I was closing the door after Marla when a foot was shoved between the gap. The person on the other side let out a pained grunt but didn’t remove their foot from between the door and the frame. My heart leaped in my chest.

The first thing I worried about was not having makeup on.

As opposed to, you know, having an axe murderer barge into my house un-freaking-announced.

“Who is it?” I demanded. The gap was too narrow for me to see them.

“Karlie. Secret code: Ryan Phillippe. Open up.”

We didn’t have a secret code, but this sounded like what we’d have if we chose one. My nineties-themed heart stuttered. I snorted, swinging the door open. My best friend wiggled her eyebrows with a sultry smile, a dripping bag full of takeout in her raised hand. Since our town only offered a diner, the food truck, and a pizza parlor, my guess was we were in for Italian.

Karlie knew I’d had a rough morning from our text exchange when I’d asked for West’s number, so she’d shown up.

I yanked her inside, smothering her with a hug. She patted my back awkwardly.

“Anyone ever told you you’re an amazing friend?” I ruffled her thick, dark curls with my breath.

“Everyone, and frequently. I come bearing offerings. Pasta, cheap wine, and gossip. We’ll start with the food. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

An hour later, we were lying on my living room couch in an advanced state of food coma, the TV flickering in the background.

I patted my stomach, staring at its hard roundness. I was svelte and small, and sometimes when I had a case of food baby, and my stomach would get all curved, I’d cradle it in front of the mirror and imagine myself as Demi Moore on Vanity Fair’s cover (another favorite nineties nugget). Normally, it made me laugh. But tonight, a little buzzed from the wine, and a lot worried about my grandmomma, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever be pregnant. If I’d meet someone and make a life with him.

Typically, I shoved this kind of stuff to the back drawer in my mind. But ever since West stormed into my life with his battered body and broken soul, he’d jimmied that drawer open and flung out all its contents.

Lust.

Romance.

Longing.

And most dangerous of all—hope.

I wasn’t sure if what he stirred in me was good and hopeful, or disastrous and shattering. Either way, putting my faith in someone who absolutely didn’t want any type of relationship, and didn’t exhibit much interest in staying alive, was both stupid and risky.

“What was that piece of gossip you wanted to tell me?” I nudged Karlie’s shoulder with my foot, suddenly remembering.

Karlie shook her head from the other side of the sofa, her dark hair bouncing around her heart-shaped face. “Okay, so you know Melanie Bush? Small? Blonde? Blue eyes?”

“You’ve literally described sixty percent of Sheridan’s student body.” I laughed. “What about her?”

“So, my friend Michelle ditched our study group this Friday to go to West’s fight against Kade Appleton. Apparently, it was brutal. The mats were so soaked with blood, they had to burn them in the junkyard afterwards. Anyway, so a fight almost broke out after the fight. Some of Appleton’s people came at West, and he basically walked out on them, not giving two craps. But guess what he did on his way out?”

“What?” I tried to keep my tone light, but my spine stiffened, and I felt the food I’d just consumed making its way up my throat. It didn’t take a genius to know what direction this story was taking.

“He basically dragged Mel up the stairs, blood dribbling down his chin, slammed her against the empty elevator bank, and screwed her senseless. He was so out of it, Michelle said Mel wasn’t even sure he was, like, conscious. Mel told her it was insane and carnal and hot as Hades. But that he didn’t even look at her face as he gave her two orgasms.”

“Wow.”

I had to say something, so I went for a word that meant absolutely everything and nothing at all. Wow could be either bad or good. Shocked or sarcastic. Wow was also how I felt when my heart was crushed into miniscule dusty flakes.

“Get this—apparently, he’s a weird lay. Mel said he kept touching her hair while pounding into her, and that he kept talking about Texas.” Karlie screwed her nose. “What do you think our boy has against the Lone Star State? We invented Dr. Pepper, corn dogs, and silicone breast implants. That makes us undoubtedly the best state in the country.”

“Right. So weird,” I mumbled.

That was all I was capable of. Anything else, and my voice would have broken.

Texas.

He’d talked about Texas.

But it wasn’t the state he was referring to, I knew, and a nauseating mixture of white-hot jealousy and euphoria washed over my body.

“Hey, you don’t happen to have ice cream, do you?”

“Let me check,” I offered, relieved to have an excuse to go to the kitchen and regulate my heartbeat.

I knew I was jealous, but I also knew I had no business being jealous.

West wasn’t my boyfriend. Nothing in his behavior, banter, or personality made me believe he’d ever ask me out. If anything, he’d told me flat-out he’d never as much as flirt with me, even if he had found me attractive.

The only thing this story had proven was that he wanted in my pants—not heart—and I’d be wise to remember which part of me he was interested in.

Lord, I needed to get over this stupid crush. Fast.

I took a bucket of ice cream out of the freezer, plucking two spoons from the utensil cabinet. I stabbed the ice cream with one spoon, feeling a scream clogging up my throat.

My own foolishness infuriated me. So what if West wasn’t an asshole to me? It didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole period. He was to Melanie. I just needed to remind myself to stay away from him and take a step back.

Texas.

The man had some nerve saying my nickname while he was inside someone else.

I wanted to kill him. To throttle him. To …

“Shaw! Whaddup? Did you go make the ice cream from scratch?” Karlie hollered from the living room. I looked down and realized the ice cream wasn’t so white anymore. It was flecked with scarlet drops of blood. My blood.

It was turning pink, sliding down the slopes of snowy vanilla mountains. I glanced at my hand. My mouth slacked. I hadn’t used a spoon. I’d taken a dang knife from the drawer.