Chapter 2

I stared at him. "I am not."

He rocked forward on his chair and pressed his palms to the table. When I didn't move, he flicked his head toward my bedroom, just a few feet away. "You want me to pack for you?"

I stood my ground. "No."

He shoved back his chair and stood. He strode around the table. Brushing past me, he headed toward my bedroom while I followed on his heels. When he opened the bedroom door, he stopped and gave the shabby little room the once-over.

He made a sound of disgust.

"What?" I said.

"You don't belong here."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, "it's depressing as hell."

I glanced around, taking in the gray walls, the dingy carpet, and the narrow window that offered a cinderblock view of the neighboring building.

"And you just figured this out?" I lowered my voice. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

I glanced toward Maddie's bedroom. "And what about Maddie?"

He turned his head in my direction, and his dark gaze bored into mine. "What about her?"

I crossed my arms and gave him a snotty smile. "Is she going with us too?"

He looked only mildly interested. "You want her to?"

I made a scoffing sound. "I'm not even going with you. What Maddie does is her own business."

He left the doorway and strode into my bedroom. I followed after him and shut the door behind us. At one time, forever ago, we'd been friends, or at least that's what I'd thought, right up until the moment he'd kicked me to the curb like yesterday’s garbage.

I hadn't seen him in how long? Six years? Of course, I'd been seventeen back then, way too young to be hanging out with the likes of Jake Bishop.

Even back then, he'd been wild to the core, and dangerous as hell. But to me? He'd been that teenage girl’s wet dream, the guy you couldn't stop thinking about, no matter how hard you tried.

Stupidly, I'd had this massive crush on him. But that was a long time ago. Now, I was twenty-three and a college graduate. Older, wiser, and mostly reformed, I was way too smart to be crushing on anyone like him.

Recalling the difference in our ages, I did the math in my head. Jake would be how old now? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Back when I'd been in high school, the five years between us had seemed monumental.

Now, the difference would be nothing. A scoffing sound escaped my lips. Less than nothing, actually. Probably, I was a lot more mature than Jake was, at least where it counted.

He stopped to give me a look. “Something funny?” he asked.

No way I'd be sharing this joke with him. "That depends," I said. "Do you like knock-knock jokes?"

"No." He strode toward my closet. He flung open the door. He stopped short, staring into the mostly empty space. He didn't turn around. "Where's your stuff?"

I felt color rise to my face. "Actually," I said, "it's kind of a long story."

Jake pushed aside a row of empty hangers and reached for the few that actually held clothes. "You'll be telling me later," he said.

"That's what you think." I flopped onto my freshly made bed and watched him with morbid curiosity. A normal girl would stop him this instant. I would have stopped him, or at least tried to, except, honestly, there was nothing in my closet worth defending.

Pathetic, I know.

Plus, watching him move, I was more than a little distracted. I gave his naked back a good, long look. It was just like Maddie had described, a tattooed mass of hard muscle that tapered to a narrow waist, slim hips, and long legs, clad in expensive-looking black tailored slacks.

The tattoos were new. The body wasn't.

As if my eyes had a mind of their own, my gaze drifted to his ass. No wonder Maddie hadn't wanted to let it go. My hands, resting beside me, gave my bed-coverings an involuntary squeeze. The motion felt oddly unsatisfying. I cleared my throat and flattened my palms against the bed. Mentally, I gave myself a good slap to the face.

He was Maddie's guy, not mine, even if I had known him first. With an effort, I yanked my gaze upward and reminded myself to keep it there.

Good thing too. I'd barely looked up when Jake turned around to face me. His gaze flicked to the shabby wooden dresser that stood beside the bed. "The dresser," he said. "What's in it?"

"Clothes, mostly." Of the unmentionable variety.

"How many?"

"Not a lot." It was true. There were five drawers. Four were empty.

He gave me a good, long look. "Uh-huh."

"Like you should talk," I said, giving his bare chest a pointed look. I felt myself swallow. "You're not even wearing shirt."

"Not my fault," he said.

"Why's that?"

"I had one," he said. "It ripped."

