“You slept with Bailon,” Lucy says in a robotic voice when we meet for eighties night at The Inferno—a nightclub in Cambridge on the first night of my weekend off the following week. My parents will be in Boston tomorrow morning for my birthday, so Lucy had asked me to come out with her to celebrate early. “You. Slept. With. B.”

Bobbing my head in rhythm to Blondie’s “Call Me,” I roll my shoulders and stir my straw around my cocktail. “And you fucked Jace Exley, so …”

She blinks her hazel eyes and opens and shuts her mouth several times before I finally tuck my finger under her chin and close it. She knocks my hand away. “Jamie,” she groans.

“If you give me shit, Luce, I’ll stop telling you about my personal life,” I say with a pointed look. “Let me be a big girl and choose who I do and do not sleep with, okay?”

Fidgeting with the top button of a shirt that’s completely out of place among the grinding bodies and upbeat music, she nibbles at the corner of her bottom lip anxiously. I can tell she has a hell of a lot more to say, but she turns her focus to the LED dance floor and the flashing blue and purple lights. Staring at her profile, I decide it’s a good thing I didn’t divulge all the details from the last seven days.

I’ve seen Mateo every day since the morning he bound my wrists and kept me awake until noon.

It’s thrilling. Thrilling and breathtaking and frightening, but I keep all that to myself as I reach out and give Lucy’s wrist a gentle squeeze. She turns in my direction, and the concern dragging her brows together makes me frown. “I promise I’m fine. It’s good to have fun, Luce.” I finish my cocktail then shimmy out of our tiny booth and crook my finger at her. “Like tonight. We’re celebrating my birthday, so you are going to shake your ass and have a good time.”

Lucy doesn’t dance, so she moves her head from side to side and rolls her eyes. I grab her hand anyway, hauling her out on the dance floor with me. “Ugh, I hate you for being able to move like that,” she grunts as I gyrate my hips to “It’s Tricky.”

Mouthing the lyrics, I grasp her hips and move her in time with the music. “See, you’re dancing now.”

She grumbles that she looks stupid and I shake my head in disagreement as my phone vibrates in my bra. Continuing to dance, I check it, holding up a finger to Lucy when I see it’s Mateo. “Hey,” I shout into the receiver.

I hear him take a breath like he’s about to say something, but then he releases a confused noise. “Is that … ‘It’s Tricky?’”

“It’s tricky, tricky, tricky,” I laugh, and he lets out another low sound from the back of his throat that tells me he’s not impressed. “I’m out with Lucy—it’s eighties night at The Inferno.”

“Eighties music. Your favorite,” he drawls dryly, and I picture a bemused smile lifting the sides of his lips. “Are you drinking?”

“Like a fish. We’re celebrating my birthday since my parents will be here tomorrow and then I have that thing with you—” When Lucy stiffens in the center of the dance floor, I cringe and swallow hard. “So … yeah, what’s up?”

“I was just making sure we’re still on for tomorrow night, but it sounds like we are. How are you getting home? I’m leaving from dinner with a client, but I’d rather I take you home than some Uber driver.” I feel Lucy’s gaze hot on my face as I tell him I have no plan to leave the Inferno anytime soon, but he’s relentless. When I finally say that Lucy’s heading to Jace’s place in a couple of hours, he exhales. “It would have been much easier if you’d have just said that to begin with. I’ll be there to get you when you’re finished.”

“Yes, Dad,” I growl, and he mutters that he has something I can call him, but it’s sure as fuck not dad.

Ending the call, I slip my phone back into my bra and twist my lips to the side at Lucy’s accusatory stare. “Less glaring, more moving,” I say sternly before she can utter a word.

A couple of hours later, Lucy leaves the nightclub a few minutes before Mateo arrives, and I breathe a sigh of relief because they’ve just missed each other. After I promised her I knew how to handle Bailon, she dropped the subject for the rest of the night, and we spent our time together dancing and singing along with the DJ’s soundtrack. Still, I have a feeling putting Luce and Bailon in the same room again will be an awkward situation.

Mateo’s still dressed in a business suit when he strides across the sea of moving bodies and approaches my booth, but he shrugs out of his jacket just before he slides in next to me. “You’re sweaty,” he muses. I’m dancing in my seat, mouthing the lyrics to “Smooth Operator,” but my lips go numb when he reaches out and strokes his thumb across my brow. “Reminds me of last night.”

