I have no idea for my book and no YA class. I keep waiting for more bad news because crappy things always seem to happen in threes.

I begged Professor Golding to let me take her class, but she merely handed me the waiting list, which was two pages long, so I swallowed my pride and apologized to Professor Marceaux for bolting from her lecture. I told her I had a sudden emergency and left out the fact that I nearly died when she said clitoris.

Which now has me thinking of euphemisms for the word clitoris. Like nubbin, bean, bud, button.

Oh my God.

An unwanted image comes to mind. He reaches between her delicate thighs and strokes her throbbing nubbin.

Jesus. Someone shoot me if I ever write that in a book.

Accepting that I’ll be taking a freaking romance-writing class this fall means a trip to the bookstore. I duck in, hoping to make it out before I get harangued into working, but when I get to the counter, out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Fucker-from-hell.

A drum beats fast in my chest, echoing through my body. Barely able to catch my breath, I do the first thing that comes to mind and dive under the register.

I don’t think he saw me. Please. Go. Away.

The girl manning the register returns from her break. Her shoes bounce in front of me two seconds before her big brown eyes are in my face. One of her eyebrows quirks up as she tries to understand why her boss is hiding under the counter. I hear Jason Wheeler, my freshman-year writing professor, talking on the other side of this counter.

I whisper, “Becca, if you call attention to me, I will crack your femur with my teeth.”

She stares a moment, her other eyebrow rising to meet the first, before she backs up and straightens so that I only see her feet again.

“Hi, Professor Wheeler. Is that all for today?” God, she’s chipper.

“Yes, thank you, love.” Hearing his voice, all smooth and velvety and full of shit, makes me want to vomit. Or kick him in the balls. Or kick him in the balls and then vomit.

The register beeps as Becca scans Wheeler’s items.

“Do I know you, dear?” he asks. Here we go.

Becca giggles. “I had you for British Literature a few years ago. I’m surprised you remember.”

“You’re too lovely to forget.” Hurl. “Are you an English major?” She must nod because he says, “Excellent.”

“How was your summer?” she asks, shifting back and forth on her feet.

“I spent it in London. It was wonderful. I just got back a couple of days ago.”

Becca laughs in that innocuous way people do when there is nothing funny.

Wheeler mumbles something I can’t quite hear before he says, “Come see me if you ever need help with anything. I’d be more than happy to assist you.” What a skeaze.

I’ve known he was returning to teach here this fall, but nothing has prepared me to see him. When I look down, I’m rubbing my wrist. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to regain some composure, and when I open them, Becca is crouching in front of me again.

“He’s gone, although I don’t know why you’d want to avoid him. He’s gorgeous! I had the biggest crush on him freshman year.”

“Sorry I threatened to crush your femur.” Not that I actually intended to wrap my jaw around her thigh. “He and I have some bad history.”

Her mouth puckers. “Oh, he gave you a bad grade, huh?”

“Something like that.” No, nothing like that. Once my paralysis wears off, I shake my head. “Becca?”

She ducks down to look at me again.

“It wasn’t because of a bad grade.” I swallow, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. “He’s a bad guy. He’s… dangerous.” I want to tell her more—I want to tell her to stay away from him—but the words don’t come.

She looks at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language. A couple of girls approach the counter, their chatter breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Becca glances up at them quickly and then back down to me. “I don’t know what to do with that, but okay.”

Before I get a chance to explain why I’m acting like a lunatic, one of the customers asks her where to find a bedside TV remote caddy, and Becca saunters off to find the item.

I’m not sure how long I sit there trying to steady my breathing or my trembling hands. The recurring sound of an incoming text finally draws my attention: Don’t forget the Saran Wrap!

Jenna’s message reminding me of the errand I need to make is the icing on my fucked-up day.

I wait ten more minutes to be sure Wheeler is gone before I take off, but with each step, a headache pounds behind my eyes. I should go to the gym, which will help with the tension, but first I have to fill the fishbowl.

No, not with aquatic animals.

“My doctor called in some gingivitis cream,” the elderly man in front of me says to the pharmacist as I wait in line at CVS.

How bad can it be to buy condoms? It’s a staple, like bread or milk. So it’s a little piece of plastic that covers a man’s ween. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, right?

Jenna realized our fishbowl of condoms was empty this morning and nearly went into cardiac arrest, and she was too slammed today to refill the stash, so I told her I’d buy them. It’s Friday after all. I can’t let the penis situation reach DEFCON One and leave my roommates in the lurch. No peen shall go unhelmeted on my watch.

I take a deep breath, ignoring the sweat collecting under my arms.

Ugh, it’s hot in here.

