It's fifty minutes and two transfers from Pete's place to the law school book store. Plenty of time for my confusion to settle in. Where the hell does Pete get off pulling away like that?

Damn. If only he'd been reasonable, we could have ended the night with fireworks and orgasms.

The five minute walk in the sweltering sun is enough to make me well aware of my body's other demands. It's well past lunch time. I'm tired. It's damn hot.

I need an iced coffee.

And I need him deep inside me.

Air conditioning pours over my skin as I step into the bookstore. Now, all I need is him deep inside me. It's wrong, thinking dirty thoughts in a law school bookstore. This place is practically a library.

I load my hands with required textbooks, trying hard to think of anything but the matter of fact text from Pete sitting on my phone. I transferred some spending cash into your account. What the hell is his problem? The guy closes off in a hot second then he transfers an obscene sum of money into my bank account.

Enough that I don't need to even think about getting a job for the next twelve months.

"Excuse me!" A student in slacks and an oxford shirt bumps into me. He looks at me like I'm out of place then nods to the bookshelf behind me. "You mind?"

"Yeah, sure." I step aside so he can grab his text book.

The guy scoffs. The look on his face says shhh. The volume of my breath displeases him. Or maybe the floral pattern of my skirt is too loud. Somehow, I don't fit his vision of law student to be.

Fuck him. Fuck Pete if he's gonna turn off his affection because some mean girls think I'm not hot enough to be a rock star's girlfriend. I'm not bending to what other people want anymore.

I ignore the rude guy as I collect the rest of my books. Damn. This is heavy. I make a pile of half a dozen books on the carpet.

A sound pierces the quiet. An Amy Winehouse song. Shit. That's my ring tone. I find my cell in my pocket. Incoming call from Pete Steele.

The rude guy stares at me like I'm evil. Asshole. I dig my fingers into the slick plastic of my phone case. Okay, I'm frustrated. But I'm not stooping to being an asshole.

I bring the phone to my ear. The irritation in my voice is more obvious than I intend it to be. "Yes?"

"Where did you go?" he asks.

"To get my books."

"Tell me next time."

"Fine."

"You okay?"

No, I'm not okay. I couldn't sleep a wink, because I couldn't stop thinking about how you locked me out. "About as good as a person can be getting textbooks." My stack is up to eight books. It's going to be miserable getting these home on the bus. "Why do you ask?"

"We're live."

"Oh. That's good, right?"

"Yeah." His voice is uncertain. "Pic's pretty racy."

"Send it to me."

My phone buzzes with a new picture message. It is racy. We're at the hotel, making out, his hands digging into my ass.

It wasn't a staged moment. It was real and raw. I can feel how much he wants me just looking at the picture.

A flutter builds below my belly. This isn't helping ease the ache between my legs.

I bring the phone back to my ear. "Looks great. And you can barely see my face. I doubt anyone recognizes me."

"It's only a matter of time."

I switch my phone to the other hand. I shift my weight between my legs. "I know what I signed up for."

"With all due respect, you don't know till it happens."

"I've been chased out of my apartment. I think I know."

"I didn't mean—"

"If you don't want a girlfriend, that's fine. Stop letting me in then pushing me away. I've got the point. You don't want intimacy with me. Right?"

He says nothing.

My chest heaves. How can he be so casual about this? Not my problem. My problem is school.

I do nothing to fight the frustration in my voice. "I should go. I need to figure out how to get these books home."

"Jess."

"Are you getting at something?" I ask.

"Don't play dumb. You can't pull off dumb."

"I know that you can pick me up, Pete. It's just that I don't want to put myself through another round of you opening up to me then locking me out again."

"I'll be there in twenty." His voice softens. "If you need anything, call."

"Were you listening to me?"

"You don't have to talk to me."

"But, I—"

"Tell me to go fuck myself and I will."

I trip over my tongue. "You don't mean that you'd go touch yourself."

"Yeah. Sure. You want pictures?"

"Yes." My cheeks flush. I want a million pictures but he's not distracting me with sex. "But not right now."

"You want me to come or not?"

"Don't say it like that."

"You want me to pick you up or not?"

"Okay. You can pick me up. If you're going to stop jerking me around."

"Deal. See you soon."

I slide my phone into my pocket and offer the nosy asshole guy a weak smile.

My heart is still heavy. My stomach is still in knots. Okay, I can admit it. This is more than sexual frustration.

