He’s like an octopus, all limbs stretched out to surround me. His leg is so heavy as it lays on me, bent, his knee on my pelvis. I’m sore from last night. While he bent me over, he drove deeper into me than he ever had before. I almost felt it in my throat. Don’t get me wrong, though. The sex was amazing. I might be addicted. Like an earthquake, I had aftershocks that lasted long after he’d pulled out of me.

Carefully, I slide his leg off me and then move his arm. I lift my head up off his other arm and move over to the edge of the bed so his arms and legs occupy the space I slept on. Sitting up, I cringe from sore muscles and lady parts. I have to lean onto one ass cheek to make it bearable.

I glance back at him. His lips are parted an inch, his cheeks puffing out with every breath he takes. I reach out to push a stray strand of dark hair away from his brow. Is it possible he gets more handsome every day? How can he look this good after spectacular sex and four hours of sleep? It hardly seems fair.

I get up and collect my clothes. After I'm dressed, I take one last look at the man I’ve fallen for, hook, line, and sinker. We let each other get under our skin so easily. Now what? I’m supposed to let him go? Part of me wonders if he meant what he said. He said he doesn’t give second chances, but is that just his anger talking? I don't know. Anger was a seed in my parent’s relationship that grew to a twenty-foot-tall tree. Every day their frustration with one another seemed to grow. Little things on top of little things on top of little things that soon amounted to rolling snowballs.

Love doesn’t last forever. If anything, my parent’s marriage taught me that. Maybe it’s better that this ends now. Before we fall in love. Because I will love him if he lets me, and that scares me more than anything.

I tiptoe to the door and open it slowly, each creak of the hinges seeming to echo throughout the room and the hall on the other side. When it’s cracked, I turn sideways and slide through, shutting the door behind me. I head to the bathroom and wash up a little. With Mary’s toothpaste on my finger, I brush my teeth and then I wash my face and hands. I take a long, hard look in the mirror as I brush my hair with my fingers and pull it back into a high ponytail.

Every time I look in the mirror I see her. The girl I used to be. I wonder if that will ever change. Will I ever see what Ozzie saw in me? I want to. I want that confidence that radiates from girls who recognize they’re amazing. Somedays I feel it. But why can’t I be confident about it?

When I leave the bathroom, I hear noises in the kitchen. I figure it’s Mary, and my cheeks fill with hot blood that quickly travels down my neck and to my chest and collarbone. If she didn’t hear us last night, she’ll know what we were doing with one look at me. Maybe I should go back to bed.

“Charlie?”

Too late. I turn on my heel and stroll to the kitchen. Mary grips two mugs, one in each hand. “I thought that was you.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because Ozzie stomps through this house like a herd of elephants.”

“Does he? I hadn’t noticed.”

“We lived in an apartment when he first came to live with me. I can’t tell you how many complaints I had from the tenants below us. He almost got us evicted!” She laughs out loud as she meets me at the table. She holds out the other mug, and I take it. She made it exactly as I like it. Milk, no sugar.

“Thank you.”

“How late did you two stay up last night?” She raises a single brow.

“Uh…not late.” Damn my blushing!

“You were quiet. I’ll give you that.”

I almost choke on my hot tea. “Excuse me?” Does she mean in general? Or having sex? I have no idea how to respond.

“Jesus. Relax. I think of him as my son, but I’m not an idiot. I know what the two of you were up to last night. Good thing I put some earphones in with the sound of rushing streams for music. I slept like a baby.”

I let go of the breath I’m holding.

“He must like you an awful lot to bring you here.” She takes a long drink of her tea. The steam rises from the mug and lingers around her face until she lowers it to the table.

“I think he did.”

“Did?”

I shrug. “I lied to him,” I say softly. There are many things I could say to avoid telling her about the details of Ozzie’s and my relationship, but I don’t want to lie to her. Besides, I figure she’ll appreciate my honesty, and I want her to like me.

“Oh,” she says solemnly. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“It really is.” I run my finger over the brim of my cup. Then I dip the tip in and taste it with my tongue.

“Ozzie lost everything and everyone that really mattered to him. The people who surrounded him in the years that followed failed him, and he learned very quickly not to trust. That’s a hard thing to get over.”

“I’m sure he trusts you.”

She chuckles. “Not at first. I was like everyone else who put him in homes where he was either abused or neglected.”

“How did you get him to trust you?”

She takes another sip of tea. When she sets it down, she surprises me by reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I didn’t push him. I had to let him decide on his own if I could be trusted or not. It didn’t come easy. He was with me six months before he’d sleep in his room with the door unlocked. But I clothed him, fed him, took him places I thought he’d like, and enrolled him in hockey—he’d pretty much given up on it when I got him. I went to all his games and practices. He couldn’t keep me away.” She lets out a low chuckle that makes me think he wasn’t all that jazzed about her being there. “I basically took an interest in him and gave him the attention he rightfully deserved. He hadn’t had that since his folks and his sister died. That might have been what he needed most of all.”

Throat-clearing forces my attention to the hallway. Ozzie stands tall, his shoulders back. He frowns at Mary before rolling his eyes. “Telling stories again, Mary?”

“Again? She’s the first person you’ve ever brought home—girl or guy.”

“Did you make me a cup?” he asks.

I love that he drinks tea. It’s kind of endearing.

“Nope. You can make your own.”

Other than polite conversation, Ozzie and I don’t say much to each other this morning—at least, nothing that matters. It’s okay, though. Mary has more than enough to talk about. And while she tries to talk about Ozzie as a teen, he quickly refocuses the conversation onto other things, like hockey, Mary’s family, and the best places to buy pizza in a ten-mile radius.

An hour or so later, a tow truck pulls Ozzie’s Jeep onto the shoulder of the road outside Mary’s house. Ozzie takes a quick shower, and then it’s time to go. Mary walks us to the Jeep. On her face, she wears frown lines so deep I’m not sure they’ll ever go away.

“School is over in a couple of weeks. You’ll be home then, right?” Mary says, though it’s not really a question.

He hugs her tight, and she wipes away a tear when he’s not looking.

“Bye,” I say, offering her a little wave as I reach the passenger door. It’s not good enough for Mary, though. She wraps her arms around me with as much force as she did with Ozzie. It’s tight and almost painful, and I enjoy every minute of it.

Because she’s even shorter than I am, she has to raise herself up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “Give him space. He’ll come around.”

I smile wide as we pull apart. “It was really great meeting you,” I say. “I really hope we see each other again.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, my dear. You hear that, Ozzie?” She levels him with a stare, and I fight a smile. I open the Jeep door and climb inside. Before I can shut it, she holds the top of it and leans in, raising her voice to talk over the rumble of the stirring engine. “This girl is always welcome here.”

She shuts the door and triple taps the side panel before stepping back on the grass.

I wave to her as we pull away.

“You sure made an impression,” Ozzie says.

“So did she.”

I watch the trees pass by as he drives us back to school. After a minute or two of silence, he turns on the radio, and I take the hint that he’s not interested in talking. I suppose it’s just as well. Unless he wants to give me another chance, there isn’t anything to talk about. Great songs play on the radio, one after another, but I keep my mouth shut until a Ludacris song comes on. Then, I just can’t help myself. It’s “Move Bitch,” and because it’s on satellite radio, it’s not censored. I start to hum and then the chorus starts and then I break into song—quietly. Ozzie fights hard not to smile, but he can’t help himself and before long he’s singing with me.

“I definitely didn’t peg you for a Ludacris fan.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

The mood changes after I say this. Why did I have to make it obvious? Because now I think about all that he’ll never know, and I have a feeling he might be thinking the same thing. An hour drive turns into the shortest trip of my life. I know when I get out of this car that we’re done, and it leaves me feeling like I’ve been kicked in the chest with a steel-toed boot. I glance in his direction just before he pulls up to my dorm. He meets my eyes, giving me a meaningful stare. But he continues to say nothing.

“I guess this is it.”

He scratches the scar on his chin, tapping his fingers on the wheel before leaning back and dropping his hands into his lap. “I guess so.”

“Well…goodbye.” I open the door and hop out, gently pushing it back into the frame. He rolls down the window as I turn and start up the stone walkway.

“Hey, Charlie.” He waves me back.

“Yeah?” I say, hopeful. I’m setting myself up for a fall, but I can’t help myself.

“Write what you want to write. But if you’re serious about that story you told Mary about…then email me your questions. I’ll try and answer them. Best I can. Maybe some of the guys might add their two-cents worth, too.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

He hitches a shoulder, his focus returning to the parking lot ahead of his Jeep. “I’m not an ass. I try hard to be a guy my parents would have been proud of. But you…you surprised me. I didn’t expect you to disappoint me. Most people are exactly who I think they’re going to be. So I reacted…badly. I should have just walked away. I didn’t have to rub your face in shit I’ve lived through. It wasn’t fair. But regardless of all that’s happened, I want you to be happy. I want you to get that job if it’s what you want.”

He has no idea how much harder he’s made this for me by apologizing. It serves to remind me how I screwed up my chances with the only guy I’ve ever imagined myself falling for. Why couldn't he just continue being an ass? I frown at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “That means a lot to me.”

“My email’s in the directory.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll look you up.” I push away from the car and take a couple of steps backward. His window rolls up, and he drives away, his red taillights the last thing I see before I spin on my heel and meander to the front door.