I was still looking at his chest. That long-lost shirt, wherever it was, wasn't the only thing ripped around here. Damn it. With an effort, I pulled my gaze upward yet again. "Ripped?" I said. "How?"

"Bedroom casualty."

I gave him a smirk. "That's nice."

"Nah," he said. "But I've got a spare in the car, so, eh, whatever."

"Seriously?"

Again, he turned toward my closet. "You think I'm gonna drive around with no shirt?" He pulled a suitcase from the top shelf. His muscles tightened, making the ink on his back shift with the smooth motion. Sure, he could drive around with no shirt, but with a body like that, he'd be a menace to any girl who wanted to keep her eyes on the road.

He tossed the suitcase onto the floor and said, "Here. Pack your stuff."

As interesting as this was, I had someplace else to be. That was probably a good thing, all things considered.

"Sorry," I said, glancing at my watch. "But I've got to work at eight." It was kind of a bummer, actually. Today was Saturday. Somehow, I'd always envisioned that when I graduated from college, I wouldn't be working weekends anymore. But a lot of things hadn't turned out exactly the way I'd planned.

"So," I continued, "I'll just pass on the whole packing thing if that's alright with you

"No," he said. "It's not alright."

This was getting ridiculous. "Excuse me?"

"And about that job?" he said. "You quit yesterday."

I gave a little laugh. "Sure I did."  If only I could quit. It wasn't exactly my dream job, but a girl had to start somewhere, right?

"Yeah," he said. "By email."

I stared at his face. Was he kidding? He didn't look like he was kidding. "Quit messing around," I said.

"I'm not." He flicked his head toward the suitcase. "So pack."

"You can't be serious?"

As an answer, he reached into his front pants pocket. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He held it out vaguely in my direction. I pushed myself off from the bed and snatched the paper out of his hand.

I looked down and scanned the sheet, a printout of some bogus email between me and my boss. By the time I finished reading, my blood was boiling. I looked up. "What the hell?" I said.

"You can thank me later."

"I'm not gonna thank you," I said, waving the paper in his direction. "You forged a resignation letter?"

"Email," he corrected.

"Whatever," I gave him a hard look. "Please tell me you're joking."

His voice was flat. "I don't joke."

"You do too," I said. The guy had a wicked sense of humor, or at least he used to have a wicked sense of humor – not that anyone would guess it now.

I looked down at the paper, zooming in on the originating email address. "And how," I asked through clenched teeth, "did you get into my email account?"

"I'll tell you later." His voice hardened. "Now, for the last time, get packing."

I glared up at him. "Why?"

"Because," he said, "if you're still here tomorrow, it won't be me you've got to worry about."

I shook my head. "What are you getting at?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. His fingers skimmed across the smooth screen, and he thrust the phone in my direction. Silently, I took it and looked down. My eyebrows furrowed. "But that doesn't make any sense," I said.

"You're telling me."

From somewhere in the apartment, a door slammed. I heard soft footsteps coming fast. A split-second later, my bedroom door flew open. The doorknob slammed into the neighboring wall, sending bits of plaster tumbling onto the faded carpet.

I jumped to my feet.

Oh crap.

Maddie stood in the doorway. Her body was naked, and her eyes were blazing. Her long red hair was a wild mess. Either she'd just been attacked by a ferret, or – more likely – she'd just woken up from the best sex of her life.

Embarrassingly, I was rooting for the ferret.

Still, for someone who'd gotten lucky four times over, Maddie looked decidedly unhappy. "What. The. Fuck!" she said.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen Maddie naked. She had a nice body, and apparently, didn't mind flaunting it. To me. To her boyfriends. To the maintenance guy, who surprise, surprise, always came the first time we called. Maybe that's why the thermostat kept breaking. Sabotage.

My gaze bounced from Maddie to Jake and back again. "It's not what it looks like," I said.

"Then why," she gritted out, "is he in your bedroom?" Her gaze flew to Jake. "And why the hell aren't you wearing a shirt?"

As if she didn't know.

"Because," Jake said, "you ripped the damn thing off. Remember?"

A choked sound escaped my lips, half snort, half laugh. This had to be a dream. No. A nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched myself on the arm.

I didn't wake up.

Damn it.