I’ve only worn a one-piece leotard with tights once before in my life. I believe I was three, and a dance recital was involved. But wearing this outfit—this silly, silly costume on a night like tonight? Something tells me getting this thing off will be just as fun as scraping gum off the bottom of my shoe.

My God, I’m going to have SEX! I’m going to lose my virginity—turn in my V card, get myself deflowered, pop my cherry, give up the passion fruit, lay it down for the man in the most literal way. I’m about to get over one long bout of virginitis, and Dr. Rushford Knight is going to do the honors by way of lancing me with his flesh-covered spear.

I’m so excited that I lunge for my phone and start texting Sunday until I remember that Rush is actually her sibling, and I drop the phone like a viper.

“Who you gonna call?” he sings with a low, sexy growl, and a hard quiver rides through me, straight into the nexus of my being.

“Vagina Busters?” It comes out unsure and overall lame. Crap. So not sexy. I sit back over his lap, and he scoots himself up, cupping my cheeks as he plants the sweetest kiss in the history of ever over my lips.

Who knew Rush Knight was such a swoon-worthy dream behind closed doors? Although a part of me refuses to believe he’s even half this romantic with the denizens he’s bedded. I’m perfectly convinced this honey sweet show is just for me. Those droves of hos were merely mattress hoppers who bounced on him like a trampoline—emphasis on the tramp—until he pushed them out the door.

GAH!

Note to self: Do not envision your brand new boyfriend having sex with hot hos moments before you’re about to give him the gift of a lifetime—a visit to the Trixie Toberman Rose Parade. That bud is going to bloom. And most likely bleed.

Rush narrows those dark brows into a hard, sexy as hell V, and my girl parts start in on a last-minute virginal panic.

Okay. Breathe. Yes. Rush is beyond gorgeous, but that only partially influenced my decision to bed him. I’m a moron in many respects of the definition, but I’m also pragmatic about whom I associate myself with and choose to spend my time with. And have I mentioned the fact I waved the L word around tonight like the white flag of surrender? Clearly, this boy has my good senses hogtied like a calf at the rodeo. I never believed I’d say that word to anyone outside of my immediate family, and there are members inside my immediate family I can’t recall ever saying that word to. I shove all thoughts of my mother right off the bed.

A rumble of a laugh rides through his chest, and I take the bumpy ride along with him. “Tell me again that you want this,” he gravels it out in that bedroom voice of his.

Rush locks eyes with mine, both our chests pulsating in and out in a panic.

“Oh, I want this.” I lick a line up the side of his face and feel the prickly sensation his scruff leaves behind on my tongue. “I’m telling you—I’m seriously impressed by your night moves. You, my friend, have Lust 101 down to a science, and I’m not ashamed to be a devoted disciple, parishioner, all-out worshipper in the House of Knight.”

He moans with approval while making out my features in the dim light. The room is awash in a sea of silver as the moon bleeds over the bed, over his face like a kiss from heaven itself. He’s so unearthly beautiful like this, as if he were a marble statue come to life, some old Italian work of art that garnered the ability to become human for a few short hours just for me. But he’s mine, and we’re going to last far longer than a few short hours. Rush and I are right. I can feel it. They say you know when you know. And well, I damn well know.

“Tonight’s sermon”—he does a quick rolling maneuver, landing me on my back, his full weight resting on mine for less than a second, and I drink down every ounce—“is the fine art of appreciating the female form. The art of worshipping at the proper temple—yours.”

Rush brushes his lips over mine before meandering down my neck, loving me in a line right down to the hollow of my neck, and it incites a riot of feel-good vibrations deep in my belly. He swills his tongue in a circle, and instinctively my fingers grip the sheets. This is happening. Rush and I are taking that next step, that Grand Canyon worthy leap to the other side of our forever. This is forever, right?

He runs a fire line to my ear and nibbles on my earlobe, sending chills up my back, and I shiver. That protrusion in his pants seems impossibly hard, and for a second I’m moved to inquire if he stuck a Coke bottle in them. My God, is that Rock of Gibraltar a part of his anatomy? Is that lap rocket made of steel actually thinking of achieving penetration in my soft, delicate body? In an orifice, that on occasion, outright refuses to entertain a swath of cotton less than three inches long, otherwise known as a tampon? Holy heck, this is not going to end well—not for me at least.

His hands move up and down my body, his fingers pressing in just enough as if memorizing my curves as he rides from my back to my thighs. His hands swim up the front as he spreads his palms over my belly, my ribs, my chest, and just like that, the girls light up like Christmas trees. Just the sensation his hands evoke ignites a fire inside me. His touch feels electric, and suddenly I’m hungry to feel all of him against me all at once.

My fingers fumble with his jersey, and Rush helps evict it. He sits up and yanks off his T-shirt in record time, undoes the buckle on his belt, and loosens his jeans until his boxers sit exposed.

