The week skips by like the bleating of lamb to the sexual slaughter. Rowen Garret and that kiss—those kisses—he doled out have been playing on a loop in my mind ever since that destiny based debacle. It’s clear that destiny has lost her mind. There is no way any fate in the universe would have paired the two of us together considering our rocky pasts.

In each of my classes today, there’s been a light buzz regarding the Social Experiment, as their first-round guinea pigs share their twisted tales to anyone and everyone who will listen. Things I’ve learned: one, my experiment was simply a run-of-the-mill exercise that almost everyone who got into my lusty group experienced. It’s refreshing to know that the tongue-twisting dilemma I was faced with also plagued a multitude of my perverted peers. And by the looks of it, the equally perverted geek gods over at the TSE will be commandeering our lives into the ground for the next five frisky weeks in a row. Two: there will be far more than spit swapping taking place if the perverted people at the TSE have their way.

Yeah, right. If Leland University wants to be known for its coital collegiate charm, then be my gullible guest. But I’m guessing that both faculty and alumni alike will revolt long before that ever happens. It’s certainly not happening with yours truly. I plan on keeping both my cherry and my hymen intact long after I’ve vacated Dexter Houston’s experimental stomping grounds.

Rowen and that heated kiss sear through my mind, and I’m quick to shoo them away.

In fact, the deadliest, most damning rumor I’ve heard thus far regarding this satirical social experiment was in line at the food court this afternoon—all footage from the previous weekend is currently undergoing heavy edits. Soon, the questionable geniuses over at the TSE will whittle together an entire reel of cinematic cringe-worthy moments that I will die a slow and tragic death if my brother ever gets wind or sight of. Which brings me to the mission set before me. Barge the hell into Dexter Houston’s office and demand my dignity back. There’s no way I’ll let them earn one YouTube tainted dollar while riding on my digitally altered coattails. I’ll barricade the door shut with my body if I have to and segue straight into hostage negotiation mode. Although, something tells me negotiations will grow rapidly hostile should he review footage of those heated kisses Rowen and I shared. I’m no fool. Everyone knows heat like that equals ratings, and if Rowen and I brought anything to the hot and heavy table, it was heat and plenty of it. Yes, Braden will suffer a major cardiac malfunction if he channel surfs his way to my steamy lip-lock.

I can just imagine Braden and Becca cozied up in their apartment, settling for a nice night in, perusing their selections for the evening, and stumbling upon yours truly sucking face with the affirmed enemy of the state. Rowen has not only been persona non-grata for the last few years, he’s been relegated to the speak no evil category of existence. I honestly don’t remember the last time my brother or I dared to whisper his name in fear of calling him to us like some demon incantation. Nope. If Braden sees physical evidence of me locking lips with his adversary, he might not make it to kill either Rowen or me. Just the sight of the travesty is enough to stop my brother’s heart cold. And a dead brother is something I can’t afford, considering I’m already down one nuclear family member. And to make things worse—I not only Frenched his archenemy, I went in with my tongue a waggin’, ready and willing for round two. I should have run like hell when I had the chance. That would have been a colossal blow to his ego—penile pun intended.

Classes for the day are all thankfully through. I’ve already told Vi and Ember that I’d meet them at the Underground for a quick dinner. I have an essay to write and six comments to make on the student boards before I call it quits on another day. It seems like this entire week has been an awful climb to the inevitable weekend. There’s another home game tomorrow night, then the day after I’m to report for duty in Dexter’s naughty lab. All week I’ve feared catching a simple glimpse of the university’s star quarterback. What would I do? What would he do? Would he make a beeline for me and my ultra-friendly lips? Or does he want to run because he’s suddenly far more repulsed by me than he ever thought possible?

I try my best to shake all ruminating thoughts of that colossal douchebag out of my mind. Instead, I take in the crisp autumn air, scented with the pines, admire the serene gray skies, the aspen trees rioting in colors ranging from Cougar cardinal to golden yellow. It’s a rainbow of all of fall’s greatest offerings. Last year, while I was still filling out my college applications, it was this moment right here I was waiting for. There is nothing like fall in Moon Ridge. I had long since romanticized what my freshman year would be like, and in every heart-shaped scenario it was always fall playing its apple red harmony in the background. Ironically, Rowen Garret may have starred in one or twelve of those little schoolgirl fantasies, but that’s neither here nor there. I had no clue that my secret superpower was turning nonsensical daydreams into a harsh reality. If I had that little tidbit way back when, I’d be selling off my Internet start-up to investors in Silicon Valley for a cool eight billion right about now.

