It flashes in my head for the hundredth time—

Penny’s French-manicured nails digging into Ryan’s tattooed forearm. Her laugh filling the air as she leans closer. Whispers some memory about old times. About how thoroughly he fucked her. How much she misses his lips, his fingers, his cock.

I suck the last drop of Grey Goose from my straw. Unscrew the cap on the bottle. Fill my glass to the brim.

That’s enough to knock me out all afternoon.

This is complete hypocrisy.

It’s pathetic, drowning my feelings in booze.

But I don’t care.

I need these awful mental images gone.

The two of them in this bed, him tearing off her pretty cardigan, her unzipping his tight jeans. Sliding them off his hips. Trailing her lips down his stomach.

His hands in her long, dark hair.

It’s so long. And dark. And pretty.

She’s gorgeous. In that striking way. In a New York City kind of way. In a she had nine years in his bed, and she’s already a cheater, she’s probably not going to keep her hands off him kind of way.

I suck vodka through my straw. It’s crisp. Clean. Clear.

But it fails to ease the tension in my shoulders.

I drain the glass. Leave it—and the bottle—on the black dresser.

Ryan hasn’t lived here for nearly a decade, but this room still screams of him. Posters for gritty thrillers and indie bands cover the black walls. White string lights line the ceiling.

When I pull the blackout curtains—black, of course—the sun disappears.

The room goes dark.

I flip the switch and the string lights glow like stars.

Mood lighting.

Lighting to fuck by.

Or fuck yourself by.

I press my eyelids together. Attempt to destroy my mental images of Penny and Ryan with much more appealing ones.

It doesn’t work.

I see them. Here. There. Everywhere.

The room spins as I fall onto the black bedspread. It smells like him.

It’s not him.

But it’s warm and comforting all the same.

I wrap myself in the blanket, close my eyes, try to convince myself to stop imagining Ryan and Penny’s conversation.

I fail.

* * *

Light floods the room.

The door presses closed.

“Fuck, Leigh.” Ryan’s voice flows into my ears.

I wipe my eyes. Pull the blanket tighter.

“This is healthy.”

“Fuck off.”

The weight on the bed shifts as Ryan sits behind me. His fingers trail my upper arm. My shoulder. “What are you doing in my bed with a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose?”

“You’re out of Belvedere.”

“That’s why you’re trying to destroy your liver?”

No, I’m trying to destroy my mental images of the two of them together. “It’s a party.”

“You look like you’re having fun.”

“Are you here to berate me?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

His voice gets soft. “I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

He makes that what the hell noise.

His fingers curl into my shoulder. He tugs at my skin. Turn around. Look at me. Offer me everything you have to give.

My breath is shaky. “I don’t feel good.”

“Wonder why.” He nudges me again. Look at me.

I don’t. “If you want fun, let’s go outside. Swim. Why don’t you swim?”

“The chlorine fucks with my contacts.”

“Take them out.”

“Nobody sees me in my glasses.”

He’s right. Somehow, he’s spent the night at my place a dozen times, and I’ve still never seen him in his glasses.

“Okay. Fine. We can dare someone else to skinny dip,” I say.

“Dare?”

“What’s wrong with a dare?”

“You Dean all of a sudden?”

“Good idea. We’ll get Dean to start a truth or dare game. You can ask Penny if Boat Shoes has a bigger cock—”

“I don’t give a fuck about his cock.”

“What if that was why she left?”

“It wasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I hug the blanket. Every petty, immature impulse rises in my throat. I’m a teenager again, crying at a party because the guy I like is never going to like me back.

Because there’s no one waiting at home to wrap their arms around me and promise it will be okay.

I grew up taking care of myself.

I can do it again.

But it feels so good, letting Ryan take care of me.

Letting him in.

I can’t give that up.

He brushes a wet hair behind my ear. “You need to know something, Leigh.”

“Yeah?”

“I have an exclusive on crying in this room.”

“Is that right?”

“I’m the only person allowed to be miserable in here.”

“Scribble no one understands me in your sketchbook?”

“Exactly.”

“Draw I hate my parents on your arm?”

He shakes his head. “Angry lyrics.”

“Linkin Park?”

“Everybody my age screamed Linkin Park at some point.”

“You’re forty, right?”

He chuckles. “You want to know a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I’m a vampire.”

My laugh breaks up the tension in my shoulders. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. I’m four hundred.”

“Is that why you avoid the sun?”

“People would see me sparkle.”

“You do sparkle.”

“That a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

His fingers skim my neck. Shoulders. Arm.

His touch is impossibly soft. Impossibly sweet. Impossibly loving.

But he doesn’t love me. He’s still wrapped up in her. It’s obvious in the way he looks at her.

“Leigh.” He tugs at the blanket. “Look at me.”

“I’m not sure what that could accomplish.”

“I’ll tell you what Penny said about Frank’s cock.”

“She didn’t tell you anything about his cock.”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“Ryan?”

“I’m making a face. You can only see it if you look at me.”

“You don’t make faces.”

“I don’t have facial expressions?”

“That’s not the same.”

“You want to see, you have to look at me.”

Fine.

I force myself to turn around.

He’s sitting there—now in black jeans, only black jeans—his piercing blue eyes fixed on me.

“She did not say anything about Frank’s cock.”

He nods.

I shake my head.

Again, he nods.

“We’re going in circles.”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“He’s not bigger.” His lips curl into a half smile.

“I knew you cared.” My gaze fixes on the hollow of his neck. His bare shoulders. His chest. His stomach. Those soft hairs beneath his belly button. “You’re such a guy.”

“And you’re apathetic?”

“Totally.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Because…”

“You want to know why she left.”

“How could anyone leave you?” My cheeks flush. “I don’t mean…” Yes, I do. I don’t understand how anyone could leave Ryan. But I can’t admit that. “I… I saw you together. You were good to her.”

“Her story’s different.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Parts of it.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not with you drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

He motions to the half-empty bottle on the dresser.

“It wasn’t a fresh bottle.”

“How many shots have you had?”

“Not enough to be drunk.”

“This is a sober conversation.”

“Then just go.”

“Fine.” His shoulders tense. “You can sleep this off.”

“With Dean?” I bite my tongue. I’m better than cheap shots to make him jealous. Even if his envy is thrilling—it means a part of him wants me.

His jaw cricks, but he shakes it off. “I have an exclusive on coming in this room.”

“That’s selfish.”

His eyes light up as he chuckles. “Guess I should say, nobody can come in this room unless I’m here.”

“You know you’re daring me to masturbate in your bed.”

He arches a brow would you.

“Dare me again. See what happens.”

“Is it still masturbating if I’m here?”

Tug at this blanket. Untie my bikini. Demand I fuck myself for your viewing pleasure. Please. “It depends.”

“On?”

“If it’s giving you sexual gratification.”

“You really think I could watch you come without—” He shakes his head. “You’re insane.”

Every part of me goes warm at once. “You don’t mean…” I swallow hard. I can’t stomach a no. Better not to ask. “Was that all she said?”

“You’re drunk, Leigh.”

“Not that drunk.” Not drunk enough to forget how much I want him. How much that hurts.

“I didn’t need her to tell me I’m bigger.”

“Oh.”

“Dean was right.”

“That’s a scary sentence.”

He nods.

Oh.

It clicks. Dean was right about how massive cocks run in the family. He’s… Uh…

Ahem. “How do you know about Dean’s—”

“You haven’t seen it?”

“No. Why would I?”

“He used to fuck chicks in the backyard all summer. I wish I’d never seen him.”

“And he… he’s seen you?”

“He walked in on me and Penny a few times.”

“Oh.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. The thought of Ryan naked sends heat to my fingers and toes. But the thought of him naked with her steals every ounce of my warmth. “Was that all she said?”

“He’s not a better lay.”

“Is that actually comforting?”

“No.”

“What if he was a better lay?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should say hard to imagine. I’m just so good.”

He laughs as he lies next to me. “I don’t brag.”

“You’re right. Show don’t tell. That’s the first rule of a good story.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Are you generous?”

“Stop it.”

“What? Talking to my best friend?”

His hair falls in front of his eyes as he shakes his head.

“Ryan…” My fingers curl around his wrist. I’m not sure what I’m asking for, only that I want it.

His voice is soft. “You look miserable, Leigh.”

“But hot?”

“You’re wrapped in a blanket.”

I unpeel the layers of cotton and polyester. Let the comforter fall at my sides.

His eyes glide over my body. Slowly. Like he’s savoring every inch. He takes in my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my thighs, my calves, my painted red toenails.

Then he works his way back to my eyes. “I lost one relationship because I didn’t understand what a woman wanted.”

“Oh?”

“What do you want me to say to that?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“You know you look good.”

“But I don’t know what you think.”

“You’re my best friend.”

The four words are an explanation. You’re my best friend. It wouldn’t matter if you were the hottest woman in the world. I can’t look at you that way.

I press on anyway. “But you want to fuck me?”

“You’re drunk, Leigh.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Yeah. You are. And you’re pissed at me and I don’t have a fucking clue why.”

I shake my head.

His eyes bore into mine. “She said I didn’t talk to her.”

“Did you?”

“I thought so…” His gaze goes to the string lights. “But maybe I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“You think I talk to you?”

“A little. But not really.”

Understanding fills his eyes. “I listen?”

“Yeah. But I don’t talk.”

“You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“But not about Mr. Powers.”

“Ryan. God.” I grab a pillow and hide behind it. “We were starting to get somewhere.”

“We weren’t.”

“Maybe not.” I hug the pillow to my chest. Look up at him. “I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I bring my finger to my nose. Raise my right leg.

His fingers curl around my ankle as he pins my leg to the bed.

Fuck, this is so, so close to where we need to be.

Just slide these bottoms to my knees. Unzip those jeans. Forget about talking and show me what you’re feeling.

“You want me to go?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Then tell me why you’re crying in my room.”

“I can’t stop picturing you together.”

“Leigh—”

“Not like that.” Okay, not just that. “You’re still in love with her. And I hate it. I hate that she gets any of your heart. I hate that you’re giving her the chance to hurt you again.”

“This was your idea.”

“Maybe it was a bad one.”

“You want to call it off?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.” He lies next to me. Looks up at the stucco ceiling. “I’m not in love with her.”

“At all?”

“There’s a Penny shaped hole in my gut, yeah. But I don’t want to fill it with her.”

“But…” I swallow hard. “The way you looked at her. You… Are you sure?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t have a fucking clue what it’s supposed to feel like, loving someone. Not anymore. Not after that.”

“After what?”

“The look in her eyes when I caught her.”

“Guilt?”

“No.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Relief.”