In short, the game was fab. Yes, Rowen stole the show. Yes, he had every single ovary in that stadium popping each time he took command of the field. There was something spectacular about seeing him on that big screen, his perfect face blown up to the size of a Cadillac. My heart thumped so loud both Vi and Ember thought I had strapped a bomb to my chest.

Then in what is quickly growing to be an after game ritual, the three of us hop over to the Underground to whoop up our home turf victory with the rest of the Cougar family.

No sooner do we get there than I spot Braden and Becca sitting near the bar.

“Whoa.” I marvel at the two of them happily drinking beers, Becca with a goofy grin on her face, and my brother looking like he’s about to kill somebody. “I’ll be back. Something is wrong in the great state of Meyer-ville.” Not that Becca is a Meyer, but with the way things seem to be progressing between the two of them, some serious bling seems imminent at some point in the future. My mind drifts back to Rowen. I can’t imagine how weird for him it must have been to have the girl he was in love with, bedding on a regular basis, suddenly doing those same things with a boy who was more or less a brother to him. I’ve never been Becca’s biggest fan—most likely because we’ve never really clicked, but seeing them both here has me panicked. Everyone on campus knows the team is bound to show up at some point tonight. It’s practically a Cougar ritual.

“What’s up, guys?” I give them both a quick hug. I can’t help but note that Becca looks particularly vampy this trashy evening with her hair and makeup looking as if she’s striving to be America’s next top Goth model. But that outfit? Showing off tits and ass isn’t her usual MO, and now I’m half-afraid she’s really here because she wants to steal Rowen Garret’s heart back. And looking like that? She may not get his heart, but she is guaranteed to get his attention. I just hope she doesn’t get his roller coaster going.

“What’s up with you?” Braden pats the seat next to him. “You look good.” He frowns like it’s a bad thing. I may have done my hair and makeup as if I were in the final running for America’s Next Top Model myself—not that it were even a possibility, but a girl can dream. I did, however, forgo the tits and ass expo, partially due to the abrupt climate change that’s vexed our neck of the woods. It’s threatening to drop to the thirties out there, and if that storm hits, we could wake up to a winter wonderland come morning. Besides, I was sort of hoping it would be me that Rowen would notice. Sure, we left off on a sour note, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to drive him crazy with all the womanly wiles I have to offer. Those kisses weren’t exactly one-sided. He’s at least a little bit interested, right? But Becca’s perky blonde Barbie charm is quickly deflating my happy-go-lucky attitude, and I’m suddenly feeling the urge to head home and bury my nose in a book.

“So”—I start off slow as if I’m speaking to a couple of idiots—“did you see that game?” I sock thin air with my mock enthusiasm. “Go Cougars! Another at home win!”

Braden’s brows furrow before flattening into a line. I’ve always felt as if he morphed into the monster from Frankenstein when he does that, and considering he’s basically the male version of me, it doesn’t bode well for my own aesthetics.

“Yes, we did see it.” Braden is slow with the confession.

“You did?” I practically scream the words out in disbelief. Becca and Braden haven’t been to a Cougar football game since the incident happened. Are they even aware of the fact Rowen is still on the team? Hell, that he is the team?

“Yes.” Becca scoffs before sucking the foam off her beer. I bet she’d like to suck the foam off someone else’s beer, too—Rowen’s. “It’s our senior year. It’s about time we do whatever we want on this campus. I’m tired of being bound by old ridiculous chains. We went to the game. Big deal.”

“Did Bixby play?” God, if they missed Tanner’s game to watch Rowen perform, this just hit critical mass.

“They had a bye.” Braden gives a nervous glance around. “So, this is what you do now? You hang out in bars with your friends?”

“Yup, and you should see the douchebags I go home with.” I frown at him for even insinuating that I lacked better judgment. “They serve food here. You’ve dragged me here yourself on occasion.”

“Not on a party night.” He sulks into his beer.

“Why are you here on a party night?” I’m this close to calling Becca out on her cleavage bearing bullshit.

Braden shakes his head as if he’s not even sure himself, and just as I’m about to make an excuse and bolt from this good time, a roar erupts as the football team makes their way in. The entire bar freezes. The house band stops mid-song.

“Ladies and gentlemen”—the lead singer pants into his mic with the most adorable British accent, and tons of girls flock to his feet with a whimper—“can we take a moment to stand and offer Leland’s boys a quick round of applause? And a special shout-out to Rowen Garret for destroying the Pelicans’ defense!” The bar erupts into a riot of cheers, and I hop to my feet, along with the rest of my peers, clapping up a storm as they make their way in. Rowen spots me, and a wild rush pumps through my body. His smile expands that much wider, and his dimples dig in deep as he makes his way over.

Oh shit. I shake my head ever so slightly. He’s high-fiving everyone in sight as he meanders this way, and that grin I’m wearing slides right off. If Braden sees me getting chummy with the enemy, it might remove me permanently from his gift list come Christmas. And seeing that my brother gives the best Target gift cards that money can buy, I quickly take a seat as Rowen comes over.

He holds out a happy hand my way before snagging his gaze on Becca and Braden. Rowen does one of those cartoon-like double takes before playing it off and slapping a high five to the person behind me as he shuffles the hell away from the three of us.