Ducking my face to my phone case, I avoid his stare as the memories from the night before seep into my brain. “That’s because I’ve been in the bathroom where I was—” He presses a finger to my lips, stopping me before I can finish the joke.

“Careful, Jamila, or you really will find yourself in the bathroom where I’ll be more than happy to make you sweat.” Lowering his hand to my wrist, he slides my fingers to the front of his pants, working my palm up and down his shaft. His dick twitches under the pressure of my hand, and I swallow roughly. This man can get rock hard anytime, anywhere, and I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. “This is what the sight of you does to me, so don’t tempt me.”

“You wouldn’t do it here,” I say softly, and he responds with a look meant to set a fire. He guides our hands from his zipper to mine, grinding our fingertips together over the rough fabric of my jeans, and heat engulfs my entire body. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” I demand, and he gives me a quick shrug.

“Lucy’s gone already, so I think we’re safe from photos.”

I challenge his dark gaze for a long time, and then I finally roll my eyes up toward the ceiling. “You’re an ass, you know that, right?” I grab my purse and start to wriggle out of the booth, but the DJ transitions to another slow song. I pause, smiling.

“Ohh, I love this song.”

He bends his head until his breath heats the back of my ear. “That’s why I requested it.”

I turn my face a little. The tips of our noses touch. He’s close enough to kiss me, and I know that he will with the slightest provocation. “You asked the DJ to play ‘The Beautiful Ones?’” This song is from my favorite scene in Purple Rain—when The Kid is serenading Apollonia. I tell Mateo this, and a cocky little smirk twists his mouth.

“Surprised I remember?”

“A little.” Then again, he had remembered my favorite song is “Cry Baby.” That my perfume is Flowerbomb. It shouldn’t shake me to my core that he still remembers that this song is on the soundtrack of one of my favorite movies. I press my hand to my stomach, gripping a handful of sheer black material as I turn the corners of my lips upward. “I just figured you would have forgotten it by now.”

“Lesson number … fuck, I’ve lost count of what number we’re on, beautiful. I don’t forget a word you say.” When I sink against his body, his lips entwine with mine and I give in, letting him pull me under. His mouth is a magnet, and God, I can’t keep from being drawn to it. His hands are on my collarbone, on my throat, and in my hair as I meet the teasing strokes of his tongue. I break away from him when the song changes—to “Tainted Love”—and I take pleasure in his shallow breaths, the way he rests his shoulders to the back of the booth and carves a hand through his short black hair.

“Shit,” he murmurs.

“So eloquent,” I tease, and he casts a seductive look in my direction.

“What time are you going to dinner with your parents tomorrow?” I tell him six, and he nods his head in understanding. Then, I tentatively suggest that he’s welcome to come with us. His face moves into an expression I’ve gotten used to—frozen fear—and I hold the edges of the table, bracing myself for the letdown.

“Jamie,” he groans, and I move my head up and down, the mere motion painful.

“I know, I know. It’s against … what we are.” God, why does it burn my lungs saying those words aloud? Trembling, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear then start out of the booth. “So, I’ll come to you afterward?”

“Perfect.” He slides out behind me, resting his hand on the small of my back as we head for the exit. “Let’s get you home before I change my mind about the restroom stall.”

* * *

The older I get, the less I look forward to birthdays, but I'm thrilled when my parents show up at my apartment the next morning for my twenty-ninth birthday. I haven't seen them since Christmas, nearly six months ago. Bella wasn't fazed when they announced they were moving to West Palm Beach, but I still remember the weight of disappointment that spread across my chest as I helped Mom and Dad pack up a quarter of their belongings before they sold the rest at a yard sale. I miss them living just an hour up the road, and I squeal and throw myself into their arms the moment I open the door.

Since Bella has plans with Leo and we’re not due to meet up with her until dinner, we spend the afternoon at The Arnold Arboretum —Mom’s suggestion because she knows how much I love flowers—and return to my place to get dressed for the evening.

“You couldn’t have worn what you had on earlier?” my dad teases as I search my apartment for one of the strappy heels I had worn out dancing with Lucy last night. I hear Mom admonish him, and when I turn from the entertainment center, I make a face at the picture frame he’s making with his fingers. He squints out of it, so I cock an eyebrow.

“Um, Dad … what are you doing?”

