Here’s the thing about teenage boys…they never forget a hot girl. They can forget everything else—where they put their iPhone, where they put their car keys or bus pass, what time curfew is—but thanks to their out-of-control hormones, they never forget a great pair of tits.

And they certainly never forget a girl when her great tits are paired with the rest of a boner-inducing package.

So it didn’t make sense that I couldn’t remember Emma from high school.

“Are you sure we went to the same school?”

Social media was always showing one celebrity or another’s doppelgänger—that mystery regular person who could easily be mistaken as the celebrity in question. Maybe my doppelgänger had gone to Emma’s high school.

Sounded feasible.

“You went to Parkdale High School, am I right?” she asked.

Okay—so much for my theory.

“Yes, but I honestly don’t remember you.”

The pain in her eyes? Not a good thing.

“We were in the same history class.”

I cringed and tried to remember my classmates from twelve years ago. I vaguely remembered a cute redhead with curly hair. She had started late in the term and had been in one of my classes, but don’t quiz me on which one. It had been a rough year for me—what with Granny’s stroke. Most of it had been a blur.

“So that’s why you were mad at me in your store—because I don’t remember you from high school?”

“No—and I wasn’t mad at you. I guess the old feelings from what happened after class one day resurfaced when you came into the store.”

“What exactly happened?”

“We had been assigned to be project partners, but Kendra, your ex-girlfriend, told me you dumped me for being a foster kid. According to her, I wasn’t good enough for you to work with.”

“Why would you believe that?” And why did I have no idea what she was talking about? Maybe I had very early onset Alzheimer’s.

“Because our teacher told me you could no longer work on the project with me. He didn’t tell me why—he just told me I had to do it on my own.”

“When was this?” I asked, frowning. I had known back then that Kendra could be a bitch, but she was hot and I was your typical shallow, horny teenage boy. It was during our junior year that I’d had enough of her games and dumped her.

Several weeks later, she’d hooked up with the school’s quarterback.

“I don’t remember exactly. Sometime early spring.”

Christ—now that did sound familiar. “My grandmother had suffered a stroke and because she was all I had, the school made allowances so I could be there for her.”

Emma’s eyes widened, her mouth a perfect O. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Her words were a hard kick to the nuts. Her parents had dumped her when she was a kid, she had been tossed from foster home to foster home, and her asswipe ex-boyfriend had also walked out on her. And what did I do—even if it hadn’t been intentional? Exactly the same.

Shit.

“Believe me, I would never have dumped you as a project partner. If Granny hadn’t had a stroke, we would’ve still been partners—no matter what Kendra said.”

As if to erase the pain I had inadvertently caused her, I kissed Emma. Lightly at first—but it quickly escalated into something more intense. And before long, I was thrusting inside her to choruses of “Oh, God,” and my name.

Afterward, once I’d disposed of the condom and returned to the bed, I pulled her against me and wrapped my arms around her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this with a woman. Usually I’d fuck them, leaving them satisfied, and bail.

I kissed her shoulder, and an odd feeling brushed against me—one that was comforting but at the same time unnerving.

“Is Fanny’s stroke the reason you’re so protective of her?” Emma asked. “And the reason you’re pretending to date me instead of putting your foot down about your dating life?” Her tone was both sweet and non-judgmental like a welcomed hug.

“That, and because she took me in after my parents died. I wasn’t easy on her—being the grieving teen that I was. But no matter what I did—how stupid I was—she was patient and always there for me…until she almost wasn’t.”

“She’s an amazing woman,” Emma said, softly.

“She is.”

“And you’re an amazing grandson.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. If you looked up “amazing grandson” in the dictionary, I could guarantee my photo wouldn’t be there.

The tension in Emma’s muscles melted away as I continued holding her. A moment later, her breathing evened out.

And I was left contemplating if I was making a big mistake when it came to both Granny and Emma.

But at least Emma knew what she had signed up for. When she and I went our separate ways, this time she wouldn’t feel like I had dumped her. I wouldn’t be yet another asshole who had abandoned her like trash on garbage day.