That was close.

“And that’s why I don’t understand what you’re doing here.” I tip my head in my brother’s direction, but Braden doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he glares at the door as if willing himself to teleport there.

“Anyway, Becca’s right.” Braden offers the nonsensical answer to ironically a question I didn’t ask. “It’s our senior year. This is our school. This is the last football season we’ll get at Leland as undergraduates.” He thumps his glass over the table as if to sound the beer gavel on his truths.

“Nice. I think. Hey, maybe next time you guys can sit with me? I don’t think we’ve been to a football game together since you played.” It’s true. In his freshman year, Braden injured his shoulder, thus ending his playtime on his own field of dreams.

Braden glances over to the crowd amassed around Rowen and his football-wielding cronies and scowls. “I don’t think so. I doubt we’ll hit many games anyway. The Bears only have two more byes this season.”

Becca cuts a glance in the direction of her ex, and her lips part as her tongue does a swift revolution to wet them. And there it is. Affirmation. She wants him.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight a moment. God, I’m reading everything into nothing tonight. “Fine. But I’m still not sure why you tortured yourselves by coming to the Underground. He’s sort of a hero around here in the event you hadn’t noticed.”

Braden’s eyes widen. I’ve broken the unspoken rule. Ever since all hell broke loose, we’ve basically pretended that Rowen never existed. But I can practically feel him here, his tongue roaming free in my mouth, his hands hot and heavy over my back. He exists, all right, and I’ve had the orgasms to prove it.

Becca scoots back in her seat. “And on that note, I’m headed to the ladies’ room.”

Braden and I watch as she shakes her hips all the way past the golden god of Leland himself, but Rowen doesn’t even flinch. It’s clear her glory days riding the Colossus have come and gone. A smug smile of satisfaction touches over my lips.

“What are you grinning at?” my brother growls as he takes another sip from his beer.

“Nothing much. And don’t think for a minute I’m buying the fact you want to be here. Is something going on? Is she still into him?”

“What?” Braden looks truly stymied by the fact I’d even bring up the possibility, and now I feel like three-day old shit dried on the bottom of a shoe. “Why would you say that? Are you trying to start crap between Becca and me? Keep your ridiculous thoughts to yourself.”

“My ridiculous thoughts?” I glance over toward the restrooms, but my eyes snag on Rowen instead. He meets me there with his gaze, and it’s as if we’re stealing a moment right here in the bar, with my psychotic brother sitting by my side no less. “Look, Braden”—it takes monstrous force for me to look away—“you’ve wandered into enemy territory, and you’re uptight. I get it. But don’t expect me to take whatever crap spits out of your mouth.” I stand to leave, and he gently pulls me back by the wrist.

“Hey, whoa, don’t go. I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes, and you can see the remorse pouring off him. “Things aren’t going the best for me right now.” He stares down his beer like he’s about to get in a bar brawl with a pilsner glass. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry.” I wrap an arm around my brother and my heart breaks. We may have drifted a bit ever since he and Becca became joined at the crotch, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a major part of his life. “But you have to tell me what’s happening. Are you sick? Is this about Dad?”

“No.” He winces. “Look, I don’t want to get into it.” He nods over, and I spot Becca sashaying her way over again. Knew it. That blonde witch is going to break his heart. Did I just call Becca a blonde witch? I don’t mean that, do I? “Speaking of Dad. His fiftieth is coming up. I’m thinking we should do something.”

“Is we should do something code for use your great feminine mind and come up with something spectacular?” After my mother died, it was me who decorated for holidays and kept the great birthday tradition alive. Without me, my brother and father would have long since stopped celebrating both Thanksgiving and Christmas—and once a year, routinely, would have called the cops on all the annoying candy hungry children trying to break into their living room.

“Yes, exactly that.”

“And by the way, I don’t need Becca’s help.” No offense, but after the last debacle I tried to plan with Becca the Bitch, I swore never again. Not only is she demanding, but she’s used to being the big bitch in town. It’s her way or the highway. Wow, I just called Becca a bitch two times in a row. She’s really taking a beating from my subconscious.

I give Braden a hug goodbye and mouth the words call me while miming as if I’m talking on the phone, making a break for it before I accidentally on purpose call Becca a bitch to her face for making my brother miserable. I don’t need a road map to know Becca is the root of all brooding where my brother is concerned. I make a beeline back to Vi and Ember and hop into my seat, which has since gone frigid.

“So, what’d I miss?” I bounce a happy glance between my two new besties, and it’s obvious they’re both holding back a laugh.

Vi jets her chin out. “While you were away, Rowen did play.”

My heart sinks into that ball of acid formerly known as my stomach.

“What’s this?” I try to sound casual like I don’t care, but I am about to cut a bitch.

Ember glances toward the bar. “That blonde chick with your brother—she bumped into him accidentally on purpose on her way back from the little girls’ room. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. He didn’t look too happy about it. They had words. It didn’t look all that friendly.”

“Oh, right.” I glance over my shoulder to find both Braden and Becca looking like their beer just turned to piss. “Becca and Rowen went out for a while. My brother and Rowen were best friends. It was a mess.” My heart still feels heavy as lead. I knew that Becca was trying to boob flirt her way into Rowen’s life again. I can’t remember the last time I was exposed to so much Carmichael nipple. Is it any coincidence she forced my brother into going to a game? Not to mention the fact Braden said they were having problems? Or at least that he was having them—in the shape of Rowen Garret’s penis.

