Brady Shepherd is twenty-five, and he’s getting his master’s in painting, not what I expect from someone who looks like he was born on a Harley.

He sits across from me in the cozy coffee shop, ignoring the food in front of him. “So business, huh?” He finally gets to the question that perplexes anyone who knows me.

I nod. “Marketing.”

“Hmm.” Brady’s eyes travel over my messy ponytail and paint-splattered t-shirt. “I guess I figured with those hot pink streaks in your hair you had to be an art major. And didn’t you draw your tat?”

“Yeah.”

Under his snug black t-shirt, dark tattoos snake down both muscular arms. He’s the opposite of Jax. Black hair and pale skin emphasize his intense green eyes and square jaw. His broad chest tapers into jeans, which lead down to scuffed-up combat boots.

Jax has a preppier vibe with that messy blondish hair and tan that highlights his sky-blue eyes. While he’s muscular and cut, he’s leaner than Brady. It’s probably all that soccer. His sister says he’s going to go pro and that scouts come to each of his games.

All evening I do this, draw distinctions between these two guys, which is completely counterproductive to my plan to move on. It’s ridiculous to still feel so hung up on this ghost of a relationship I wasn’t even in.

I’ve relived that reunion at Ryan’s in agonizing detail—the blank look in Jax’s eyes as I stood there like a dumbass, his frown when I apparently blocked the touchdown on the flatscreen behind me, the horrid realization that the gorgeous model meant something to him as she snaked her tongue into his mouth. And let’s not forget all the photos of him online with freaking gorgeous women.

Yes, I went home and spent an inordinate amount of time stalking him after Travis showed me that website. But seeing it with my own eyes is what I needed, and I swore off feeling anything for him, preoccupying myself with school and work.

But overhearing him and his sister argue last week has me conflicted, especially since Clem gave me a copy of her book. Now that I know her, I see how the whole story is autobiographical, just with different names.

All the gory details are in there. How she and her brother grew up with Daren, how he was her first love, how her best friend who claimed to hate Daren slept with him, and how all their friends knew and lied about it.

And I really can’t get over how Jax and Clem’s parents don’t seem to give a shit about either of them. They’re both so talented. My mother would be through the roof if I could write like Clem, and Jax is this totally amazing athlete. I guess it goes to show that money can’t buy you love.

No wonder Jenna is protective of Clem. Reading that book makes me want to throw my arms around Clem in a giant hug. Not that she’d let me. She’s been betrayed by so many people, and it turns my stomach that I betrayed her too. Of course, I didn’t mean to lie about hooking up with her brother, but I’m mortified about the whole thing. How do I tell her? Clem looks at the girls he dates like they have the plague, and she and I are just starting to become friends. If I tell her, she’ll hate me for lying. Shit. I wouldn’t blame her.

I wish knowing how Jax lied to protect Daren made me hate him, but it doesn’t. Instead, I see the kid who was neglected by his filthy rich parents. In her book, Clem doesn’t make her brother out to be the bad guy. She thinks he’s selfish and self-absorbed, but she loves him because he’s her only family.

Even though Clem acts tough, it’s starting to make sense why, and seeing how much Jax loves his sister makes it harder to tune him out of my head. I hate knowing so much about him, like how he and his sister spent their Christmases alone in their big house, opening gifts the housekeeper got them, or that no one ever threw them birthday parties because their parents were too busy.

But just because Jax has been through a lot of shit doesn’t change my mind. I need to stay away from him. I obviously care too much, and I don’t want to set myself up for heartbreak, and that boy has disaster written all over him like the S.S. Titanic.

Struggling to focus on the guy in front of me, I force myself to smile. Brady must think I’m a total dullard, sitting here like a piece of lint.

I don’t know what I expect from hanging out with Brady. Butterflies? Nerves? Hell, I’d settle for lust. But sitting across from him at the coffee shop isn’t making my heart race the way being near Jax does, which sucks because Brady seems like a great guy, and he’s definitely easy on the eyes. I’d have to be blind to miss the stares he gets from every girl who walks by.

“So why not art school?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts.

I tear at an empty sugar packet, ignoring his question. “Can I ask you something?” I look up and squirm a little under his intense stare. “What am I supposed to do with an art degree? You’re all set because you do tattoos, but everyone—my mom especially—thinks that I should major in art, but I haven’t figured out how that pays the bills.”

“So you’re doing something safe?”