What’s worse than buying rubbers is I have to ask for the jumbo box behind the counter. Not the economy-sized box, but literally jumbo, so Ryan can wear them. Jenna and her boyfriend hump like sex-starved dogs in heat, and since we’ve heard how ginormous he is from her porno screams, I have to go the extra mile and request the Goliath of condoms.

When it’s my turn at the counter, I push my shoulders back. I’m a modern girl. I can do this.

“I’d like the jumbo box of Trojan Magnum Extra Large.” I say quietly, the words foreign on my tongue.

The pharmacist’s eyebrows raise marginally as she reaches behind her for the big shiny box. See, not so bad, I tell myself. Until I hear the whistle behind me.

“Sweetheart, where have you been my whole life?”

I tense a second before I roll my eyes.

“Really? That’s the line you’re going to use?” I mumble. Barely glancing back at the two guys behind me, I reach into my bag to pull out my wallet.

“Aw, come on, sugar. Don’t give me the cold shoulder. I have a thing for girls who stay well stocked.” The creepy snicker behind me makes the hair on my arms stand up. “You know, if you want to check these things for quality control, I could do a fitting for you. I hear I’m an excellent specimen.”

I hand money over the counter and turn around. The dude is tall and built, like body-builder big. I widen my eyes and get closer to him, batting my eyelashes like the bimbo he clearly thinks I am. I bite my lip as I check him out, taking in his broad shoulders before my eyes travel down there. I let out a slutty giggle, turning my eyes back up to him with a small grin.

“That’s really nice of you to offer because you’re so built.”

He smiles broadly, like this is nothing new to him.

“You must lift weights every day, which must mean you have to be, um, compensating for something, so these babies,” I say, proudly shaking my box of ribbed, lubed rubbers, “are probably way out of your league.”

It isn’t until Douchebag’s friend starts cracking up that I realize the sidekick looks familiar, but he’s wearing a baseball cap pulled down tight, so I can’t get a good look at his face. Shit. Where do I know him from?

After a second, I realize I don’t care and sigh at the nimrod hitting on me. He’s looking a little pale, and his smile has faded. Douchebag grumbles, “Bitch,” under his breath as I toss my bag over my shoulder and walk out.

I shake my head. Someone should tell him that’s not an insult. Especially if it keeps jackasses like him away from me.

* * *

“You’re high off your ass if you think I’m wearing this.” I turn in front of the mirror. Jenna’s skin-tight silver dress leaves nothing to the imagination. With a low back and scooped neckline, the outfit leaves me bare. “No way.”

Even when I pull out my ponytail, hoping to use my long, thick hair as a shield, I’m still revealing too much.

“Aw, come on!” Jenna is in full pout mode. Her hazel eyes are wide and pleading. I immediately liked Jenna the first time we met when she told me I had broccoli stuck between my two front teeth. Girlfriends who are straight shooters are hard to come by, but I still have a hard time believing that the tissue paper delicately wrapped around my body is appropriate to wear in public.

Jenna pokes me in the shoulder. “You totally blew us off last Saturday. You said I had carte blanche this weekend. Carte. Blanche.”

“Is dressing me like a streetwalker one of your goals?” My hands trail over the thin fabric, and I squirm thinking that people will see me in this outfit.

“If it makes you feel any better, you look amazing,” Harper says as she flops on my bed. “Only you could pull that off. You have a killer bod. Plus, the color of the dress makes your eyes look more gray than blue.”

Jenna points to Harper. “See, she would never lie. Please keep it on! You said you didn’t have anything to wear. I can’t return it, and it doesn’t look quite right on me. I thought it looked great in the store, but when I got it home I realized that it makes my skin look green. You somehow look tan, though. I hate you. Whore.”

I can’t help but laugh. But she’s right—I don’t have anything to wear.

Propping my elbow on my hip, I scoff. “Shut up or I’ll cut you.” She giggles while I crane my head around, checking out my rear in the mirror. “Well, before I go out in public like this, I have to know what our plans are.”

“We’re going to Ryan’s for dinner, and Jax is joining us!”

Jax is my other half. We were born three minutes apart. That Jenna has managed to pry my twin away from his soccer team and his flavor-of-the-month is impressive. We haven’t been close in a while, but I still try to make it to his games.

Jenna bumps me with her hip. “Then we’re going dancing, and I might also have an activity planned.” She has her hands clasped, and she looks like she’s going to start clapping from the excitement.

“Girl, you’ve gone through too much trouble. I don’t even like celebrating my birthday. You know this.”

Her eyes bug. “You and Jax are turning twenty-one. This is huge! We’re doing this right, and that means you need to look hot because it’s your night.”

I turn to Harper. “Are you sure I’m not going to be arrested for solicitation?”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“Fine. Let’s do this.”

