Hudson’s living room is filled with people. A lot of drunk people. Brandi’s been on my ass since I set foot in the door an hour ago.

“Smile!” Brandi says, holding her camera in front of our faces. I don’t smile. I sit here. Not smiling.

There’s a click followed by a flash, and now I see spots.

“Oh, you look so serious, Tyler.” She giggles as she searches for the right filter.

“Hey, don’t call me Tyler. It’s…weird.”

“Oh, okay.” She keeps fiddling with her phone. “Hudson said we may be the next big thing, and you know what that means?”

I don’t say a word because I don’t care.

“We’ll be working together a lot.” She lets out some weird, annoying squeal. “I’ve always wanted to be paired off with someone.”

“Great. Just fucking great,” I mumble.

Jake stumbles through the crowded living room with a beer. “Man, this is cool as shit. Those chicks over there are making out.”

“Yeah…” I mumble, dragging my hand over my face. “Cool.”

“You think I could fuck one of them?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Dude…” he slaps me on the side of the head.

“What?”

“The day two chicks fondling each other doesn’t get your pimp juice flowing…” He shakes his head. “Your dick just disowned you basically.”

“Man, shut the fuck up. Go try to get laid or some shit.” I nod toward Brandi. “She’d fuck you.”

“What?” she whines. “I would not.”

Jake arches a brow and slyly—well, as slyly as a drunk guy can—places his arm around her. “That’s what they all say, but they change their mind.” He shoves the bottle in her face. “Beer?”

Laughing, I stand and cross the room, and as I do, Jemma and her friend walk in from the foyer. Jemma’s in this short purple dress. A tight—skin-fucking-tight—purple dress. It clings to every goddamn curve, leaving just enough for me to imagine ripping it off of her before slamming her down on a bed. Fuck. Wanting her is about to kill me.

Her eyes lock with mine, and I immediately walk over to her like a sick fucking puppy. I could have any girl in this room…except this one. Except the one fucking woman I want.

I grab onto her, pulling her in for a hug. “You look pretty, titch.”

“Thanks.” Placing her palms flat against my chest, she pushes away from me. “You look nice.”

“Did you just call her a bitch?” Her friend says, glaring at me.

“No. Titch.”

“Titch,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “What the hell is a titch?”

“A short person.”

Snarling, she glances between Jemma and me. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, good thing it’s not your nickname then, huh?”

I can see hate burning behind her eyes, and I can appreciate that.

“Uh,” Jemma steps between us. “You remember Heather, Heather, this is Tyler.”

“Yep,” she says. “The porn star. That didn’t tell you he was a porn star.”

“And you are the girl that fucked my roommate. Nice to see you again.”

“I want to punch you,” Heather says with a growl.

“Heather!” Jemma says. “Stop.”

Heather’s gaze flicks over to Jemma for a split-second before honing back in on me. She doesn’t say a word, but I know that look all too well. She’s giving me the look that says: you hurt my best friend, and I’ll bring you close to death. I nod at her as they both walk off.

Two hours later, I’m drunk. Well, pretty much everyone is shitfaced. Jake’s in the bathroom hugging the toilet. And I have only seen Jemma in passing. Benson’s had her and Heather cornered most of the night. I swear to God if he is trying to hook up with her, I’ll fucking kill him.

Rave music blares through the sound system as I make my way through the room. I spot that purple dress, my eyes straying down to Jemma’s perky ass. She’s dancing with Ricardo and Heather’s dancing with Benson. Thank fucking God. I step up behind her, placing my hands on the small of her waist and following the sway of her hips. She spins around, a slight look of relief when she sees it’s me.

“Well, at least this time you didn’t run off,” I say with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

“You really need a better come back than that.”

Shaking her head, she turns back around and presses her perfect little ass on me. My dick automatically swells. The beat to the song picks up and she grinds over me harder. I grip her hips, slowly sliding my hands down to the top of her thighs, stopping at the hem of her dress. Her warm skin under my palms feels damn good. The song cuts off and Take Your Time by Sam Hunt flows through the speakers. After the first line, Jemma leans against me more, resting the back of her head against my chest. She closes her eyes and sways in beat with the song as though this is how things between us should be. And really it is. I forget where we are. Who we’re with. It’s just us. And I like that. I brush her hair to the side, exposing her neck as I lean down, blowing a soft breath over her skin. I watch chill bumps race over her skin as her head lulls to the side. She reaches up, her eyes still closed, and drags her fingers over my jaw. I grab her hand, slip my fingers between hers, and pull her through the packed living room to the sliding glass door that leads to the pool deck.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, all the music, all that noise is blocked out. She stops and stares at me. “What are we doing out here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tyler?”

The soft light from the pool casts a blue haze over her, and goddamn she looks like a goddess. My eyes drift over her body—over every fucking curve of that woman—until they reach her legs. All I can think about is tearing that dress off of her and fucking her senseless. I’m fucking tense. My pulse is thrumming in my neck. My skin heating. My dick is so damn hard it’s throbbing.

“This is stupid, you know it?” I say, laughing. “It’s fucking dumb.”

She takes her heels off, crosses the patio, and falls back onto a lounge chair. “What are you talking about? God, I’m too drunk for a conversation.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“No, but I am too drunk to be talking to you about…anything.”

I walk to the lounge and sit on the edge. “We can’t be friends.”

She stares at me without a word.

“You know we can’t be friends,” I say. I wet my lips with the edge of my tongue. “Because all I can think about when I’m around you is fucking you.”

Her eyes widen as she drags in an uneven breath.

“Tell me you don’t do the same thing,” I say.

“Tyler, I—”

“Look, stop. Fucking admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

My eyes lock on her red lips. “Bullshit. The way your breathing tells me you’re fucking turned on, and I bet if I were to run my finger over your pussy, it’d be soaking fucking wet.”

She glares at me, her nostrils flaring.

“Damn, you’re so hot when you’re pissy,” I whisper.

Groaning, she hops up from the chair and crosses the patio. “Have you always been so arrogant?”

“No. Only with you.”

“It’s a turn off.”

“The thing you forget, titch, I know you. I spent thirteen fucking years learning what you liked, what got to you. You say you don’t like it, but you fucking do. You like me, you just don’t like that I hurt you. You don’t like what I do for a living, but the thing is…logic rarely wins.” She keeps walking toward the door. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t know what she likes any more.

“Jemma,” I say, “wait.” She stops but doesn’t turn around. And at this moment, I realize how fucked I am. I’m still in love with her.

I’m still in fucking love with her.