I jump to my knees, fully aware the time has come to follow the leader in this birthday suit reveal. I may not be an expert as far as bedroom shenanigans go, but I darn well know that getting naked is an important part of the equation.

I give a quick tug to my sleeve, and it feels as if the fabric is tugging right back over my skin. I flick off my heels and note the only way for my tights to come off is for my leotard to do a disappearing act first.

Shit.

I tug and pull, and, holy hell, I’ve donned a flipping Chinese yoyo!

“Your sister talked me into this,” I hiss as I become aggressively disheveled, spinning and twisting over his bed like a woman possessed. Swear to God, I’d bet good money Rush were preparing himself in the event my head begins to swivel and I spew green fluids across the room.

“Oh my God!” I howl, enraged by the very sweaty, unsexy might I add, strip tease I’m forced to engage in. “Know this—your sister’s virginity will remain safely intact so long as she dons this cat suit nightly.”

Rush groans. That lopsided grin gets caught in the moonlight, and I can’t help but melt right down to my core. “Can we hold off on all talk of my sister?” He leans in and braces me with his strong arms as if he were about to shake me. A part of me wishes he would—maybe that’s the secret to dislodging this hell from my body.

“My God, it’s a bona fide temporary tattoo,” I howl as I pinch at the sleeve once again to no avail. “I think it’s actually melted to my flesh. The only way to get it off is by fire.”

“Try this.” Rush inches down the fabric just above my shoulder before leaning in to gift my collarbone a string of kisses.

DIES!

“Yes! You’re brilliant. What am I saying? You’re probably an expert at removing all kinds of clothing contraptions off a girl’s body. Turning this cat suit inside out poses no challenge to you whatsoever. I bet you’ve stripped a skank out of a leotard or two in your prime,” I pant as I struggle to lower the hell suit off my arm.

“Not really. Usually the girls strip themselves in five seconds flat.” He winces. “But that’s in the past.” His finger runs a soft line along my cheek. “I promise that you and difficult to remove leotards alone are in my future.”

A short-lived laugh expels from me as the dance of the devil continues. I struggle and grunt and finally free my left arm. Just as I bring my hand up to celebrate the contortionist feat, my left boob jumps out and slaps Rush in the face like a punishment.

I suck in a quick breath. I knew I was feisty, but really? Et tu, Leftie?

“Oh my God!” I try to lean back, but with Mount Pillow stacked behind me and Rush all but on top of me, there’s nowhere for me to go.

“Wow.” He backs up a notch, nursing his eye with his hand.

“Did I blind you?” I lean in to offer up some aid and nearly smother him with my boob in the process. “Oh God! It’s like assault with a breasty weapon.”

A dark laugh strums from him. “I’m okay. In fact, that was quite the introduction. He leans in and offers up a tender kiss that ends in a suckle and my head bows back as a rather loud, embarrassing burp-like groan razors out of my throat.

It’s becoming crystal clear that tonight will not be flattering in the least, and if I’m wise, I’ll only commit the choicest of morsels to memory. I’ve heard enough stories to know that the first time equals a parade of horrors starting with awkward nakedness and ending with what feels like someone dropped a grenade in your nether regions.

“I think I can take it from here.” Rush proceeds to peel the evil spandex off me as if he were peeling a banana, soft and easy as not to disturb the rind too much—or in this case, not to lose an eye by way of Leftie. I can’t even imagine how that ER visit would go. Rush would make the evening news and probably become a hero among boob loving men the world over. Some men might actually consider it an honor to have an eye put out by way of a caustic nipple. I’m betting Rush would secretly wear that eye patch with pride.

He peels the suit slowly down my torso as I become fully exposed to him, both girls perky and at attention right in his line of vision—and believe you me, Rushford Knight is more than grazing me with those eyes. Carefully, and albeit awkwardly, I help excavate myself from the tights from hell—yet another chastity belt-like modality that has no business being anywhere near a prom night, wedding night, or deflowering party such as this. Nope. It’s clear I’ve worn all the taboo items necessary to ensure we’d waste prime waking hours losing our sanity trying to figure out the Rubik’s Cube solution to my costume. But alas—I toss my tights to the floor like a seasoned stripper.

And then it hits me as I crawl back on my knees, naked as the day I was born, cool air hitting me in places that quite frankly are feeling a breeze for the first time in nineteen years. “Um”—it comes out unsure as I clear my throat—“I’m still wearing my ears.” I point stupidly at the furry triangles sitting proud at the top of my head. Then it hits me that I’m still in full whisker and charcoal nose mode, too. And how could I forget the rhinestone lashes? Hey, if you’re going to lose your virginity, you might as well go out like a rhinestone cowgirl.

