When my first Saturday night in Chicago rolls around, I hang out with Lance again. This time, I go to his house. It’s a welcome night of relief after a week full of dance rehearsals.

“Oh yes, Lacy! Oh God, yes!” Lance cries.

“Mmmm that’s the spot!” I yell, unable to contain my laughter. “So big! So deep!”

I shovel popcorn into my mouth on Lance’s couch as we recount the story of our acting shenanigans to his boyfriend, Joseph. He is doubled over in laughter.

“No. You did not say that!”

Lance smiles deviously. “We did. And all the while—” he claps his hand against his bicep, which makes a loud skin slapping sound. “Romancing the Stone is such a good movie, isn’t it?”

I nod, but my smile dissipates when I think about the way my conversation with Carter went after breakfast this past week. Since then we’d both been purposefully avoiding each other.

Maybe trying to bring up Carter’s father the night after I’d faked having sex with my new gay best friend was not the best way to go about things. I see that in retrospect.

“Lacy! You’re not saying anything,” Joseph says.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, zoning back in.

“I asked, do you think he suspects anything?” Joseph says.

I shrug. “I don’t see why he would.”

“So he has no idea we were just sitting in your room watching Romancing the Stone while making excessive sex noises. And he has no clue that Lance is gay?”

I shrug, looking away from them and not answering the question.

“What’s the matter?” Lance asks, sensing my slight melancholy. “I thought you hated Carter.”

“I do hate Carter,” I confirm, but my face gives away that I can’t help but feel weird about the fact that I’ve thrown yet another lie on our complicated past.

“Why do you hate him so much?” Joseph interjects. “He’s too hot to hate.”

Lance looks over at me. “I hope you don’t mind. While I was making breakfast, I snapped a few shirtless pics of Carter sipping his coffee while he wasn’t looking.”

My jaw drops. “You did what?”

Smiling, he pulls out his phone and shows me the pictures he took of Carter, looking ridiculously attractive as always as he sits on the kitchen island, steam radiating up from his coffee cup.

“You tell Carter I can come over and make breakfast for him any time he wants,” Lance winks.

“Ohh! I can help, too,” Joseph adds.

I sigh, frowning. “I’ll let him know.”

“What’s got you down, Lacy?”

I hunch my shoulders. “I just remembered my birthday is next week,” wanting to steer the conversation away from Carter.

“Seriously? Which day?” Lance asks.

“Friday.”

Joseph raises his eyebrows. “Friday? I have off next Friday.”

Lance frowns. “Where would we have a party anyway?” His eyes suddenly light up like a little kid at Christmas. “Oh! We should have it at your place!”

“My place? You mean Carter’s place.”

“Yes! There’s no denying how absolutely amazing your apartment is, Lacy. You’ve got a hot tub, a balcony, a big TV, a sound system . . . we can definitely fit forty people in there. No way we are all cramming into my tiny apartment.”

“Whoa.” I hold up my hands. “Where are we getting forty people?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “From dance camp, duh.”

“I’m not inviting all forty people. I don’t even know most of the dancers.”

“So what better way to get to know them than to invite them over to your seriously luxurious place!”

“Carter’s place, you mean.”

“Look, you want to win this audition at the end of the eight weeks, right?”

I nod. “Of course. But what does that have to do with having a party?”

Joseph puts his hand over Lance’s thigh, and they make eye contact, both shaking their heads.

“If you want to win the audition, there’s more than just skill required. You need to play the social game, too. Invite everyone over. Even that—what’s the girl who thinks she’s hot shit?”

“Davina.”

“Yes! Davina.”

Davina is Italian-Russian, born in New York, who walks around the dance floor like she craps rose petals. Lance has obviously noticed my vitriol for her already.

“I don’t know if Carter will let me have so many people over.”

“He will,” Joseph says. “I’m sure of it.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Come on. Forty hot dancers—all girls aside from me—in his house? I don’t think he’ll mind.”

I nod, but feel my chest tighten a little. “Good point.”

Sunday morning, I wake up feeling fresh and ready to enjoy the city.

After rolling out of bed, I walk into my bathroom to shower off, and my eyes practically bulge out of my head when I see Carter standing in the bathroom, facing the sink mirror.

My bathroom.

And he’s one hundred percent naked.

My stomach coils with confusion, my lips parting slightly as I blink a few times and try to find words to say.

Carter just smirks, facing the mirror. I see him watching my gaze as I take in the profile of his carved frame from the side as he stands facing the sink.

“Uh . . .” I stutter, forcing myself to say something, anything. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Don’t you have your own shower?”

My heart hammers like a bass drum.

“Master shower is broken,” he says simply in a low voice, twisting his head to meet my eyes.

Carter turns his body toward me, a towel draped over his shoulder.

Why the hell is his towel over his shoulder and not around his waist?

Butterflies flap in my stomach as I blink several times, my mind a little foggy from the wine I had with Lance last night.

What is with Carter and I accidentally running into each other in towels?

My eyes travel down Carter’s perfect V of a body, and his crotch is like a magnet.

Dear God.

I pull my eyes back up to his smirk as he stares.

He takes a step toward me, hands on his hips.

I want to leave. I want to get out of there and hide my head back under my pillow.

But my legs feel like heavy as tree trunks when I try to move.

And somehow I feel like he’s challenging me, just seeing how much he can fuck with me.

Is his shower really broken? What kind of a millionaire can’t just call a handyman in two seconds to fix that? I swallow as Carter hovers inches from me. I can hear his breath. Smell his fresh, woodsy scent.