* * *

I’m stunned by the spread of food and the fact that the house is overflowing with a weird collection of people—a few I know from work, Ryan and some of his band, and several groupies. It gets stranger when my brother and half of the Boston College soccer team saunter in. I should have worn my “friends don’t let friends go to BC” t-shirt. Boston University kids take this shit seriously.

“Hey, geek,” Jax says as he shakes off his date and leans over to hug me.

“Hey, loser.” Hugging him back, I grin. “I haven’t seen you since the Fourth of July. I thought you’d been abducted by one of your Russian supermodels.”

“I wish. Been busy with soccer.”

Jax reaches out to hug Jenna and Harper. After catching up for a few minutes, Jenna pushes Jax and me to a table that’s set up with a dozen shots.

“We need to toast the birthday twins!” Jenna shouts, and everyone cheers.

Who are all of these people? Looking around, I see Kade, Ryan’s drummer, talking to someone who looks familiar. The guy is tall, kind of rugged-looking. He’s wearing a dark flannel shirt over a fitted t-shirt, and he’s handsome, drop-dead gorgeous, actually. That admission has me suddenly very interested in the vodka to settle the surprising flutter in my stomach.

Jenna leans into me and grins. “I know you don’t usually drink, but you’re going to want to have a couple of these before we start my game.”

Before last spring, I couldn’t drink. Alcohol and anxiety meds don’t mix. But now that I’m pharmaceutical-free, the idea of doing shots to blunt the edge of whatever humiliating game Jenna has in store for me is appealing, so I reach for a shot.

“Bring it,” I say, clinking my glass with my brother’s and throwing it back.

“Did Mom or Dad call you?” Jax asks as we move toward the living room, waiting for Jenna to announce whatever crazy antics she has planned for tonight.

“No.” Do they ever? I think my brother keeps asking, hoping for a different answer. “Did they call you?”

“Nope. I talked to Mom a few weeks ago, and she said something about a dog show, so maybe she’s out of town. And dad… Well.”

It’s a lovely idea, that our mother is busy traveling, but we both know that probably isn’t the case. And our father is like the amputated limb we keep hoping will grow back. The truth is they’re both bona-fide assholes, more interested in work and prize-winning dogs or car shows than their kids.

“I want your schedule so I can come to some of your games.”

When we were growing up, I was the only one who went to see him play. Our parents never made it. He won all kinds of awards and medals and a full ride to Boston College, and our parents probably don’t even know what position he plays.

“I’ll email it to you.” He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You know, uh, Daren still asks about you.”

My eyes narrow. “Don’t go there.” He gives me a look, and I exhale in irritation. “Why do people assume I’m still in love with him?” I say under my breath. “Jax, that’s history.”

“Is it? Because you haven’t dated anyone since.”

“Could you say that a little louder? I don’t think the people in the backyard heard.” Turning to glare at my brother, I swirl my next shot in the glass. “He slept with my best friend after I apparently made him wait too long to have sex. Excuse me if I have some trust issues.”

He cringes, but before he can respond, Jenna interrupts my tirade to announce she has something special planned for us.

“So the birthday girl has to wear this candy necklace, and she needs your help, fellas, because she doesn’t get her roommates’ awesome birthday gift until y’all eat her candy.” Jenna giggles, and as the realization of what she wants me to do settles in, I decide I might need to strangle her with my bare hands. Jax looks at me and laughs as Jenna turns back to him. “The birthday boy, who some of you might know as a star soccer player from BC, has to get twenty-one kisses. Girls, if you give him a kiss, you’ll need to put one of these heart stickers on his shirt or it won’t count.”

My brother, eager to get started with the game, spots a pretty girl and wanders off. As I turn, Kade strolls toward me with a predatory look in his eyes. Shit. He’s going to ask me out again. When does this guy ever learn? His father owns half of the state, and he simply wants me as another acquisition.

“Clementine, you look breathtaking tonight,” he says as he runs his hand through my hair. “So infinitely fuckable.”

I glare at him as I swat his hand away.

“Save your breath, Kade. Haven’t we had this conversation before?” I start to walk away, but he grabs my arm so hard I think he’s going to leave a bruise.

“Go out with me. I promise I’ll rock your world. I’ve been dying to taste your candy all year.”

Where did he learn how to talk like this? Douchebags-R-Us?

“Sorry, but we have a problem.” I square myself up to him. I’m only five five so he towers over me, but I’d like to emphasize what I’m about to say. “Assholes aren’t my type. And in case you missed the memo, you qualify as an asshole.” With that I wrench my arm free and stalk off. God, that guy makes me want to take another shower.