Instead, I’m only steps away from ground zero, the psychology department that houses that coward that has this entire campus in a sexual tizzy.

“Sophie!”

My foot hits the first marble step that leads to the building, and I freeze.

“Sophie.” Braden pops up and snags my backpack from me. We share the same dark hair and hazel eyes, but Braden has some indiscernible features of my mother’s buried in his face, and it both charms and alarms me each time I see him. The backpack thing is a spine-breaking habit that he initiates each time he sees me on campus. Usually I’d snatch it right back and lecture him on treating me like a six-year-old, but I’m ironically tongue-tied at the moment. “Where you off to? You got a class this late?” He winces toward the Gothic looking hall with its thirty-foot arches and limestone walls covered with those offensive orange posters falsely advertising that a love connection could be yours today! It’s pretty clear no marketing majors utilized their gray matter in the making of the Social Experiment’s ad campaign.

“No, actually, I was just about to meet some friends for an early dinner at the Underground.” I jerk my head oddly toward the building. “Just running in to use the bathroom.” Lying to my brother? I swore on my dead mother’s grave that I wouldn’t be one of those girls who ran around behind her brother’s back. In fact, I scoffed at the idea, even went as far as to roll my eyes at the lunacy. What would I ever have to hide from Braden? My big bro and I are close, and I intend on keeping it that way. In fact, when Mindy jumped the BFF ship, Braden stepped right into her place—sort of. Mindy and I were far closer, but Braden does his best to fill in the gap. Admittedly, there are a handful of hygienic-based topics one does not ever wish to broach with her own brother.

“Good.” Those serious eyes of his narrow over mine accusingly. “For a second there, I thought you were diving in to get your name on that ridiculous list.” He shakes his head at a gaggle of girls who just meandered from the mouth of the building as if judging their questionable ethics. And according to their short little skirts, their tight-fitting sweaters, and tall furry boots, they’ve dressed to impress someone. That someone is most likely Dexter Houston himself. His minions are still setting out their nets, trying to trap as many unsuspecting tight-sweater-wearing coeds as possible.

“Who me? Never!” Lie number two spills like oil. “I can’t imagine being desperate enough to give away your license to find someone on your own and rely on a hard drive to lead you to true love.” I honk out an obnoxious ha! “More like true herpes. I heard opening day was nothing more than a mass sweep to first base. Disgusting if you ask me.” I shove my finger down my throat and mock gag. “Don’t people around here have better things to do than consensually gift one another communicable diseases?” Shit, shit, shit! I’m laying it on too thick. I can practically see his bullshit radar going up. I try to navigate us the hell away from that infernal hot spot, but Braden steps in front of me.

“I thought you had to use the restroom?” He’s back to squinting at me, only this time he looks unsure of what to make of me. In this case, confusion is a good thing. Mostly. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“In there?” I gawk back at the building as if it were a house of horrors. “In hindsight, I’d best hightail it back to my dorm. I’m a sitter, not a squatter. And God only knows what they’re cooking in those petri dishes they call toilets.” So not a lie.

“Geez.” Braden thankfully laughs off my madness. “I’m glad I caught you. It’s Becca’s birthday this Saturday, and I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

“Dinner? Like in the evening?” As in after my mandated playdate with Rowen Garret’s mouth? Not that I have any intention on showing up to that oral meet and greet. Rounds one and two have offered plenty of fodder to supply my fantasies for years to come. And believe you me, I will be coming for years.

I openly cringe at the idea that rather raunchy thought just crossed my mind as I stared my own brother down to his face. As much as I’m loath to admit it, Rowen still reigns supreme when I’m left to wander freely my filthy imagination.

“Yes, like evening,” he teases while giving my hair a quick tousle. “I thought we’d head over to Pinewood Steakhouse around five. Her parents and brother will be there—Tanner Carmichael.” Braden shoots me with his fingers while twisting his hips in an odd little dance. “Come on.” He taps me over the arm. “Dad said he’d try to stop by. It’ll be fun.”

Just the mention of Tanner Carmichael has me shuddering. First and foremost, Tanner is no selling point. But I don’t bother letting my brother in on this little awkward tidbit. Tanner is nice for the most part, but there’s just something unsettling about the way Braden and Becca have been trying to set us up as of late. I realize it’s his sister’s birthday party, but in the back of my mind a warning light is going off, alerting me to the fact this birthday bonanza might just play into their grand scheme of pushing the two of us together. And the fact that Dad will “try to make it” can easily be explained away by the fact Stan and Clarissa Carmichael—aka the duo genetically responsible for my newfound Tanner Carmichael aversion, are obnoxious to a fault. It’s no wonder my poor father tries to duck and roll every chance he gets. Ever since my mother’s passing, he hasn’t had much of a social life, and when he does, it often involves his dog and a beer.

“I’m sure it will be loads of fun.” I don’t bother curbing the sarcasm around my big bro. “Will Granny Panties be there?” About six months ago, Clarissa challenged my father to test drive one of her newly single friends. Who the hell sells someone on a date with the words test drive? You test drive cars, not people. And ever since my father copped to the potential dating test drives—which he’s successfully avoided—I’ve envisioned this newly single woman in the form of reliable yet cringe-worthy cotton underwear, thus the moniker Granny Panties was born.

“No.” He folds his arms across his chest and rains his disappointment over me the way only big brothers can do. “Be nice. And be nice to Tanner.” His lip twitches in that weird way that it’s prone to do when he’s keeping vital precious info from me.

“Why do I have to be nice to Tanner? Honest to God, Tanner doesn’t need me to fill his plus one slot. He’s on the Bixby football team. He’s a baller. Everyone knows all you need to score a touchdown in the bedroom these days is a team-issued jersey.” Tanner isn’t exactly the sole reason Braden and Becca defect from their soon-to-be alma mater to watch our crosstown rivals play, but he’s their first excuse. The real reason is that neither Braden nor Becca wants to cheer as Rowen dominates the field time and time again. Braden despises his old best friend. And Becca? Well, she took a ride on that Colossus when it was still giving solo expeditions, so there’s that. Becca was Rowen’s plus one for as far back as I can remember.

Braden clicks his tongue in disgust. “Can you like buy a filter for that thing? The last thing I want to discus with you is a touchdown in the bedroom.” He wipes his face down with his hand as if that act alone could make my carnal mind disappear. “Look, Tanner might have been asking about you lately. Be warned. There might be a very real invite for coffee lurking around the corner.” He shrugs it off. “Again, be nice.” He walks backward on his way off campus and nearly eats it in a planter box. “Dinner Saturday night!”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” I will find a way to miss it.

As soon as Braden is out of sight, I hightail it back to the psychology department, but the double door entry to the official TSE headquarters is sealed shut with a bright orange sign that reads Looking for LOVE? Be here, starting at 8:00 a.m.!

Perfect. Just as destiny would have it, I’ve missed my chance to excise myself from those edit reels and to tell Dexter Houston where he can shove them.

Crap. But deep down, I’m well aware that the only thing I’m really missing is my dignity.

That lava hot kiss comes back to haunt me, and, truthfully, I’d gladly trade what’s left of my faux honor for one last venture in Rowen Garret’s mouth.

* * *

The Underground Tavern is teeming with girls in short, tight everything, far too much lip-gloss, and too little cleavage coverage for me to feel comfortable. But, that being said, the nachos are begging me not to judge their inevitable yumminess upon the company they keep, so here I am. As soon as I stepped inside, I spotted Vi and Ember at a table near the back, which is perfect because I begged them to find somewhere quasi-clandestine in the event I spotted Leland University’s favorite roller coaster god stroll in with a hussy on his—

A hard body knocks into mine, and I jump back in time as he spills his beer between us. We glance up at the same time, and our shocked expressions turn to horror.

Rowen and I stop shy of any I’m sorries we might have otherwise doled out, or the polite excuse me we would have afforded a total stranger. Instead, we linger like that a few shell-shocked seconds too long. After all these years, here I’ve bumped into Rowen Garret twice in one week. Those pale gray eyes sit wide as dinner plates. That dark, thick hair makes my fingers ache to run right through it—don’t get me started on those full, soft lips. And just like that, he gives a partial nod and ducks on out of the bar as if nothing ever happened. As if his mouth hadn’t been fused to mine for several erotic minutes just less than seven days ago. As if he never knew me at all.

Stunned, I head back to where Vi and Ember sit with matching grimaces.

Vi swallows hard. “I’d ask how your day went, but I think I just observed the shit-fest for myself.”

Em slides her ice water my way. “That was brutal. No lube, just bend over so I can humiliate you one more time. You’d think he would have penned your tonsils a thank you note by now. Asshole.”

I toast her with the glass of ice water, seeing that I’m actually at a loss for words for once—and in desperate need of a cool down as I chug it back as if there were an entire choir of frat boys chanting me on.

The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders—a trio of nachos. It’s not that we’re averse to sharing a plate as much as it is we’re honest enough to each pony up for our very own feast. That’s one of the things I like best about Vi and Ember—they’re foodies, like me.

“So, what’s your next move?” Vi flips a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the gold chandelier earrings I’ve been dying to borrow. I’m thinking they’ll look particularly good on Saturday while I stare at the wall wondering why the hell I didn’t triple dog dare myself to shove another part of Rowen’s body into one of my free orifices.

A quick heat spikes through me. “I’m contacting Dexter’s rat lab in the morning and canceling all future appearances. I refuse to star in their slut shaming show. Besides, it occurred to me I might actually kill my brother if I let this farce go on. But judging by the way Ro-the-Man-Ho just slighted me at the door, it doesn’t look like he was up for another round of kiss and tell.” I make a face, and I can feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Just the thought of such a harsh rejection makes me want to run all the way back to Canterbury Hall and burrow under the covers. I’m usually not one to cry into my pillow. I’m more the throat punch, claw their eyes out type of girl, but in this case a soggy pillow might just be the only resolution. Besides, the entire Cougar cheer squad might come after me if I inadvertently, on purpose take down their star player.

The nachos show up in record time, only to affirm the fact my appetite took off right along with Rowen.

“I heard”—Vi’s eyes enlarge as she stares down her dinner—“that if you’re a no-show, they’re required to inform your matchup that you’re no longer interested.”

“Why’s that?” I’m only vaguely interested at this point.

“Something to do with legal.” She looks to Em for assistance, seeing that she’s prelaw. Not that prelaw actually means anything. Everyone knows that prelaw is nothing more than a state of mind.

“It’s a cease and desist.” Ember nods as if she has this on good authority.

“I guess it makes sense.” My wheels are turning, and, for once, I happen to like the direction they’re headed in. “That way both parties are fully aware there’s no longer a reason to pursue one another.” This is something I can work with. “I’m pretty sure Rowen won’t be showing up to the kissing booth this weekend.” I can’t even bring a faux smile to my face for that one. Sure, he’s an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I want him to outright reject me. “I’ll show up.”

Both Vi and Ember choke on their cheesy next bite.

“Relax.” I slide Em’s water back her way. “He won’t be there, so all tonsil hockey awkwardness will fully be off the table.”

“Then why go?” Vi’s eyes glitter with tears on behalf of my impending humiliation.

“Because someone from Dexter’s evil lab will report this little tidbit back to my favorite jockstrap. And if he has a beating heart in that dark cave of a chest, he’ll feel like a turd. That will be my parting sucker punch. He probably doesn’t think I’ll show either.”

“I see.” Ember nods into my impending lunacy. “He’ll be eating a shit sandwich once he realizes he was the ass in the equation. And if he does have an ounce of humanity, he’ll hate himself for standing you up.”

“One can only hope.” For a moment, I envision him kicking over furniture once he realizes the devastation he might have caused. Once upon a time, Rowen had a heart of gold and wouldn’t dream of tormenting a single soul. He was the type of guy that went out of his way to make sure the shy kid at school had someone to talk to. No matter what your social standing, it was safe to say that Rowen Garret had your back. That is, until he dumped his girlfriend and gave your entire family the finger. “Anyway, as much as I want to be the one doling out the rejection, I think doling out the guilt trip is just as sublime.”

“Oh my God!” Vi gasps and practically ducks behind me.

“Relax, it’s not you I’m rejecting.” I scoot back, trying to assess how badly I’ve emotionally damaged my new friend.

“Not that.” Her fingers squeeze my arm at Mach 5. “We need to leave asap.” She digs some cash out of her purse and tosses it onto the table as if it were confetti.

“What’s the matter?” Ember does a quick glance at the establishment and comes up empty. “Is this about Sophie refusing to take a ride on the Colossus?”