“Hey”—Vi shakes me by the wrist—“I wouldn’t look so down. That was the weird news. The good news is Em and I were keeping tabs on where that boy’s eyes were going, and the entire time you were slung over that bar, his baby blues were glued on you.”

“Gray.” My adrenaline soars. “His baby grays.” I bite down over my lip, hardly able to contain my excitement. “We’re supposed to have a date tomorrow night.”

“And you’re going, right?” Vi’s left eye flutters as if gauging my sanity.

“I’m going.” Rowen and I may not have left things on the best note, but a part of me is counting down the hours until we can be alone again.

There is just something about Rowen I have never been able to get enough of.

I glance back at him in that tightknit circle with his friends, each with a matching beer in hand, and he looks my way and winks.

Life made.

* * *

Seth’s instructions were simple. Tonight’s experiment requires me to dress bar casual—read little black dress. To wear sensible shoes—read four inch spiked heels. And to be prepared for the unexpected—read sex in a bathroom stall. Okay, so maybe that last one is a little off base, but, trust me, the rest of my adjustments will be plenty warranted.

I head down to the psychology building, into the social experiments bowels of operations, where the frisky festivities will be held. There happens to be a huge conference room down here where a ton of bodies happily mill around this evening. You can practically see the fornicating glee in the participants’ eyes as if deep down they’re hoping this will all morph into one mass orgy—and knowing the TSE it just might.

Seth mentioned in his email that this would involve a mega mingling of all the horny peeps in Group A, so to see the overpopulation of sex central doesn’t at all surprise me.

I meet up with Seth in front of his office, suite 109, and I’m startled to find Rowen inside sitting on the desk along with a lion-maned, friendly looking gal with glasses that sit crooked on her face. But it’s Rowen dressed in quasi-Italian tailored finery that has all of my attention.

Rowen jumps to his feet. His eyes expand while doing that elevator thing up and down my body, searing his gaze over every square inch. A flare of heat rakes through me at the thought he actually approves of what he sees.

If I’ve ever doubted that Rowen Garret is a god, then, tonight, with him in that suit—holy hell. It’s safe to say he is dressed to rule my universe. It may not be a three-piece monkey suit, as my father affectionately refers to the ensemble, more of a dress shirt paired with jeans, an actual belt, and a pair of rugged looking shoes, but holy hell, does it ever work. His dark hair is still damp from the shower and slicked back in thick spaghetti-like strands. The faint smells of soap and mouthwash mingle to create the perfect intoxicating brew. And that face. Three-day scruff, check. Smoldering eyes that make me wetter than a slip and slide, double and triple check. I sure hope I was right about that sex in a bathroom stall. I, for one, would not mind if tonight actually ended with a bang.

“Petra Mitchel.” The lion-maned girl extends her hand. “I’m Rowen’s sensory guide. Since we’re about to embark on week four, I thought I’d introduce myself.”

“Hey, Soph.” Rowen’s dimples go off, and I die a sweet dimple-laced death while quivering with the beginnings of a promising orgasm.

There is something disconcerting about shaking another girl’s hand while trembling your way to the big O in front of the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember.

“You’re drooling.” Seth grins like a proud parent while doing his best ventriloquist whisper. “The two of you really seem to be hitting it off. Congratulations.” He claps his hands just once like a magician trying to divert our attention. “For tonight’s experiment, we’d like to present to you two options.”

Petra holds up a finger. “Although, to get to the second option, you’ll have to wait an additional hour.”

Oh darn. I’ll have to spend an additional sixty minutes with Rowen Beefcake Garret? Option two sounds like a sure-fire winner already.

“Correct.” Seth tips his shiny bald head her way. It really does have an unusual glimmer to it. I’ll have to ask one day what he puts on it to make it so shiny since there’s no possible way the human head is that much of a mirror ball. If I ever shaved myself down, I’m pretty sure my scalp wouldn’t be anywhere near as pretty as Seth’s—more of a gray stubbly mess with patchy tufts of hair. “Tonight’s challenge is just that—a challenge.” He goes on. “You’re both to head to the mixer. Rowen, you’re to find five men you think would appeal to Sophie and introduce her to them. Sophie, you’ll find five women you think would appeal to Rowen and introduce them. Everyone will be wearing nametags, but not everyone present has the same task, so you won’t have to worry about being bombarded all night. In an hour, we’ll meet at the north entrance that leads to the lab.”

“So let me get this straight.” I lift a hand as if asking permission—it’s years of indoctrination at the public school level, so it’s practically muscle memory taking over whenever I feel the need to interject. I’m sure I’ll be in my nineties and on my deathbed raising a hand to whoever’s in charge of changing my bedpan. “All I have to do is find five girls that I think Rowen might like and introduce them?”

Seth and Petra nod in tandem.

I don’t see the point in wasting any time so I get right to it. “Rowen, this is Petra. Petra, this is Rowen. Rowen here is an equal opportunity bed mite. All women with vaginas are of equal value to him so long as they house the proper plumbing to house his pecker.”