I have full blown feelings for him.

But I'm not letting that get in the way of law school. That's what happened to my mom. She met a guy, gave up her career to get married, had a few kids, then resented her family every minute of every day.

Not me. No way. I'm not letting anyone get in the way of what I want. Not anymore.

I collect my last few books, pay at the register, and find a cozy spot on the lawn.

I'm a law student.

No one is taking that happiness away from me.

* * *

For twenty minutes, I soak in the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze on my arms, the sharp aroma of fresh cut grass.

There are footsteps. Someone sits next to me. I don't need to look up to know it's Pete. I can feel his presence in the way my shoulders relax.

Even when he frustrates me, he makes me feel like I can float.

His fingers brush the back of my hand. "You excited?"

I take a long look around the quad, memorizing the shape of the tall trees, the red brick of the main building. "This is the next three years of my life."

He moves closer. Until our shoulders are touching.

Still, I keep my eyes on the school. Looking at him is too risky. I might mount him right here on the grass.

He drags his fingertips over my forearm. Damn musicians and their masterful hands. I'm already flushed and wanting.

"Any chance you're taking up entertainment law? Like you a lot more than our current lawyer," he teases.

"No. It pays well but it doesn't interest me."

"Atticus Finch doesn't argue royalty percentages."

My stomach flutters. He remembers what I said about To Kill a Mockingbird. "Am I that obvious, wanting to be a defense attorney?"

"You want to get murderers off. Cold. Exactly what I expect from you," he teases.

Finally, I look at him. Damn, the affection in his deep brown eyes takes my breath away. How can he have his guard down so quickly when it was up so high last night?

I run my fingertips over his chin. I can't help it. He's beautiful.

I make my voice as confident as I can. "Only person I want to get off is you."

His lips curl into a smile. "Only if I get you off first."

My cheeks flush. I want to. But I can't deal with him closing off again. "You bailed yesterday."

He says nothing.

Okay. That's not the best sign. I study his expression for a clue to his intentions, but the only thing I can place is confusion.

"Why did you do that?" I ask.

"I was thinking."

"About."

He moves closer. His eyes fix on mine. "You haven't told me why you want to be a defense attorney."

"I guess it started before To Kill a Mockingbird. My friend, Kathryn—"

"The one who sleeps around?"

I laugh. "That one. We've been friends since kindergarten. She got bullied a lot. One day, I think it was third grade, a few of the popular kids ganged up on her and started a fight. When the teachers broke it up, the popular kids all said Kathryn started it. Nobody listened to her. They barely gave her a chance to defend herself. It wasn't fair. Everyone deserves a defense."

"What about your ex?"

"It's not a crime, being a cheater or an asshole."

His brow knits. "But if it was?"

"I guess he'd deserve a defense. I always let him get his way, never challenged him. But I didn't offer much of myself. I didn't make an effort to get to know him. I didn't love him the way Tom loves Willow. Or, uh, what was it, Drew and Kara?"

"Yeah."

"It was nothing like that. Not even close." I swallow hard. "Reasonable doubt is the cornerstone of our justice system." I sound like a textbook. I continue anyway. "The police can't just know what happened. They have to prove it. They need enough facts to convince twelve jurors."

He finds the tie holding together my French braid and pulls it out. "You're beaming."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He runs his fingers through my hair, undoing my braid. "Never thought a woman talking about the law could be so fucking sexy."

"Why did you run off last night?"

His eyes turn down. "Kept thinking that you're gonna back out of this."

"I won't. I swear."

He stares back with disbelief. "Can I get that in writing?"

There's all this vulnerability in his eyes. I want to wipe it away.

I nod. "Sure. You have a pen?"

He pulls a permanent marker from the front pocket of his skinny jeans and hands it to me.

"Hmm, where to write? No paper." I drag my fingers over the V of his v-neck. "This will have to do." I pull his t-shirt down and write my promise on his chest.

I won't back out of this. - Jess James

He looks down with a smile then takes the marker back. One hand goes to my shoulder, holding me in place. With the other, he scribbles on my chest.

"What's it say?" I ask.

He pulls back to admire his work. His lips curl into a smile. "I'll make you come every day."

"It does not."

He nods, pulls out his cell, and uses his camera to prove it.

There it is, in black marker on my chest:

I'll make you come every day. - Pete Steele