed version of him.

For the lie I never told him about his father.

But even as I try to feel empathy for him, it’s clear from his crossed arms--and needless bragging--that he plans on being extra mean, while I’m here.

“Please. Stop trying to prove that women actually like you. It’s not working,” I bite out.

Although with his looks—and ability to be charming when he wants—I feel as though my insult ricochets right off him.

He takes a step toward me. My heartbeat quickens, and I take a sharp, deep breath. His shadow blocks the last rays of sunlight as it sets over the horizon.

“You can joke all you want. But if you think I’m going to start diluting myself because I’ve got a lady in the house, you’ve got another think coming. I don’t mind doing my mom this favor, but Lacy Benson, I swear to God, you will not affect how I live this summer. Is that clear?”

The wind hits my cheeks as I stand against the railing of the balcony. I look down, and the people look like little tiny ants.

“I think living on the forty-fourth floor so high up is getting to your head,” I quip as I slide around his arm to the other side of the balcony. “Do I appreciate you doing me this favor? Sure. Am I going to let my summer be ruined by you? No. I’m here for eight weeks to crush my dance tryout. This is everything to me. You think I’m a distraction for you? I’m as upset about this as you are.”

“Just a little kid’s summer camp, eh?” he teases.

I take a deep breath. The way he says it makes me feel small, like a little kid.

“At the end of the eight weeks, I have an audition for the The Blue Illusion team in New York,” I explain. “If I make it, I’ll move to New York. So for God’s sake, why don’t we just let bygones be bygones and get along?”

He looks me up and down, as if thinking over the answer to my question.

“Hell no. Let me make this crystal clear. You’re on my turf. And we’re doing things my way.”

“Screw you, asshole,” I mutter.

“Yes! I finally did it.”

“Did what?” I scrunch up my face.

“Got you to call me an asshole. I’m going to keep a running tab.”

I stifle a growl.

“Anyway, I’m going out for a little bit. You must be starving after all that travel. There’s some crackers and cheese in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Fucking. Asshole.

I bite my lip as he smirks, walking away.

I follow him back inside the living room, and I pause as my eyes zoom in on his bookshelf.

A tattered paperback of The Great Gatsby sits on top of it.

My heart skips a beat. My memory rushes back to those afternoons we used to spend reading excerpts from the story out loud like a couple of nerds. The spring after basketball season ended--and he knew he was going to Kansas for ball--he took a supreme interest in my English class. He mostly became interested, he said, because I was so interested.

I’d lay my head on his stomach, close my eyes, and feel the vibrations of the story as he would read to me. Every once in a while, he’d land a kiss on my forehead, just to surprise me.

Heat flushes my body, centering in my throat at the memory.

In a trance, I open up the book to the first page, and sure enough, there’s my signature with a heart.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, his voice booming from the kitchen.

Whirling around, I put the book behind my back so he can’t see. “Just remarking that you don’t have a single book about dance on this shelf.”

“Well, it’s not really my thing.”

“Right,” I say, then take off to my room, waltzing past him so he doesn’t see I’ve taken his book.

Heading to my room, I hear the shower turn on. Heavy metal cranks on the stereo system, flooding the bathroom and the hallway with music.

Tossing the book on the desk in my room, I put in my earbuds and try to listen to my music—Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker—but it’s impossible. Whatever horrible music he’s listening to creeps through into my ears. It’s overpowering.

I try my best to focus on the task at hand, which is Google-mapping the location of the studio so that I arrive on time—no, early—tomorrow for the first day of practice.

And then I hear Carter shouting at the top of his lungs, belting out the lyrics to the song.

Sighing, I lay on my side on my pillow, looking out at the skyscrapers in the night.

Shaking my head, I frown at my luck. Norton broke up with me this morning. And now, here I am with Carter fucking Flynn, again. It’s deja vu of the worst kind. I thought I’d never have to see him again. Thought I was done with him and his asshole ways forever. I thought wrong, obviously. Eight weeks of this torture. He seems intent on making every moment of our stay together a living hell. Why, though? Is there a way out of this?

I pull out my computer and do a quick Craigslist search for cheap places in Chicago. I find one nearby.

One-thousand dollars. And it comes with three roommates.

My heart sinks. That might not be a lot of money to some people, but it sure is to me.

Another, in a neighborhood on the south side goes for just five hundred dollars. But it’s far away from the studio. I do a Google search on the area, and a few muggings come up in the local news.

Two months’ rent at a grand each month. That’s two thousand dollars I didn’t budget for.

I pull out my phone and the credit card app. I stare at the number on the screen.

Rage wells up inside me. I try not to let it consume me.

I’m still in disbelief that I’ve ended up with five figures in credit card debt. Most of it’s from my dad’s emergency room visit that I paid for, so as not to stress his heart condition even further. I never told my mom.

I take a deep breath and there’s a knock on the door.

“Yes?” I answer.

Carter opens the door, and he’s soaking wet. In only a towel.

I pause for a moment, doing a double take.

He’s always had the most chiseled frame of any man I’ve met. Even when we were in high school. But now, he’s sculpted like a Greek god. It’s almost unfair how good he looks. Abs carved out of rock. The widest shoulders I’ve seen in my life.

“Your key,” he says in a gravelly, low voice. He steps inside, holding it up, and sets it on top of my dresser.

Smirking, he turns around and is about to close the door. With a herculean effort, I manage not to stare at his ass as he leaves.

Until he turns around and looks over his shoulder.

“Do you like it, Lacy?”

“Like . . . what?” I choke out, using my full brain power to keep my eyes focused on his gaze.

“Do you like the place?” Snorting, he furrows his brow. “What else would you . . . ohh. Okay.”

“Screw you, Carter. You’re so damn full of yourself, I’m surprised you don’t have pictures of yourself everywhere in here.”

“I do, actually.”

He tips his chin toward a framed picture of him slamming a basketball over someone. It hangs on the wall above the bed, right behind me.

I drop my face into my hands. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Have a good night,” he winks, and starts to walk out, but pauses, his eyes fixed on my desk.

“Did you take my book?” he asks, the smug tone drained from his voice.

“That’s my book,” I bark out, instinctually.

Squinting at me, he flips through the pages.

Carter looks up, and our eyes lock. For the first time since I’ve laid eyes on him today, I sense a hint of vulnerability coming from him. He blinks a few times, his gaze softening slightly.

After almost six months of dating in high school, we broke up. The book was the only artifact I never got back from him.

I’m surprised he still has it.

Tossing it back onto my desk, he turns and walks out.

Letting a breath out, I look back at my credit card app, in disbelief.

My phone buzzes with a text from my baby sister, Eliza.

Eliza: Make it in okay and everything?

Lacy: Yeah, I did! Staying with Carter. This should be interesting.

Eliza: Ew, I’m sorry! Did you try looking for new places?

I shudder. My sister’s going to be a senior in high school. Along with the full story of Carter and I, she also doesn’t need to know the perils of credit card debt.

Lacy: No, it’s fine. I’ll be at dance every day, anyways. This is just a place to crash.

Eliza: Oh Well, my summer ballet camp starts next week!

Lacy: SO proud of you for doing that. I’m super tired right now. Love you. Proud of you <3

Eliza: Okay! Chat soon?

Lacy: Definitely

My heart warms at her last text. She’s a ballerina, while I’m a modern dancer. She’s on pins and needles to know if I make it through the eight weeks and get the spot with Blue Illusion.

Eight more weeks of torture by Carter.

I can make it. I vow to myself I will.

I will not let Carter Flynn get the best of me.