“Soph,” Rowen groans, pinching his eyes shut with his fingers.

Seth nods to Petra. “If this is true, Sophie just completed her first mission of the night.”

“It’s true.” Petra scoffs and jots something down in her phone, most likely my scorecard. “This more than counts.”

I sneer at Rowen as we head out to the conference room brimming with coeds and frat boys alike. There’s a refreshment stand and a bar in the corner, and everyone has a drink of some sort in their hands while mingling about having a good time.

“So, what kind of guys do you like?” He scowls into the crowd as if he were ready to beat up each and every one.

“I like them freaky. The more perverted the better. I really like the ones that have this weird obsession with putting my foot up their—”

“Soph,” Rowen moans as if he’s about to get sick. “Look, I get it. You’re into making me nuts. You haven’t changed a bit, by the way. Okay, never mind. I’ll find you some decent guys. And if any of them happen to look at your feet while we’re talking, we’re leaving without saying goodbye.”

“Okay, Daddy. Whatever you say.”

We head inside, and the room is warm and alive with the scent of a thousand clashing colognes and perfumes. A bevy of Becca knock-offs stand to the right—four of them to be exact, and I see this as one pretty pink stone that can knock out four Barbie birds at one time.

“Come, come.” I take Rowen by the hand, and we land in their midst. It takes zero point three seconds for the entire lot of them to let out a collective scream. They’re so excited to see him up close and in the flesh, I practically join them in their Rowen-gasm. Honestly, you’d think their bleached blonde hair—and not well done at that—their dark soulless eyes were contagious the way these girls resemble one another.

“Ladies, I’d like to formally introduce you to Rowen Garret, all-star athlete both on and off the mattress, armpit musician extraordinaire”—I know it well from having to listen to him and Braden try to outdo one another while playing battle of the pits—“and lover of all things blonde and beautiful!” They squeal in unison, but Rowen takes a moment to scowl my way, most likely for the uncalled-for pit fandom. “Don’t you worry, girls—the curtains don’t have to match the carpet. Rowen here is an indiscriminate lover of well-manicured kittens in all shapes and sizes, but I’m betting it would be a plus.” I offer him a quick wink, and his eyes grow wide with both rage and amusement.

“Sophie,” he hisses so fast that what he meant as a reprimand sounds unmistakably like something erotic he’d whisper deep into my ear in bed.

“I’m intimately familiar,” giggles the first Becca clone to my left.

“Oh?” I’m not sure why this amuses me. “So, you’ve taken a ride or two on the Colossus, I take it?”

“Or three or twelve.” She gives the boy of the hour a quick wink, and I think we all know what that means. Ding, ding, ding! Winner, winner, penis dinner! Rowen’s got the invite if he wants it. Just the thought sends my good mood plummeting.

“Me, too.” Lookalike blonde number two steps up and offers him a kiss on the cheek and a firm squeeze on the bottom.

Damn. After spending the sum total of twenty minutes locked in a glorified closet with my lips melded to his, an hour scaling down a windy cliff side, not once did my hands have a meet and greet with that rock solid ass.

“Smooth.” I yank her back. “How about you two?” I stare down the remaining contenders, and they both offer up a rather guilty string of giggles. “Great! Well—my work here is done.” I thread my arm through Rowen’s as we descend farther into the bowels of the social experiment’s lab rat offerings. “Boy, I knew you got around, but really? I mean, what are the odds?” A thought comes to me, and I gasp as I cast a glance around the room. “Oh my God, you’ve slept with them all!”

A dark laugh comes from deep within him, and my body vibrates right along with his. It feels good like this with Rowen, and then it hits me. We’re holding onto one another like lost children in a room full of Rowen worshipers armed with cell phones. And just as quick as that good time starts, it ends as I take back my arm. Rowen gives a slight nod as if he understands, but those wide eyes are telling me something else.

“First victim.” He glares over at a boy with an unfortunate sense of style. High water pants that are cinched tight around his upper torso, thick-framed glasses, green long-sleeved Polo with the collar popped—and he’s surprisingly not bad on the eyes. Think hot Steve Urkel.

“Let’s get ’er done,” I say as we charge on over.

Rowen is quick to introduce himself to Meyer, per his nametag, and I’m stunned for a moment.

“Oh, wow, I’m a Meyer, too!” I offer him a friendly shake of the hand, and his smile expands, revealing two pin sharp dimples. He is pretty handsome in an insane, psychotic bowtie wearing killer kind of a way. “Hey, if we got married, I’d still be Sophie Meyer!” I’m oddly super excited about this surname development. “I’ve secretly always loved my initials. There’s something nice about the rhythm when they’re written out in cursive. I always did think an M would look great on pillows and monogrammed towels. Not to mention the naughty implications of S and M.” I give a devilish wink. There is something thrilling about overtly flirting with another boy in the presence of my crush.

“Meyer is actually my first name.” His cute dimples vanish as he cuts a mean look just past us. “I think I see someone I know.” And just like that, my first prospect of the evening has done a disappearing act.

“Hey!” I give a quick wave in his direction, but it’s too late. He’s off to the races, buried in a crowd of thousands all looking for a set of dimples to call their own.

“Geez, Meyer.” Rowen busts a gut laughing at me. “Lay off the wedding vows, would you? You sent the poor guy running for the hills. He practically shit his pants when you started in with the monogrammed towels. And S and M? It’s a little too soon to start with the whips and chains.”

“You would know.”

The next boys are just that, baby-faced Biebers who look all of thirteen.

I pull Rowen to the side as I quickly dismiss my diaper dwelling suitors. “Quite frankly, I’m insulted you don’t think I can handle a real man.” I land my fists into my hips, and he snickers at the sight.

“You’re a kid.” He winks because he knows for a fact I have always hated that disparaging remark. “You’ll probably marry one of those twerps.”

“Will not.” I stomp on his foot and he frowns, shaking his head as if I’ve just proven his point. “I’m not a kid, Rowen. But if I was a juvenile delinquent, I’d do a lot more of that, so now that you’ve pegged me as one, you’d better watch your back and your feet.” We fold our arms across our respective chests and pan the room for my prospective Mister Right. “Look for someone hairy and scary and full of muscles. I like ’em big. Size matters, you know.”

“You got it.” A maniacal smile sweeps across his devious face, and before I know it, he bum-rushes me across the room to meet the human mop head with a body built like Jabba the Hut. Surprisingly, Guy—yes, his generic name stumped me, too—is shockingly nice, and we both love manga so already we have a lot in common. We’re just about to exchange our seven digits when Rowen puts the kibosh on that good time and says he sees someone leaving that I need to meet right fucking now. His salty vocabulary, not mine.

Ro picks up my hand and away we go. “What are you doing giving that guy your number?” Rowen practically has me flying behind him like a kite as he sails us across the room. I take my hand back in the event technology slaps me in the face by way of a friendly pictorial of the two of us. I’m thanking God that Rowen has an in with Dexter Houston himself and that our lovely albeit wasted footage will never see the light of day. But, nevertheless, I feel like I’m playing with fire just being near him in such a public place. Braden would die if he knew. Correction, he will kill both Rowen and me, and then he will fall on the sword just to rid himself of the memory.

“That guy was kind of cool,” I purr into his ear just to watch his lips purse from side to side.

“That guy eats girls like you for breakfast.”

“Even better! My new friend, Ember, says that guys who are into oral are worth their weight in cunnilingus gold.”

“What?” He stops short. Rowen looks as if he’s about to have a heart attack and a panic attack all rolled into one. “Seriously, Soph? You need new friends, and no, I was not alluding to that. That’s fucking disgusting.”

I gasp because I fear my fantasy run with Rowen as my new secret boyfriend is over. “You don’t partake in the feast of the gods?” Really? That’s the best I could do? Honestly, though, every other euphemism was far too crude to ever leave my lips—at least in front of Rowen.

Feast of the gods? he mouths the words. Rowen looks both angry and ready to pass out. “Soph.” That dark laugh bubbles from his chest as his fingers caress my cheek, but it’s those smoldering eyes, those low hanging lids that have me. It’s as if he’s already plotting his lingual plan of attack. Or at least I’d like to think so. “How about we let some things in our relationship remain a mystery?”

Our relationship? The worst thing you can do to a girl is invoke the R word. Especially if said girl is more than quasi-interested in having the R word with the one who invoked it. Oh hell, I can’t have a real relationship with Rowen. Braden would die. Christmas would be awkward because at that point Rowen would have banged both Becca and me—different years, of course. But then, if tonight’s coital demographics are any indication, it’s clear Rowen will be hard-pressed to marry a girl without friends or relations that he hasn’t bedded—and perhaps even ate for breakfast.

“I’m good with mystery. For now.” I give a quick glance to my nonexistent watch. “One more frat boy for me, and we have less than five minutes to complete the mission.”

He groans as he stares off into a thicket of beefed-up dudes. “Dan and Tim Locke, my buddies from the team.”

“I get a twofer? Wow, you must really be eager to get rid of me.” I buzz alongside him as we approach the bicep brigade.

“What’s up?” Rowen does a quick round of intros, but it’s the two blond boys in the corner he shows me off to as if I were the door prize for the evening. “Sophie is pretty nice if you like quick-witted sound bites, sharp enough to chomp your balls off. She also plans on marrying young and filling her home with monogrammed hand towels.” He turns to me as my mortification and shockingly my hatred for him grows. I’m stunned he didn’t mention the feast of the gods. “And if you like eating breakfast, you’re in luck!” I slap him hard over the chest and spear him with a threatening look, but Rowen openly laughs at my efforts. “Sophie here has a sweet treat you won’t be able to resist.”

“Like what?” One of the blond twins seems both hungry and interested.

“Pancakes,” both Rowen and I say in unison.

Pancakes my ass. I glower at him. And, technically yes, the pancakes would be my—oh, never mind.

Now it’s my turn to do the scowling correction. I glare up at Rowen for debasing me this way in front of his friends. “I am pretty nice.” I offer a candy-coated smile that lets Ro know his balls are coming off later this evening. “And I probably will marry young, once I find someone that likes pancakes as much as I do.”

Rowen’s chest bucks once with a dry laugh, no smile. I can tell by his eyes he’s both amused and pissed. “And on that note, we need to run. It’s game over.”