“You look taller,” he says, and I purse my lips together and point down at the floor. He follows the path my finger makes and snorts when he sees that I’m already wearing one shoe. “You don’t have another pair of shoes you can wear?”

I point down at my fit and flare white sundress with its black belt. “It matches. Of course, if you want me to change the entire outfit—”

“This is worse than when you were a little girl,” Dad grumbles but he’s grinning as my mother tells him to give up and let me find my damn shoe because it’s my birthday.

“Mom gets it,” I say with a grin as I get on my hands and knees to look under the couch. I finally spot it, wedged between the corner of the couch and loveseat, so I reach out to grab it. My fingertips brush up against foil, and the back of my mouth goes dry when I turn my head to the side and see a ripped condom packet.

An early birthday gift from Bailon.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I flick the wrapper beneath the couch and get up, sliding my foot into my shoe. “Ready when you two are.”

* * *

Bella comes to dinner with both Isaac and Leo in tow, and I pretend it doesn’t bother me that I’m alone. Like me, my mother loves babies, and she fawns over Isaac, suggesting that he sits next to her while we eat. Bella and Leo share a look—raised eyebrows and quirked lips—and then we all shuffle around the table until Isaac’s between his father and my mom and I’m seated between Bella and Dad.

“I hope you like carrots with your sweaters,” my sister remarks as Mom helps Leo tie Isaac’s bib in place. Bella nods to our mother’s stark white cardigan. “It’s going to be everywhere, Mom.”

Mom rolls her brown eyes—they’re the same dark shade as mine—and waves her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing that bleach won’t take out. Besides, you stuck handfuls of baby food in your diaper. I think I can handle this.”

Bella’s cheeks light up. She twists toward Leo, swearing to God and every other holy entity that she’s never shoved food in her diapers, and I laugh as I order a drink. Mom’s always been obsessed with keeping photo books, and I vividly recall an incriminating picture of Twin A covered from head to toe in pea-colored goop. Still, when Bella asks me if I remember ever hearing anything about her Beech-Nut obsession, I lift my shoulders. I like Leo, love that my sister glances over at him every few minutes with a lovestoned smile on her face, and I don’t want to embarrass her.

He’s good-looking—he reminds me of the Tyson Beckford poster she hung up on the back of her bedroom door when we were teenagers—and he’s intelligent. Both of my parents were teachers before they retired, and they look like they're about to break into song and dance in their seats when he tells them about the GED prep courses he teaches and his job as a middle school history teacher.

Good for you, Bells.

I’m happy for my sister—ecstatic—so when she gives us her big news right after we exchange gifts and eat dessert, I pretend that the lump in the back of my throat doesn’t exist. That I’m not envious for a split second.

Dad catches on first after Bella returns from the restroom. She's talking about her plans to go back to school for her PA license and moving her hands around her face dramatically like she always does when she talks. My father freezes beside me, bending close to my sister and grabbing her hand. The ring on her finger catches the light, and my head automatically jerks back in surprise.

Dad rubs his fingertip over the diamond, his eyes widening as he lifts his attention to Bella. “Bella, baby, is there something you’ve got to say?” he demands, and every eye at our table but Isaac’s focuses on my sister. Her face is an emotionless mask for a long pause, then she smiles giddily and holds her hand in front of her chest.

“Leo asked me to marry him this morning,” she says.

Holy shit. I suck in my bottom lip, listening as the congratulations and excitement buzz around the table. For a moment, I can’t move.

And it’s not because Bella is getting married before me but because, for a minute, I wish that Mateo was beside me. That even if we’re nothing more than two people hoping to fill a void, he could reach over and touch me like my mother does with my father. Like Bella does with Leo.

Placing a hand against the center of my chest, I clear my throat and meet Bella’s hopeful stare from across the table. It reminds me of the look she gave me when we were sixteen and the boy we both liked asked her to prom. I still regret asking her not to go, so I give her a smile. Pushing myself out of my seat, I walk on unsteady legs to her side of the table. Bending, I wrap my arms around her and touch my lips to her cheek.

“I'm so happy for you,” I murmur. “And if I’m not a bridesmaid in your wedding, I will punch you in the lady junk.”

Her brown eyes glisten as she pulls away from me, and she releases another laugh that’s so uncharacteristically Bella, my heart swells. “Bridesmaid?” She swipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, shaking her head. “Psshh, you’re the damn maid of honor, Twin B.”