“Would you shush?” Now it’s me shooting a suspicious glance around as we scamper toward the exit.

Vi yanks both Em and me past the wall in the foyer and gives a careful one-eyed look back into the bar. “That’s him.”

“That’s who?” I look in the general direction at a trio of guys, each with a dark cap of hair and various L.U. sweatshirts on. It’s amazing how much school spirit abounds, and we’re just getting out the gate in the school year. I don’t ever remember being so gung-ho about wearing any apparel emblazoned with my high school mascot—the big horny looking pirate—but now that I’m at Leland, I suddenly have Cougar fever right along with the rest of the student body.

“Lame,” she whispers so low it’s hardly audible, but both Ember and I gasp.

“What?” I squawk so loud she swats me over the arm. “What’s he doing here? I bet he’s scoured the entire campus looking for you.”

“He goes here.” It comes out depleted.

“You didn’t say he was at Leland!” I’m panicked for her. For one, I predict many more run-ins with Lame. And two, he goes to Leland! Vi made it sound as if he were on an entirely different planet.

“Which one is he?” I whisper. All three of the boys who have bellied up to the bar are handsome in their own way—the first a little too frat boy for my liking, the second a sad looking case with the perennial look of brooding painted on his face, and the third a beefed-up, angry looking dude guaranteed to belch as he passes you in the hall.

“The one in the middle.”

“Ah, the brooding lovelorn lad.” I pause a moment to take in his inherent godlike looks. “If it makes you feel better, he seems about as miserable as you are.”

Ember gives the back of my leg a kick. Sometimes a little too much truth among friends calls for a remedial level of violence.

“Good.” Vi huffs a dull laugh. “If he’s half as miserable as I am, then I’m more than satisfied with the outcome of our demise.”

“At least you’re in a healthy frame of mind about the shithole you’re in,” I say as Em kicks me again, and the three of us head out into the waiting arms of the icy cold world. We head back into the general direction of Leland, walking slower and less enthused than when we first started out.

“You know”—I wrap an arm around Vi and Ember as we cross the street—“I never came to Leland expecting to find true love, but I was sort of hoping to find a few good friends, and I think I’ve already done that. I just want you guys to know that this semester couldn’t be off to a better start.”

Vi and Ember share a quick glance before sputtering into one of those repressed choo-choo train laughs that progressively grows in its obnoxiousness.

“What’s so funny?” I do a quick roll call of all the liquids we imbibed at the bar, and not one of them was of the obnoxious laughter inducing variety, which can only mean one thing—the obnoxious choo-choo train laughter is aimed directly at me.

“You’re funny.” Vi smirks as if I’m in on the joke. “Come on, admit that you enjoyed the hell out of that kiss with Restless Rowen and his colossal tongue. You and I both know that little saliva swap added the pep to your freshman semester step.”

“Yeah right, more like the sorrow to my tomorrow.” I avert my gaze at the cheesy one-liners I’ve been reduced to. “As soon as Saturday comes and goes, I plan on forgetting that kiss ever happened. In fact, I suggest the two of you forget it happened as well. God forbid my brother gets wind of it.”

Ember titters as if it were the best news. “A dirty little secret just among the three of us? It looks as if the fall semester is off to a great start.”

Vi gives a nervous glance of her own over her shoulder. “It’s a great start all right.”

We pass Coffeeology, and my gaze lingers on those wide lit windows just looking for a sign of the boy who seared my lips, my memory with a kiss that try as I might, I will never forget. And then I see him. Rowen’s back is to me as he leans over his sandwich and takes an angry bite.

“A great start,” I echo with as much trepidation as my new friend.

It’s a lousy start. But the wild beating of my heart says otherwise.

* * *

Friday night at the game, the three of us sit together in the middle of the student section, cheering for the home team as if we had money on the line. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, my heart gives a few deadly wallops once Rowen’s picture appears on that big screen hovering over the stadium. That heavenly thick, dark hair of his that my fingers had the pleasure of running through makes my lips beg to twitch into a smile. It was far softer than I imagined, cool and slick, still damp from the shower. Rowen’s skin held the scent of fresh evergreens and exotic—erotic spices. But that scruff on his cheeks. That tender spot between my thighs quivers just thinking about the stubble that grazed my skin for oh so many luscious seconds.