“W-What body wash is that?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Smells good.”

He has to look down so his eyes can meet mine.

“Body wash?” he asks, offering me a half-smile. “Is that what you’re thinking about?”

I can hear his own audible breath. Or is that my own breath getting heavy? I can’t tell. I’m losing myself in the space between Carter and me.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I’m curious about your body wash.”

“Oh.” The smile leaving his face, he leans down, and his towel brushes me as he whispers against my ear. “Because I could have sworn I just saw you stare at my cock for a good two seconds.”

I shake my head. “It was just kind of there. It’s not a big deal.”

I try to move again, but I stumble as I try to twist my feet in place, and have to grab Carter’s arm for balance.

A slight grin returns to his face, and he clutches the side of my neck in return. His grip is surprisingly soft. His thumb grazes my ear, sending shivers through my entire body.

“Pretty clumsy for a dancer sometimes, aren’t you?”

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.

“Carter,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”

My tongue runs along my lips.

In a panic, I take my hand off his arm but he’s so close to me it grazes his lower abs. And comes dangerously close to his dick.

I’m suddenly fearful.

Of Carter, in a way.

How strong he is. How he could overpower me. How uncontrollable he’s been known to be.

I heard him scream the other night when I was faking sex with Lance to get back at him.

So as our eyes lock, I feel like he’s the hunter with precision focus, and I’m his doe-eyed prey.

But that’s not why I’m scared.

I’m scared because I find myself wishing he would do those things to me.

I imagine what his abs would feel like, pressed up against my body.

How his impressive package would feel buried deep inside me. As much as we messed around in high school, we never made it to sex. I never even saw him naked.

Over the years, I’ve occasionally found myself wondering what he would be like in bed. Rough? Gentle? Some combination of the two?

I can’t see Carter being gentle.

Not anymore, at least. I have a sinking feeling that the soft kisses Carter graced me with in high school were the last time he was gentle with anyone.

These are the thoughts that run through my mind as Carter’s massive hand grips just under my ear. He runs his thumb along my cheek, our eyes locked together.

I feel like he’s hypnotizing me.

“I would appreciate it if you wore a towel,” I manage to say.

“And I’d appreciate if you didn’t parade around here in your booty shorts all day.”

I push his hand off me, narrowing my eyes. Taking a step back, I spin around when a realization hits me. Does Carter . . .? Holy shit. Is Carter checking me out, too?

My heart practically beats through my tank top.

I turn around and look at him over my shoulder. “Oh, you mean these shorts?” I say, arching my back and poking my ass out even more, gauging his reaction.

This time it’s Carter who freezes up, staring as I slowly draw a hand up one side of my shorts.

I flinch, my eyes bulging when I see his cock literally twitch.

He looks up at me and smirks again. “You have a sexy ass, Laces. What do you want me to do about it? Not look, even though you’re shaking it right in front of me? Any man who says otherwise is lying. And you know I wouldn’t lie to you. Not any more, after all we’ve been through.”

I swallow, and turn back around, hands on my hips. “Fuck you Carter. Get your shower fixed. And by the way, it’s common courtesy to wear a towel around your waist, not drape it over your shoulder.”

He shrugs. “Like you mind. Besides, my house, my rules.”

I huff and head back to my room, slamming the door behind me. I collapse on my bed in a pool of sweat.

Entitled. Cocky. Asshole.

None of those words do Carter justice. He’s worse than all of those combined.

I run my hands through my hair and over my neck, letting out a loud exhale. One week down, I remind myself.

Seven to go. And then no more putting up with Carter.

I tremble as I lay on the bed, my legs quivering. I dart my tongue around my lips and take inventory of my body.

My pulse is still quick. I try to deny the impulse coming over me, but that only makes the shiver of pleasure more powerful.

I think about Carter’s hand on my neck. The vibrations of his low voice as he growled against my skin.

I can’t stop myself. I slip a hand under my shorts and down to my opening.

Circling a finger around my already wet clit, I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a moan. A light-headed dizziness comes on, but the pleasure is mixed with tension. I bring my hand away from my mouth and run it over my neck, where Carter touched me. My heart pounds and my eyes flutter.

Heat flashes through my body, and I can’t tell if it’s pent-up desire, or just plain ire. What does it say about me that I’m soaking wet for a man as cocky and dickish as Carter?

My eyes hood, and my thoughts melt away, muddling as I press my fingers down harder. I’m more turned on right now than I ever remember being.

I bet he’s right on the other side of that door.

I fight against this attraction. Somehow I feel as though if I touch myself after he gets me riled up, I’m letting him win.

I can’t help it.

In a fury of madness, I slip my shorts off, spread my legs, and rub my clit harder, arching my hips into my hand and letting go as warmth floods through me. It’s been too long since I’ve done this.

Maybe I just need to do it once, and I’ll get this ridiculous fantasy out of my system after I explore it. Then, I can go back to hating Carter for the asshole he is.

I slip two fingers inside and curl my abdomen.

“Oh yes,” I whisper, and cover my mouth. I put a pillow over my face so he can’t hear my moans.

The feeling crescendos as I let my mind drift off.

I desperately picture Carter on top of me. I can feel the weight of his body as he pushes inside me, as he overtakes me, needing me as badly as I need him.

The thought of Carter coming inside me is what does it.

I cry out into my pillow, my hips quivering as I come harder than I ever have before.

When it’s over, I’m still turned on, breathing hard.

The relief I thought would come over me never comes.

I hate him.

And I want him.

I wish I were lying.

But the truth is exposed as heat rushes through me, no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise.