“You’re off from work the next two nights, right?” Lucas asks as he comes out of the bathroom. He grabs his jeans off the floor and begins pulling them on without underwear.

I silently finish clasping my bra and grab my shirt off the floor.

“Abby?”

I pull my shirt on and reach for my skirt.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay, Ass-kicker?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look so pissed?”

I fasten my skirt. “I’m not pissed. I’m contemplative.”

Lucas sighs. “Abby, I told you. I never come inside a woman. No exceptions.”

How the fuckity-fuck did he know what I was scheming to do?

Lucas plops onto the couch and picks up his guitar. “I’m not going to apologize that I don’t want to accidentally impregnate you.” He begins tuning his guitar. “Sorry, Aberrant Abby. I guess you’re just going to have to face the fact that not all guys will let you conquer them.”

I clench my jaw. “Don’t tease me like that. I didn’t tell you about my past so you could mock me about it.”

Lucas looks instantly stricken. “I was kidding. Hey, look at me. I’m sorry. I was just trying—and failing—to make a joke.”

I don’t reply.

“Abby, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just really sensitive about that,” I say softly. “I’ve never told anyone the stuff I told you, other than my therapist. I’m not quite at the point where I can laugh about it yet.”

“Understood. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s your schedule the next two nights?”

“I’m off from work both nights.”

“Will you stay here with me both nights?”

“Will you make fun of me again?”

“Yes. But not about the stuff you told me.”

I smile. “Okay, then. I’ll stay.”

“Great.”

“I’ll have to head out on Saturday morning for my weekly study group, but I’ll come right back and stay that night, too.”

“Awesome. That’s perfect timing, actually. I’ve got to head off Sunday morning to LA, so this will give us maximum time together before I leave.”

My stomach drops into my toes. He’s leaving on Sunday? Shit! I’m not even close to ready for this fantasy to end.

Lucas begins strumming his guitar. “Cool. Finish your shift and get yourself some sleep, and when you wake up, pack a bag and get your ass back here, ready for two days of me hounding you to tell me everything I want to know about you.”

I’m frozen. I suddenly feel panicked, like I’m hurtling toward a brick wall. If he’s leaving Sunday, exactly when does he expect me to break his heart?

“Abby?”

I nod, but my stomach is twisting into knots.

“Babe, I’m kidding. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

He’s completely misreading me, of course. But obviously I can’t tell him what I’m actually thinking, since we promised not to talk about the game or break character.

“Abby?”

I take a deep breath. “Sorry, yeah, that all sounds good. I better get back to work.” I kiss him goodbye and beeline to the door, my mind reeling.

“Bye, baby,” he says behind me, strumming his guitar. “Come back the minute you wake up this afternoon, okay? I’ll be here, writing like a fiend. In fact, there’s a song I’m gonna start writing the minute you walk out the door.”

I turn around to face him, just before reaching the door. He looks deep in thought as his fingers nimbly play an elaborate riff on his guitar.

Please, God, let whatever song he’s working out right now be the one that sets him free so I don’t have to do it. “What song are you going to write when I leave?” I ask hopefully, my heart aching. “The second coming of ‘Shattered Hearts’?”

“Nope,” Lucas says, almost gleefully, his fingers moving masterfully up the frets of his guitar. “I’m not even close to writing that song yet. The next song I write’s going to be called ‘Aberration.’” He beams a truly lovely smile at me. “And don’t worry, Angel, it’ll be another love song—not to mention a giant ‘fuck you’ to your cocksucking parents.” He flashes me a mischievous grin. “I promise, sweetheart, you’re going to love it.”

I try to return Lucas’s beaming smile, but I can’t. “I can’t wait to hear it,” I manage to choke out, turning my back on him and turning the handle of the door.

“Hey, Abby?”

I turn around and look at him expectantly, hoping he’s about to tell me the role-play isn’t necessary anymore—that he’s decided we’re going to hang out together for the next two days with no agenda beyond pure enjoyment.

“Toss me your undies, baby,” Lucas says. He winks. “I want to have access to your aroma at all times. All in the name of artistic inspiration, of course.”