After the game—a win, a loss, honestly, at this point it’s one in the same, I couldn’t focus—I head straight back to my dorm. Em and Vi went out for a bite, and no matter how much they pleaded, I opted for a steamy read, alone in bed. The last thing in the world I want to witness tonight is Rowen pointing his penile divining rod at some bimbo as he leads her off into the sexual sunset. It was bad enough witnessing the coital ritual take place last week—prior to enduring our own tongue trauma together the following day. God, that kiss alone has probably exposed me to all kinds of dicey diseases. I’ll have to get inoculated no thanks to Vi and my willingness to get her back into the dating scene.

By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m a nervous wreck. It takes hours for me to shower, dress, and try to make myself look halfway decent for my impending, quasi-orchestrated rejection.

Vi and Ember walk me all the way to the psychology department as far as the stern looking sign that reads Group A contestants only will allow.

“Contestants.” I scoff at the term. “And what, pray tell, am I aiming to win other than a shot of antibiotic resistant herpes and the promise of a broken heart?”

Ember straightens the velvet choker around my neck. “Nobody is allowed to break your heart, and if they do—I’ll break them.” Her purple lips—MAC Heroine, a color I adore and plan to swap, borrow, and steal as soon as I get my sanity back—break out into a giant disconcerting grin, and as much as I appreciate a good verbal threat, I can’t seem to smile back. God knows there’s nothing as precious as a friend who freely threatens physical violence to those that hurt you. In my case, she might be forced to make good on her word. Whether I like it or not, Rowen has already painfully twisted my heart.

The three of us engage in an awkward group hug just as my sensei, Seth, meets me. He’s quick to whisk me back to hair and makeup, talking a mile a minute about how great I was last time as if he were the one I was gifting an oral massage to with my tongue. Emily, the makeup fairy, takes over and I’m prodded, plucked, and swatted over and over again with camera friendly powder. But at the end of my rather aerobic transformation, my skin looks flawless, and interestingly enough, I hardly recognize this magazine ready version of myself staring back from the mirror. I would give anything to put Emily in my pocket and take her home with me. There is something comforting and luxurious about having someone else sweep the bushy tail of a makeup brush over your features for minutes on end. Soon after my metamorphosis from drab to fab, Seth picks me back up and leads me to the room with the ominous door that reads talent only, and every cell in my body tingles to life at the sight of it.

Seth offers me a seat on a nearby stool, but I shake my head. He’s already filled me in on the fact that today’s endeavor consists of another tongue lashing—ten luscious lashing minutes, not that it’s in the cards for the two of us. But my God if it were… My mouth salivates just thinking about the oral possibilities.

Seth leans in with his face scrunched up in outward scrutiny as if he’s tracking a flea across my face. “Today’s experiment should go well. Ten minutes, no lights.”

“And then what?” My heart thumps just envisioning what it might be like if Rowen did show. Ten minutes of free-falling into Rowen Garret’s mouth. Ten minutes of his hard body pressed to mine—that pretentious, heady cologne taking over my senses. The sweet spot at the base of my thighs bucks just thinking about it.

Seth’s brows rise in amusement. “And then you take a simple quiz and you’re free to leave. No light show this time, hon. It’s solely a sensory exercise. When the bell rings, you’re to leave immediately.”

“How very Pavlov of you. Just up and run like a common street thug?”

Seth offers a forced grin. “You’re a riot, you know that? But I guess you have to have a good sense of humor to get you through something like this.”

“Something like this? You’re not judging me, are you?” I’m not sure if I should be offended or alarmed. Hell, forget Seth. I should be judging me!

“Heavens no.” He clears his throat and his face, his entire shiny bald head lights up a shade of pomegranate. “Let’s discus next week. Should the two of you decide to go on with the experiment, we’ll start the one-on-one dates. The TSE will choose the first venue.” A devilish dimple goes off in his chin, and I begin to worry. Should I trust a man with a dimpled chin? What if it’s a winking dimpled chin? Crap. My mother left no such instructions. What I wouldn’t give to have one more one-on-one with my mother. “Don’t worry. It will be somewhere very, very public.” He puts an unusual emphasis on it as if I should expect to star in a Broadway musical with Rowen after the coffin-like closet they locked the two of us in. It only makes sense. “A park or a café.”

The thought of Rowen and me being anywhere near a public establishment makes me cringe with regret.

