I smile as I look down at the email from Edward, the editor of the Brady Times. We’re in the F250, on our way to Butler, a town about twenty miles south of Bradys Bend, where the closest orthopedic surgeon in the area has an office. Silas is drumming along on the steering wheel. He has the windows cracked despite the cold October weather, and is playing a song by Luke Evans at an eardrum-bursting level, but I can’t say I hate it. The truck may be flashier, and the people inside a little older, but other than that, it’s like high school, when all the world was just waiting for us.

“He likes the column,” I say, hugging my phone to my chest. “He says it’s exactly what he was looking for. He wants me to write more.”

“Of course he does,” Silas says as we pull into the professional office complex across the street from the Butler Hospital. We pull into a spot. “You don’t have to go in with me.”

I look at him like he has three heads. “Well, I’m not going to sit out here.”

We go to the third floor, to a door with a placard for Dr. John F. Bruges, Doctor of Orthopedic medicine. I’m not sure why that sounds familiar to me. When we get inside, the doctor calls him in at once. I start to follow him when he stops me. “Can you wait out here?”

I study him, as it dawns on me. He doesn’t want to appear weak in front of me. And if he experiences any pain, he doesn’t want to show it to me. “You don’t have to worry what I’ll think.”

He smiles, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know. I know. But I just want to do this on my own.”

“All right,” I tell him, sitting back down and grabbing a People magazine off the coffee table. “I’ll just be out here, then.”

After two hours, yes, two whole hours, of reading up on every celebrity known to man, getting a great recipe for stuffed chicken from Country Living, and discovering how to shape my eyebrows easier a la Glamour, the door finally opens, and Silas steps out.

He’s chatting with the young, pretty nurse, who’s leaning forward, batting her eyelashes. She’s laughing really hard, too, as if he’s the funniest man on earth. A flash of jealousy spikes in me. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen him with another woman since he’s been in the Bend, but it is the first time since we’ve had sex. I can’t think about that last year, when I’d dumped him before he went off to UCLA. Or of Erica Lindley. It was that jealousy, that out-of-control fear that I’d lose him, that led to our demise.

I frown at the woman as I stand up, shifting my attention to Silas. The boot is off, so that’s a good sign. “Well?”

He does a smooth little spin as he comes up close to me. The damn boy could always dance better than anyone, like a damn Michael Jackson. His body has moves that could defy gravity, and then some. I cross my arms, remembering that last day. The last day I ever spoke to him, before he left town. His senior prom.

“Come on,” he said, “Dance with me.”

I looked up, feeling embarrassed as I scanned the dance floor. This was his senior class, so he knew everyone. He was the king, here. Hadn’t always been, though. Though he’d been varsity for most of high school, up until his senior year, he’d been seen as the “little brother” of the other players. Not first string. Kind of like a mascot. He still had those Dumbo ears, and was kind of short and immature. But over one summer, a summer I’d spent falling in love with him, he’d changed. The Dumbo ears fixed themselves, he got his braces off, and he grew like, six inches.

When he returned for his senior year, he was, no question, hotter. And everyone, I mean, everyone, noticed him.

All the girls at the dance stared at me. Some of them hated me, because I’d infiltrated their class. No one bothered to talk to me. By then, I was the goofy girl with the Chuck Taylors that Silas must have felt sorry for. I was wearing this hideous pink bubble gum gown that had been my mother’s, and I looked like a glob of bubble gum.

How did I know this? I’d been in a stall in the women’s room, as a gaggle of girls in high heels came in to touch up their make-up. “Can you believe that Silas is still with that girl? That junior nobody?” one of them said.

“No,” another said. “And they’ve been together for like, a year. Who knows what he sees in her.”

“The sex must be really good,” another puts in, as I squinted through a crack in the door to see them. All blonde, shiny hair, heavily sprayed, they looked popular, like the type of girl Silas should have gone for.

“Sex? She looks like she’s special ed.”

After that, I’d pulled my feet up onto the seat of the toilet and listened for a full five minutes, as they went on about what a loser I was, and how hot and amazing Silas was. They all spoke, in excruciating detail, about what it would be like to have sex with him. A couple said that he’d flirted with them, and two of them even made a bet that they would try to get him in bed by the end of the year.

So when Silas tried to get me to dance, I’d already had enough of the evening. I shook my head. “You go ahead. Dance with your classmates.”

“But I want to dance with you,” he said, holding my hand.

“I don’t know how to dance,” I told him.

“I can teach you.”

I shook my head. I was, and always would be a loser, a nerd, not fit for someone like Silas. There were some things I doubted even the great Silas St. Clair could help with.

Later on, when I got up to get myself something to drink, I saw him, dancing with one of the blondes I’d seen in the restroom. He was amazing, having all the moves, like he’d been dancing his entire life. She hung on him, gyrating against him, and he just let it happen. He was friendly as a rule, but maybe he had gone further, flirting, and who knows what else. He more than had the opportunity.