I don’t like how he says that, like he’s challenging me to take chances. That’s easy for him to say when it’s not his future.

He must sense the tension in my body, and he reaches over and places his hand on mine. “Hey, I don’t mean any offense by that. I get it. I just regret taking that same route when I was in my undergrad program, that’s all.”

I pull back my hand, uncomfortable that he’s touching me. “Why? What was your major?”

“Pre-law.”

Brady smiles warily, like the memory of his undergrad experience cost him more than money, and in that moment, I see myself, the fatigue of trying to become someone who isn’t quite me.

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” I ask. “No matter how hard I work or how hard I try, it’s never enough. I swear my profs at the business school have made a pact to make me miserable. And yet, when I’m in the art department, things work, people like my stuff, and the world makes sense.”

“So switch majors.”

I blow out a big breath. “It’s not that easy. As much as I’m loving the graphic design class my boss helped me take, I’d have to flip my schedule upside down for the next year and a half to come close to getting enough credits. And take summer school.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Yeah. I need to get home.” My eyes drop to my coffee mug. “My mom’s been sick. I’d like to spend more time with her. She’s in remission right now, but I can’t shake the feeling we don’t have a lot of time left together.”

My eyes well up with tears, and I blink furiously.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He scoots out of his side of the booth and sits next to me, dropping his big arm across my shoulders and hugging me to him. “I didn’t mean to bring this up.” He rubs my back, and I’m surprised how good it feels to let him comfort me.

I shake my head, using my palm to wipe away an errant tear. “No, it’s not your fault. I’m not used to talking about it.”

“Then let’s not talk about it.” He squeezes me one more time, slides out of his chair and holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

The evening air is crisp, and we stroll through Harvard Square, stopping to check out street musicians and vendors. We talk about classes and profs we’ve had in common. I keep hoping to feel a spark, some chemistry, but it never comes. I start to tell myself that sexual attraction isn’t the only thing that matters, but the words I utter next stop me cold.

“This is nice.”

He must sense it in my voice. Disappointment flickers behind his eyes as he realizes what I’m saying, what I didn’t actually intend to voice out loud. I wonder if he hates that word as much as I do.

He gives me long look as he weighs my words. Then he surprises me and laughs. “I’m going to pretend that you’re not trying to give me the kiss of death here.”

I start to protest because that seems like the polite thing to do, but he holds up his hand. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to see you again because you’re a cool girl.” He bites his lip for a moment. “Your friend Travis mentioned you were getting over some guy, so I just want to declare my intentions to be your friend. And if we evolve into more down the road, great. If not, I can live with it.”

I’m not used to guys being so direct. Maybe it’s because he’s older. I like his confidence, his willingness to go out on a limb. But that doesn’t obscure my first order of business, which is to kill Travis.

“Thanks for being so understanding. I’ve had a bad streak of luck with relationships this year, and I’m feeling a little burned. Trust me when I say this has everything to do with me and not you. Honestly, if you had asked me out this summer when I got my ink, I’d have been all over you.”

He smirks, and I laugh at how forward I sound. A second later he groans and runs his hands through his dark hair. “I’m kicking myself for not asking you out when we met. I thought about it.”

I would have said yes, and I wonder if dating him before I met Jax would have made a difference.

By the end of our date, I have to admit Brady is great. Maybe we could be more than friends down the road. We decide to hang out next week and maybe grab a movie, and I’m beginning to feel a little more optimistic about life when he drops me off at my brownstone.

When I get home, Clem accosts me at the door. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

I take off my jacket and drop my bag by the couch. I shrug. “Some homework. Nothing major. Why?”

“Would you mind doing me a huge favor?” She almost looks embarrassed, and I wonder if she needs more help with her book. I hooked her up with a friend who did her website, and I created some book covers, but I think she’s pretty married to her old one. But I like Clem, and I want us to be friends, especially now that I know all the shit she’s been through.

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“Would you mind coming with Jenna and me to BC to see my brother’s game?”

My heart sinks, and the polite smile I had on my face a minute ago freezes. She sees my expression and nods.

“I know it sounds lame, but Jax is a great player, and I’ll totally spring for lunch. I used to go to all of his games, but I haven’t been to any this fall, and I’ve kind of blown him off since we had that argument last week.”

She looks away as her mouth twists into a frown, and I feel bad that I’m not being supportive. I guess I can do this for Clem.

I try to smile again. “Sounds like fun. Count me in.”