“Everything okay?” Seth pulls out his nifty little box of mints from hell, and I scoop up a handful and chomp them down as if I had been sucking on an onion all night.

“I’m more than okay.” My voice shakes, calling me out on the lie, and I nearly choke in the effort. Damn mints. “So just to clarify. If he doesn’t show up, he’s still notified that I did, right?” I don’t want to have any misgivings about Rowen and me heading on a one-on-one date next week. This ends tonight, in less than two minutes to be exact. T minus one hundred twenty seconds to my ego’s demise. A part of me wishes he’d show up with bells on. That the thought of us not continuing might actually incite in him an unnatural level of devastation.

“Oh, yes. The TSE is adamant about making a clean break. Both parties sign a clause of termination.”

“Clause of termination?” God, it sounds so serious. He’s standing me up, not divorcing me. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have come. Who the hell cares if he feels bad? If we both stood each other up, it would be amicable. But no. In typical me fashion, I go for the jugular whenever possible. Usually a cutthroat move like this would usher a dark smile to my lips, but a part of me feels silly grasping for an outlet of revenge. Revenge. That’s what this is really about. I want Rowen to hurt as much as I did when he walked out of our lives without so much as a middle finger. A part of me would do anything to have him hurt a fraction of the amount that I did. I suppose in the grand scheme of what went down, I was the low man on the totem pole. Certainly he broke Becca’s heart—although, the way she was instantly jumping my brother’s bones in the living room you wouldn’t really know it. And for sure Braden was hurting. Rowen was his best friend. I miss the crap out of Mindy, so I know that Braden must have missed Rowen no matter how savage their blowup was.

“Don’t worry.” Seth snaps shut his tiny tin of minty terror. “The termination notice is just a formality.”

The little red light goes on, and Seth escorts me over and opens the dark hole of regret I’m about to entomb myself in.

“He’s already in.” Seth gives a quick wink. “The partition will lift momentarily.” And with that, he gives a firm shove and seals me in the dark closet.

“He’s in?” I hiss, and a loud and annoying buzzer goes off.

“No speaking in the control room,” a nebulous voice reprimands from above.

Control room? Aren’t you in the control room, I’m tempted to shout but don’t, because holy hell, Rowen is just one luscious kiss away.

The partition glides up with a quiet whoosh, and instantly the scent of his cologne envelops me.

A pair of sturdy hands pats my waist carefully, making their way up my arms before giving a quick squeeze of assurance once they hit my shoulders.

My heart belts out a few last-minute wallops before it undoubtedly expires. A rush of dizziness hits me, and I can feel the floor sway beneath me. Passing out is not only a possibility at this point—it’s a promise.

I latch onto his arms, hard and round as tree trunks, and work my way up until my fingers sink into that luscious silky hair of his. It’s so thick and slick I could be happy doing this for ten minutes straight, but instead, I opt for the practical and pull his head gently toward mine. But this time, I’m not gunning for his lips—it’s his ear I’m interested in. My mouth skirts over the soft scruff on his cheeks, and my entire body quivers uncontrollably. Dear God, if I thought last week’s adventure in the dark could have easily killed me, this week’s advent into groping has me orgasmic before we hit go. Not that we’re going to hit go. In fact, I’m putting a stop to this right this minute.

My breathing picks up so fast I can’t catch my breath. I bury my mouth next to his ear, breathing heavily like some pervert, and, instead of rejecting him, I’m giving him the impression I’m about to lose control just from his simple touch. I might, but that’s beside the point.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper so low I pray the gods of the social debacle didn’t catch on. No buzzer goes off, so there’s that. That tiny bit of rebellious vindication is all I need to feel empowered once again.

Rowen leans in and sets his lips to my temple. “What are you doing here?”

The buzzer goes off like a shrill alarm in the middle of a comfortable dream, only too bad for me because I can’t reach over and bang the shit out of that Baby Ben.

I swallow hard, too afraid to say anything. Was Rowen hoping that I would ditch him so that I could eat a shit sandwich come morning? Or does he really want to be here? I’m thoroughly confused.

The darkness thickens around me. His warm body presses tight to mine. His warm breath sears over my cheek, and my panting hits an all-time high. Here I am, alone in the dark with Rowen, hyperventilating myself into an anxiety attack over the fact he didn’t screw me over and leave me to my own self-righteous misery.