Rowen navigates us to the north exit just as Seth instructed, and we spot both him and Petra laughing it up, staring into their phones as if getting high off all the non-data they get to input.

“You made it!” Seth is seemingly thrilled to see us. “How did it go? Did you learn anything new about one another?”

“Yes!” I hop with feigned excitement. “I discovered there’s not a square inch on campus that hides a coed Rowen hasn’t shown his most prized bodily possession to.”

Ro pumps a crooked grin. “And I learned that Sophie here is eager to have someone share her box lunch at the Y.”

What? It takes less than a second to compute the dirty details. Oh my shit. I suddenly want to smack the shit out of Rowen and laugh.

Petra raises a finger. “That’s so wonderful! We have a YMCA right down the road. I’m sure they would appreciate all the box lunches you can offer.”

I scowl at Rowen for confusing the poor girl just as Seth’s eyes round out with the raunchy epiphany. Great. Now both Rowen and Seth think I’m a freak. I make a mental note to punch Ember later—or thank her. I guess it depends on how this night ends.

“What’s next?” Rowen slaps the back of his neck like he is killing a fly, and my insides fill with dread at the thought he might want to usher this funfest along.

“You’re next.” Petra looks to the two of us. “You both have the choice of moving forward with one of the prospects you met this evening or having a private one-on-one together in the dream suite we have for you upstairs.”

Dream suite? I know for a fact the entire third floor of this building has been transformed into a studio. I can hardly bring myself to look at Rowen.

“Don’t answer.” Seth shakes his head. “You have some time to consider it. You’ll go your separate ways, and if you both decide to meet up in the dream suite, you may proceed to the following week. If not, your journey ends here, and you’ll begin a new journey with one of the suitors your partner chose for you.”

“Very clever.” I shoot a dirty look to Rowen for introducing me to the pervs of the room. And here I gave him tickets to the Becca lookalikes and what will probably turn out to be an orgy in the making.

Petra shuttles him in the opposite direction while Seth leads me to the other end of the patio, but Rowen and I can’t seem to break our gaze, each stubbornly determined to be the last to catch a glimpse of what could have been—what could still be.

* * *

Of course, I choose the dream suite. These entire three weeks have been a dream. Granted this week involved no lingual action—thus far, I really am a glass is half-full person. Seth leads me up the service elevator and through the backbones of the building until we hit a white door labeled private.

“Your mic is hot, so if you need to go to the restroom you might want to remove it. But if it’s dead more than ten minutes, we’ll storm the room.” He shrugs as if it didn’t really matter.

“Hey, you’re not listening to this stuff as it goes down, are you?” I swallow hard, sensing my sarcasm inverting in its shell like the head of a turtle.

“Nope. You’re good to go. The control room reviews the tapes. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. They’re pretty inundated with hundreds of hours of video to chew through. It’s go time as far as the network is concerned, and it has everyone here in a tizzy.”

“I like the sound of that.” Especially knowing that I’m exempt from the airtime on any leading cable network. Who knew Dexter’s little social experiment would lead to some much-needed alone time with my favorite quarterback? That is, if he shows.

“Go on in and explore, if he’s not already in there. If he decides not to show, I’ll be in as soon as I get word. But he’ll show.” Seth makes a face as if to say Rowen would be insane not to. “Half the couples have already switched partners or ditched them altogether. You two are solid. I can feel it.”

“So, what’s the objective?” I give a nod to the door, creating a thin barrier between all of my dirty dreams and me.

“You have an hour. It’s a Q and A session. Ask whatever you like. Heck, make a game out of it if you like. The objective is to get to know one another on an interpersonal level. If there’s something you’d rather not discuss, simply pass. If either of you chooses to pass, then it’s a no-go zone. Move on to the next topic. You’re doing great, kid. Only a few more weeks to go.”

I lean in as he postures to leave. “So, what comes next?”

Seth shakes his head. His brows waggle like a pair of dark worms. “All good things. All good things.”

My mind spins with all the good possibilities, and I open the door and step inside.

At first glance, the dream suite takes my breath away. A rather large, dim room glows with the flicker of candlelight as music plays softly in the background. A giant swing the size of a queen bed sits in the center of the room. It’s more of a circular floating cushion, and I climb onboard as the entire apparatus moves swiftly back and forth—think cheap ride at an amusement park. Hey? Rowen is sort of an amusement park ride himself. I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe this is the sexual experimentation phase of this social catastrophe. I bet if I snoop around long enough I’ll find a box full of condoms and an oversized bottle of lube.

It would be just like me to lose my virginity with a hot mic strapped to my back and the loose prospect of my brother witnessing the event. I bet the boys in the control room would get a carnal kick out of that. Come to think of it, I bet this entire room is laced with cameras just begging for a sneak peek at the international house of pancakes I have stashed in my knickers.

I fall back onto my elbows and give a sweep of my middle finger to all corners of the room, and just like that, Rowen walks in.

“Nice to see you, too, Soph.”

Soph. I love it when he shortens my name that way. He once had a far more colorful nickname for me, and I’m thankful to God he doesn’t seem to remember it.

“A floating bed? Candles? Your legs parted at the knees?” Rowen teases as he climbs onboard and we take a ride through time and space. “Is Jabba coming up for dessert?”