As I head for the table of booze, I come face-to-face with Tall, Dark and Rugged, who has his hand in his pocket as he leans against the wall.

“I know you,” I say, reaching for the Absolut as I try to place him.

“Yes, you do.” Oh, he has a sexy voice. A small smile tugs on his lips, and I have to tear my eyes away from his mouth.

“So, can you refresh my memory? How exactly do I know you?”

“Darlin’, you’re gonna break my heart by not remembering me.”

Fighting the chill that runs down my arms when he calls me darling, I shrug, turning to my shot glass, which is my new best friend. He has the slightest Southern accent. Why am I even thinking about his accent… and his mouth… and those full lips? I shiver, wondering where my steely resolve to avoid good-looking men has gone.

Jenna scampers up to me and grins.

“Clem, this is Murphy, Ryan’s new guitarist. Murphy, this is my fabulous roommate, Clementine.”

Apparently satisfied with her introduction, Jenna disappears into the crowd as my eyes pass over Mr. Hottie. I’m using the excuse of trying to figure out how I know him, but the truth is I’m honestly intrigued by how handsome he is. Dark, wavy hair, perfect sun-kissed skin, breathtaking green eyes, broad shoulders. Wow. Wow. Wow. I find myself licking my lips.

After a moment, I shake my head. “That’s not your name.”

He holds out his hand.

“That would be Gavin Murphy. It’s lovely to formally meet you, Clementine.”

As I return the gesture, it comes to me.

“You’re an RA at Warren Towers.”

He grins, and it’s adorable. Dimples peek out, and I force myself not to stare. I’m starting to think that maybe coming out tonight wasn’t such a bad idea, but then he opens his mouth again.

“And you buy extra-large condoms.”

As the blood drains from my face, I yank back my hand. “What?”

He’s laughing, and I’m ten kinds of mortified. It takes me a second to place him.

“You were with that dickhead at CVS,” I croak.

He laughs. “I was actually just standing in line. I have no idea who he was except to say you have probably put him in therapy for having small junk.”

I don’t know if I’m feeling vulnerable because it’s my birthday and this is the most alcohol I’ve consumed in years, but the window of possibility I initially felt toward him instantly slams shut. I narrow my eyes at him and smirk.

“Well, spare yourself the effort because I doubt you’d make the cut either,” I say, downing my shot and walking off. Asshole.

Twenty minutes later, I’m talking to my brother on the back porch when Harper grabs me. “I need to warn you. Jenna plans to do some karaoke before we go to the club.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Jenna can’t sing, so this should be fun.”

“She’s not the one who’s going to sing. She plans to make you take the stage.”

“Shit. I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that.”

Harper laughs as she looks around the back yard, which is littered with random partygoers. “You have a great voice, so pretend you’re in the shower, and imagine everyone is naked. I mean, except for your brother ‘cause that’s gross.”

Jax raises his eyebrows.

I laugh. “That is gross.”

“There is nothing gross about me being naked,” he says.

Harper rolls her eyes at my brother and then nudges me as she whispers, “Pretend like I didn’t tell you anything because Jenna has been working really hard to make all of this a surprise. I just didn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“Thanks. This should be memorable.”

Jenna must be psychic because she beelines it to us, grinning like a guilty cat.

“One more little thing up my sleeve, birthday girl!” She loops her arm through mine, dragging me back to the living room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gavin talking to his friends. A tall redhead is leaning against him, laughing provocatively. She whispers in his ear as she places her hands on his sternum, and something hot churns in my chest.

He seems so at ease and confident. I bet he’s the kind of guy who has it all planned out—his career, the perfect wife, a two-story Cape Cod and a Golden Retriever. He’ll probably end up with someone like that girl who’s all curvy and flirtatious and leggy.

When he tried to talk to me, I was my usual sweet, charming self. He made a joke, and I bit his head off. Typical.

Screw it. Why the fuck should I care who he talks to?

He looks up, and my eyes dart away.

“My girl Clem is going to kick off the karaoke,” Jenna yells, shaking me out of my haze as she shoves a microphone into my hand. “What do you want to sing?”

I shrug and tell her to pick. You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse starts up. I grin. She knows me so well.

As I sing, I feel his eyes on me, and when I hit the chorus, I have a fleeting surge of bravery and look his way.

That’s right, Mr. Perfect. I’m talking to you. Because I’d never fit in your perfect little world.

I don’t know what I expected his reaction to be, but the corner of his mouth pulls up into a crooked grin just before I look away. Suddenly, I think I’m more nervous from that one little interaction than singing for a room full of people.

When I’m done, everyone is so quiet I can hear the clock on the wall, and I’m starting to wonder if I sounded like ass when everyone starts yelling and clapping.

Damn. Maybe I should do this more often.