I watched, open-mouthed, until a chaperone had to separate them. Once the chaperone walked away, Silas looked up and saw me.

I dropped my cup on the ground and ran outside. He raced after me, and when he caught up with me, I gave him a right hook, square in the jaw. He had a bruise on his chin for weeks, after that.

He stood there, gripping his jaw, as I forced myself not to feel guilty. “What is this?” he shouted. “What the fuck is this, Genevieve?”

“Call it me, breaking up with you.”

I don’t know if it’s the mad combination of jealousy, or the fact that I haven’t been with Silas since Friday night, but the second he puts me in the cab of the truck, I pull his body against mine and kiss him hard. He raises an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you?”

I give him an innocent look. “You like red-heads, don’t you?”

He lifts my bronze ponytail off my shoulder. “Yeah, this brand of red.”

“What about her?” I point toward the office building.

A slow grin spreads over his face. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t flirting.”

“You don’t need to. You should know that from high school. You were deadly, without lifting a finger. Those dimples do it all for you.”

“So what you’re saying is that I can’t even be human? I need to tell attractive women to fuck off when I meet them, so they don’t get the wrong idea?”

I nod. “Something like that.” Then I pull him against me, kissing him, so that I can feel his cock twinge against my hip while I’m seated in the truck. And right then, I know exactly what to do to get him to be thinking of me, and only me. I’d known it back in high school, too, but back then, there was nothing I could do about it. “I think . . . I think I’m horny.”

His eyebrows raise in shock. He looks around. “Good timing. We’re a half-hour from home. You’re going to kill me, girl.”

I pout. “So that’s a no?”

“Hell no,” he says, climbing into the cabin of the truck with me. “With you, it’s never gonna be a no.”

I blink, wondering what he has in mind, as he starts to drive onto the highway.

“Take off your jeans,” he says.

I look over at him, startled. “What?”

“You heard me. Lower them a little, girl. Let me in.”

I feel my face heating. “But . . . you can’t . . . it’s too public.”

He laughs. “No one’ll see. And here’s the deal. If I can make you come three times by the time we get home, with just this magical hand—” he holds it up for my inspection, wiggling the fingers like it’s truly special— “you’re going to sit on my face this weekend.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “Ugh. That again?”

“So deal not accepted? I’ll just keep my hands at ten and two, then.” He tightens his hands on the steering wheel, giving me both of his dimples, full force, breaking me.

Besides, Bradys Bend is only thirty minutes away. He’s been amazing in bed, but three times in that amount of time? Totally impossible. I think. “Is that even humanly possible, to come that much, that soon?”

He lets out a small laugh. “Watch, and learn.”

All right. Part of me is curious. I rip off my seatbelt, unbuttoning the fly of my jeans. I unzip them, lowering them off my hips. Pushing my ass off the seat, I pull them down to my thighs. He looks over at my pink thong and grins. “Goddamn, that’s a sweet sight. You wet already?”

I nod. “But I’m not coming once. Let alone three times. The bedroom is one thing, but this is way too public.”

“Public makes it even hotter,” he says.

I don’t think I needed to know that. It makes me wonder just how public some of his past exploits have been. “Oh, so you’re all about public sex?”

“I’m all about any kind of sex.” He grins.

“Please. You may think you’re some sex god, but your ‘god’ status was only relegated to the football field.”

“We’ll see,” he says, all cocky attitude. He reaches over the center console without hesitation. His fingertips lightly graze the V of fabric of my thong, feeling the wetness there.

I catch a breath in my mouth. Whenever he touches me, I realize just how much power he has over me. Maybe I shouldn’t be claiming victory just yet. “I think—”

“Don’t think,” he says, as he coasts onto the highway. When he’s going up to speed on the two-lane road, he takes his hand away from the wheel, driving with his knee, and turns up the music. It’s Rascal Flats, now. His right-hand doesn’t leave the space between my legs, not for a moment. “Relax, and let me take care of everything.”

I nod and close my eyes as he gently touches me, through the thin fabric of my panties, moving in a slow circle, right in the spot where my thighs meet.

Oh, Lord. Win or lose, this is going to be good.

The tips of his fingers graze the elastic of the thong, but he doesn’t try to lift it just yet. He teases his finger there, taking his time. “This okay?”

I know if I try to speak actual words will not come out, so I just let out an Mmm of approval.

“Good,” he says, his hand softly stroking me through my panties, flirting with whatever lies beneath. He’s still taking a torturous amount of time, moving so, so slowly. Does he know that it’s only a half hour to Bradys Bend, and he’s on a time limit?

Of course he does. Silas St. Clair lives for the challenge.

I shift in my seat, parting my legs more to allow him better access. I want—no, I need him to touch me more. He gets the hint. He hooks up the elastic band and slips a warm, curled finger inside, grazing the tender skin like a warm breath. This is the man with the big, amazing hands, hands that don’t do wrong.

And right now, I’m feeling just how amazing they can be.

I let out a moan I didn’t know I possessed.