“Shut up.” I give his leg a slight kick with my heel. “Wouldn’t you like to watch. Maybe he can give you some pointers? I’m pretty sure your oral skills aren’t really all that much of a mystery. I saw the way those quadruplets were drooling when your tongue made its lip licking debut.”

Rowen makes a backrest out of the mounds of pillows around us and scoots in until I’m practically lying in his arms. It’s not nearly as romantic as it sounds. It’s more of a gravitational pull issue than anything laced with romantic implications.

Rowen strokes his fingers through my hair, and just like that, we’ve graduated to romantic implications. “I didn’t like seeing those guys ogling you tonight,” he whispers the words hot over the top of my head and I look up at him as my skin catches fire. “You look great by the way. You sure you couldn’t get that dress any shorter or tighter?”

“I tried, but my boobs and butt kept falling out. I’ll do better next time. My nipples were dying for a sneak peek at tonight’s big shindig.”

Nipples? Dies. I can’t believe I’ve just worked my nipples into a casual conversation with Rowen Garret. But really, I don’t see what the big deal is. We’ve already crested the feast of the gods.

“Cool.” He gives my thigh a light tap before his eyes bug out, and he backs up an inch as if we’ve just committed some lewd incestuous act. God, I sincerely hope Rowen doesn’t see me as some knock-off little sister. He has Mindy for that.

“First question”—Rowen wraps his arm around me because I guess he’s totally cool with touching me from the torso up—“why couldn’t you and Mindy see past all that bullshit?”

“Wow?” I twist in his arms to get a better look at him. The dim light transforms his already cutting features into something demonically sexy. “What about the rules? That was our personal Fight Club, remember?”

“The rules don’t apply in here.” His dimples go off, and it takes all I got to keep from sticking my tongue in one just to see how it would feel. Good, I’m betting. “So, why couldn’t you and Min hold it together?”

“Because she loves you and I love Braden.” I press my lips together so hard, it feels as if my teeth are about to burst through. “And I love you, and I’d like to think she loves Braden.” My voice cracks, and I’m pissed because this isn’t where this was supposed to go. You don’t take a room that screams bow chicka wow wow and turn it into some twisted familial confessional.

“You love me?” He gets that sick half-smile of satisfaction that has always enraged me for unknown reasons. It’s as if he knows he bested me, and we both know I can’t stand to be bested.

“Yes, you sicko. You know, like family, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe I love you because you’re my favorite nuisance.” All I do know is that we need to get off the slippery slope of the past or this night will end the same way it did that day in the woods—with me running and screaming.” I swallow back the flood of emotion wanting to vomit from my throat. “How’s Mindy?” There. That’s my question, and it has everything to do with the present.

“She’s great.” He warms my arm with his strong hand. “She misses you.”

I look back up at him. “Did she say so?”

“Not in so many words, but I can tell.”

“Ha. Right. Mindy hates me.” I snuggle into him, and his grip over my waist tightens. “If she knew I was here with you, she’d freak. Okay—since that was sort of a dud, I get to ask another question.” I stare right into those silver eyes and hold my breath a moment. “What is going on with you and Becca?”

“What?” His eyes get wild and squirrely as if he’s truly baffled, assuring me that if anything is going on between the two of them, it’s all in Becca’s empty head. “Absolutely nothing.” He runs his fingers through his hair quickly while glaring at the wall, and I’m right back to wondering. “How’s your brother?”

“Okay, I guess—something seems to be bothering him, but he won’t fess up. He used to be your brother, too.” My fingers sink into his abs, and the cool fabric of his dress shirt feels slippery under my fingers. “You used to be able to say his name.”

He sighs over me and warms me with his minty breath. “I know. And you’re right. We were like brothers.” There’s a fierceness in his eyes, something just this side of angry.

“You miss him?”

“Not really.” His expression sours. “Okay, I miss him.” He shakes my arm as if teasing me. “But you can’t tell him I said so. It’ll make me sound like a pussy.”

“I miss those days.” I land my cheek over his heated rock-hard chest before popping back up and glancing to his beautiful face. “Not when you were a pussy. When we were—whole.”

“Whole is a good way to put it. I miss seeing you at the house. I secretly loved it when you spent the night.”

“That’s because you’re a pervert.” I snuggle into his chest as if it were common knowledge, and at this point it sort of is. “Mindy and I would beg you to play the guitar so we could harmonize together. We sounded really good together. You were good, too.”

“I wasn’t very good, but I practiced all the time just so you’d ask me to play. Confession”—he breathes hot as an iron over the top of my head—“I just did that so I could hear you sing. You have an amazing voice, Sugar Puss.”

“Oh my God!” I bolt up, and just as I’m about to eject myself from this carnival ride, Rowen pulls me back, laughing his head off. “Don’t you even think of whispering that demonic incantation again! I hate—no, hate is too weak a word—I abhor that freaking nickname!” It’s true. My childhood nickname for years was the so not adorable, completely inappropriate—Sugar Puss. And get this? It was my father who gifted it to me. Yes. My clueless, sweet, dear old dad decided that he would turn my frown upside down by calling me something so quasi-affronting before God and my peers—for years. Why, you ask, did I not slap that nickname down before it ever got the chance to blossom? Because my fourth grade self thought it was cute. That is, until my eighth grade self was teased mercilessly, and by then it was already deeply embedded in my father’s quickly aging gray matter and had cemented itself as my chosen moniker. Braden and Rowen would mock me ruthlessly right along with those nasty boys from school. I hated it. I loathed it. I still abhor it full strength right to this day.