Then it happens. Rowen brushes his lips over my cheek as if testing the waters, and my heart thuds so loud I’m positive he felt it straight down to his marrow. I’m pretty sure those bimbos he beds nightly don’t have a nuclear detonation going off in their chests from his simple touch. I’d probably be the first girl to keel over if we ever played mattress tag. Death by the prospect of Rowen’s penis. Probably not the worst way to go.

His mouth drags over my cheek, slowly, carefully until he hits my lips, and he backs away as if he just kissed a live coal.

My entire body turns into one pulsating heartbeat filling in the silence with its enormous pounding. My palms flatten over his chest, completely convinced that at any second he’ll do an about-face and bolt, but he doesn’t. Instead, Rowen wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in tight. Those fingers of his depress into my back, and I die ten tiny deaths at his commanding touch. His chest hammers over mine just as wild and anxious as my own, and I can’t help but bite down on a smile. A heavy sigh expels from him as his minty breath rains lightly over me. Oddly, it feels safe like this with Rowen, as if somehow we had stopped all of the madness, and having him near me—perhaps not this near, but nevertheless, it feels as natural as breathing.

He leans in, and his nose bumps over mine for a moment before his lips tread lower and hit pay dirt right over my own. Home. Rowen’s lips found the forever home I’d love to give them. His soft tongue breaks in like a thief, and I open up and welcome it with my own. I pull him close by the back of the neck with a fury and launch an assault over his mouth that rivals anything that happened in this room last week. Rowen probes my mouth as if he were looking for a lost treasure, something he demands to have back in his possession and will stop at nothing to find.

A part of me wants to believe that I am that treasure—that I’m the object of desire Rowen Garret will stop at nothing to get back, but I can rest assured my little schoolgirl crush is a one-way road. This, right here, is simply Rowen being Rowen. This is who he is now. The kissing colossus. The player. The boy every girl beds as a graduation requirement, and this dark, cloistered, heated kiss is simply my moment in the limelight.

His hand slowly massages my back as his kisses soften to something sensual, something elegant, and dare I say sweet. Rowen kisses with an exuberant vigor. This isn’t some frat boy pecking, some wild, controlling, you’re-going-to-laid lashing just to hustle me to the nearest mattress. Not that I would be familiar with either of those tactics. But I do know this. Rowen’s determined, careful kiss has the underpinnings of yearning, of an indelible wanting that neither of us seems to be able to fulfill. It will take a lifetime to quell this sweet ache. I want it to.

His grip on me intensifies as he pulls me closer than I thought possible, and my leg hikes over his muscular frame. In one clean swoop, Rowen picks me up by the thighs until I’m sitting on his hips, over that growing hardness just under my bottom, my legs entwined behind his back. His strong arms hold me steady as we continue to probe into one another’s mouths, and silently, invisibly, into one another’s lives.

I’ve missed Rowen. And selfishly I’ve wanted this. Too bad that for him I’m just another girl in the dark, ready and willing to give him whatever it is he wants.

It’s hard not to.

I don’t think I could stop.

A bell goes off overhead, and the doors slip open letting in a sliver of light at either end of the room.

Rowen loosens his grip, and I slide down his body like a luge. His face is shadowed, but I can see the lines of his comely features, those ultra downy lips of his that he’s graced me with for the last ten minutes.

The bell sounds once again. “Please leave the control room,” that nebulous voice hums from above.

But our eyes lock, and it seems impossible to move.

Rowen’s gray eyes look crystal clear as they glow in this dim light. They’re saying something to me, pleading with me, and I can’t quite grip what they’re trying to tell me. And just like that, Braden and Becca pop to mind—that dinner party at the Pinewood Steakhouse—the hurt that Rowen put all of us through. I land my hands over his chest, and as much as my head demands I shove him into tomorrow, my palms fan out over his muscular build in the shape of a heart instead. Rowen still has mine hostage.

And after I poured all of my best kisses into him, I think he knows it.

I dart out of the room, ignore Seth, skip the quiz, and bolt straight for Canterbury Hall instead. I need a long hot shower and maybe a nap if I plan on facing my brother in the next two hours. Braden would kill me if he knew what just took place. He would kill Rowen, too, but let’s face it, he’s been looking forward to committing that homicide for the last three years.

But I will never tell.

Rowen and I have a secret.

A soulfully delicious, achingly sweet secret that I will cherish forever.