“You are very wet,” he says, his finger now stroking its way through my pubic hair. He finds the slit, and his finger slowly pushes aside the labia. I grit my teeth and toss my head against the headrest, erect. “And so wet, Genevieve. You’re going to come. Are you ready?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think . . .”

“No thinking,” he scolds, his finger working in small, tantalizing circles. His voice is assured and so fucking sexy. “But it doesn’t matter. Try your best not to. You’re going to come. Three times. And count them out as you do, okay?”

I buck my hips against him as his knuckle makes contact with a sensitive spot, and I squirm as an intense ripple of pleasure shoots through my body.

“Oh, God,” escapes my mouth. What if he’s right?

It reminds me once again that I should never, ever bet against Silas. Whatever he sets out to do, he usually does. He spreads his fingers, making me part my legs more, and says, very authoritatively, “I’m going to rub your clit now. Okay?”

I think I’m about to lose it. The anticipation is too much. “Do it,” I beg.

There isn’t a moment of indecision. He doesn’t need to fish around, like the old Silas would have. He hits the mark with his thumb as instantly as if it were his own body. He has his entire hand in my panties now, and now, they’re just an obstacle. I want them gone. I tug the strings off my hip bones, lifting my ass and pushing them down to give him better access.

Slowly, he begins to circle my clit as his other fingers gently feather over my slit. I know I’m ridiculously wet. I can feel the juices flowing out of me, the slickness of his hand against my skin. Sweat beads on his forehead, but other than that, he is completely calm, completely placid, as if taking a Sunday drive through the country.

“Good?” he asks again, his hand beginning to move faster.

I’m biting my tongue. This hardly seems fair. He knows it’s good, knows everything he’s ever done is beyond good.

“No, it sucks,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to shrink into myself, avoiding the feeling of sublime weightlessness that’s starting to spiral out from my core, making everything pleasantly buzzy and alive.

“That’s too bad,” he says casually. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? “Do you want me to stop?”

That’s the last thing I want. He’s moving ever faster now, and I know I’m close.

Then, without warning, he delves a finger into me. He pushes it deep into my canal, then slides it out, again, and again, fucking me with his finger. It’s too much. A moan escapes from somewhere deep inside me, and everything inside me is disintegrating—no, coming together. Yes, it’s all coming to a head and I’m going to explode. It starts deep in my belly and radiates outward as his fingers continue to dapple on my clit. And suddenly I’m screaming out, unleashing everything, caught up in wave after wave of pleasure. I feel my insides spasm, again and again, on his knuckle.

“Oh my fucking God,” I shout, my legs pressing up against the dashboard. My ass is at the very edge of the seat as I’ve sunk down so far, feeling completely and totally like goo, like I could slide away. But he doesn’t stop. It’s sensitive, and he seems to know that. He rests his hand on my pelvic area, keeping it there, warm, secure, as I finish thrashing and my insides stop quivering.

Then, a second later, he’s back there again. His finger, on my clit, rubbing it ever harder. I come again, my knees trembling in front of me, only a second later.

He laughs. “You didn’t call it out. Was that . . . two?”

“Yes,” I admit softly, looking out the window at the skeletal trees flying by to avoid his triumphant expression.

He leans his ear toward me. “Didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

I whip my head around and scowl at him, trying to remove his hand from my panties. But he makes a tsking sound, fighting to keep his hand right where it is. “That would be forfeiture. And I would win anyway.”

He doesn’t have to convince me much more. Yes, my clit is sensitive now, a little sore. But I’m already game for more. We’re ten miles from home, and I know I’ve lost this bet. But fuck it all, I don’t care.

My thong is now down around my thighs, and his hand is between my legs, circling my clit again. I can’t believe how wet I am. How dirty I feel. How much I wish we were home so he could fuck me again. I’m not telling him, but at this moment, I might even let him go down on me. He’s removed all sense of shame from me, now, knocking down all those good-girl barriers. Now, I don’t care how it happens. I just want to come again.

I do, a moment later, as we’re driving into East Brady. I come so hard, my muscles locking and my toes curling. I scream as I do, throwing myself against the back of the seat, and admit my defeat. “Three.”

He grins, removes his hand from my panties and, to my horror, sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean. I cringe.

“What?” he says superiorly, looking at me. “You taste delicious, just like I thought.”

My cheeks flood with heat even though the rest of my body feels suddenly cold. I’m covered in cold sweat, and my teeth are chattering.

“And I can’t wait for this weekend,” he says, pumping his fist triumphantly. “Count on it. You got Friday off?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. But I have to go out to the home to see my dad. And Abby wants us to go to the Roll-a-rama with her and Daniel on Friday.”

“Okay. We’ll skate.” He wiggles his eyebrow suggestively. “This truck has plenty of room. I put this seat back, and you can sit on my face right here.”

I pull my panties up, and then my jeans, and turn to him. “Will. You. Stop. Being. So. Obsessively. Gross?”

He grins. “What can I say, Genevieve? I’m obsessive about you.”