“Sug”— he starts in on it again, and I pick up a throw pillow and do my best to smother him. “Okay!” He laughs so hard he can hardly breathe as he holds his arms up in surrender.

“They’re going to hear!” I hiss, holding my finger to his lips.

“Who? The clowns running this circus?” He gives the middle finger to the periphery of the room, much like I did when he first walked in.

“Yes, the clowns.” I fall down next to him, and the flying carpet we’ve landed on rocks up a storm. “You may never say that horrible nickname out loud again.”

Rowen looks over at me, his head relaxed over a pillow, one hand on his stomach. But those sleepy eyes, they could just as easily be heavy with lust, and every last part of me wishes they were.

“Come here.” Rowen pulls me over, and I land next to him, our chests touching, his breath licking over the side of my face. He leans in, and I’m hoping he’s going for the kill. God, I want to kiss Rowen. What I wouldn’t do to steal one more delicious kiss. But in truth, I want far more than just one heated kiss. He tucks his mouth tight next to my ear and whispers, hot and heated, “Sugar Puss.”

“AARRGH!” I swat him over the arm a dozen times quick. I’m far too lazy to try to bolt this time. Every single action on this seemingly lazy contraption takes far too much gravity to pull off.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up a hand and winces. Dear God, who knew wincing could make Rowen ten times hotter than he already is? I’m in love with those little crinkly lines around his eyes that knife in when he laughs or squints. And I’ve practically lost my mind over his dimples. If I don’t take a bite out of one soon, I might actually go insane before midnight. “I won’t say it again—out loud.”

“Fine,” I gruff. “Ask another question. Time is ticking away. We only have an hour, and at least twenty minutes have been spent on pure bullshit. Just a typical Saturday night with Rowen Garret. It’s nice to know some things never do change.”

Rowen leans in and touches his nose to mine, and I don’t move, don’t breathe, or back up the way logic would dictate. “I’m not that much more fun these days.” His clear eyes search my features, stagnating on my lips as if fascinated by them.

“That’s not what the masses say. According to them, you’re colossal f-u-n. The fastest, tallest, longest roller coaster ride on campus. That sounds like a pretty good time to me.” It comes out quiet, far more forlorn than I meant it to be.

His face pinches with pain. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Isn’t it true?” He’s baited me with suspense. “I’m pretty sure you’re not anywhere near virginal status.”

He averts his eyes as if deflecting the obvious. “How about you?” He swallows hard. “Are you anywhere near virginal status?” he says it lower than a whisper as if wishing that the cameras would go away and take those ridiculously hot mics with them.

“Yes,” I practically mouth.

“Good.” Rowen gazes intensely into my eyes in a hypnotic way I have never experienced before. The moment grows far too serious, far too primed for him to gift me a little brotherly advice, so I decide to steal the opportunity from him.

“I won’t be for long, though.” I sit up on my elbows. “Now that I have five prospective boyfriends, I’ll just put their names in a hat and gift my unbroken hymen to the lucky winner.”

“Geez,” Rowen groans as he flops onto his back a moment. “Do you ever stop?”

“Is that something you ask all the girls you fall into bed with?”

Rowen rolls over and pins me in with his arm across my chest, his face dangerously close to mine. “Only the mouthy ones.”

“I’m mouthy.” My throat goes dry. He’s so close my lips ache to have him. “What’s the matter, Rowen? Do you want to beat the other boys to the hymen-tearing punch?”

His brows flex, forming a hard perturbed V. “Soph.” His chest beats up and down as if he can’t take the heat anymore.

“It’s Sugar Puss to you.” I bite down on my lip to keep from grinning like a loon.

“Sugar Puss.” He grunts the idea of a laugh, those lids of his growing heavier by the second. Rowen leans in and brushes his lips over mine. He takes another swipe, and we groan with pleasure at the very same time. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers slow and out of obligation because God knows he’s not moving.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Rowen crashes his mouth over mine, his minty tongue dive-bombing my most prominent orifice, and not so shockingly, my prominent southern orifice is a tad bit jealous. Rowen melts in my mouth like a long sought-after dream—like rain in the desert, a hope and a wish that I never really believed would come true. There’s a softness to this kiss, a holiness that feels far too sacred to express with mere words.

My hands spread over the warmth of this chest, and I fight the urge to rip his shirt right off him. His fingers dig into my back, riding lower still into my bare thighs. It’s heaven like this with Rowen. I always knew it would be. He lets out another hearty groan as he lands square over me, resting on his elbows to keep from crushing me. But I would gladly entertain a collapsed lung or two, a broken rib or seven just to have Rowen closer, over me, against me, in me.

Rowen’s kisses intensify, blowing doors off all the other kisses we’ve shared. Rowen and I have long since crossed that invisible line in the sand—one I never wanted to exist in the first place.

Love. That’s what I feel pouring from Rowen’s mouth to mine. A resuscitation of who we used to be, only elevated to where I’ve wanted us all along.

Who says dreams don’t come true?