“Keep the ears,” he says it sharp like a command, and that delicate spot between my thighs gives a hard quiver. My breathing picks up at an asthmatic pace, and my mouth falls open because, my God, I just glanced down and I’m suddenly appalled and embarrassed by the size and girth of that thing he has pointed staunchly in my direction.

“Mother F,” I hiss at the sight of it.

Rush touches his finger under my chin and carefully raises it a notch to hook my gaze. He takes my hand and lands it over him, right there on that impossible hardness, and I gasp as if it seared me. Scared me is more like it.

“Oh—oh, wow,” I whisper. “My, what a big thermometer you have there, Dr. Knight. I take it, internal temps are your specialty?”

Somebody kill me quick before I embarrass myself further.

A slow smile flirts with his lips as he tips his head back, his eyes closing ever so slightly. “That’s it,” he whispers as he moves my hand up and down, clearly ignoring my moronic rant. His voice hitches as if the simple act of me touching him like this caused him an ecstasy worthy amount of pain. Somehow, I doubt I’ll be speaking any words once he launches this missile deep inside of me—at least not intelligible ones. In fact, I’m subconsciously doing the math at how far inside of me this chaos might actually touch down. I’m guessing sternum.

Dear God, is he going to put a lung out? What if he grazes my heart and I flatline right here on his mattress? Knox won’t be able to live without me. He’ll hate me for sleeping with his best friend, but he will die and be buried in the same casket before they cover me with dirt.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says while diving to the nightstand and rumbling through the top drawer. He comes up with a square foil package, and suddenly I feel just the way I did at the gynecologist when the doctor held up his working tools of destruction, set for my vaginal doom.

“Oh, you know, actually—” If he doesn’t want to talk about his sister, then sure as hell he won’t want to dissect my wandering thoughts of my brother and a shared casket. That’s just wrong and freaky. “Frozen yogurt. Fro yo. I was just thinking about those pink slimy little balls filled with perfumy liquid that squirt in your mouth. You know, they kind of look like fish bait—or eyes—depending on your perception of them.” Kill me. Return me to the virgin only woods and let me die a cat lady with far too many flea-riddled felines for it to ever be safe. I want to stab my eyes out with a plastic fork for invoking pink slimy little balls that squirt. And the word squirt? Ah, yes. Trixie Toberman taking down sexy one word at a time.

“Fro yo, huh?” he pants the words out, half-interested, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth before getting to the intense task of rolling it on, and I can’t bring myself to look down. Rush’s breathing is labored, the veins along his temples bulge slightly, and he looks strained before he’s even touched me, so to speak. He rubs his hands over his jeans before fully removing them from his body. His fingers dig into the back of my hair as he pulls me in.

“Trixie,” he breathes my name hard into my ear. “You are so damn beautiful.” His hands float slowly down my body, covering each square inch with those large heated mitts, and I can’t help but moan with delight.

Rush lays me back and lands with his elbows straddling either side of my temples. That thorny horny protrusion lies hard over my stomach, touching down at the base of the twins that nearly caused a knock out, and I’m intensely terrified of how the logistics of this is going to work. He scoots back down until his face is inches from mine.

“You do this all the time, r-right?” My voice vibrates in fear as if I were about to have a dental drilling—no Novocaine in sight. Wait, is there such a thing as Novocaine for the vagina? Oh wow, they say necessity is the mother of invention, and I think I just stumbled upon a whopper. Mark Zuckerberg has Facebook, and I’ll have the vagina numbing panacea that will bowl the world over—the female demographic. Of course, I’ll come up with a far catchier name. Anti-penile paralysis, perhaps? I can see the advertising slogan now. Anesthetize your coital canal for hours of apathetic fun! You might be dead downstairs, but you’ll be one hundred percent clear despite the present danger!

I glance down at the missile that’s about to launch inside of me and whimper. There’s no way in hell this is safe. What kind of dingbat comes back for more of what is clearly panning out to be a medieval torture device?

“I don’t do this all the time,” he grunts. “Not anymore.” Rush looks up from kissing me between the girls before drifting down another notch. My knees cinch in the event he gets any kinky ideas.

“I mean, one size fits all, right?” How I loathe clothing that touts that moniker. I, for one, am appreciative of the fact women come in all shapes and sizes. One size fits all is a lie from the seventh circle of retail hell, and every girl knows it.

He rumbles a laugh right over my belly, and I laugh right along with him. “It’ll fit. I’ll make it fit.”

My girl parts and I cringe in unison. “Oh, right. Of course, you will.” My heart ratchets up as if I were up next in the electric chair. “I mean, we’re not quitters, right?” I am so a quitter. Exactly how much self-respect would I lose for myself if I bolted for the door right now in my birthday suit? Zero. That’s how much.

Rush pulls back and takes a scrutinizing look at me. “Whoa.” He rubs his thumb over my lips. “You look petrified, like you forgot the safe word.”

“Oh my God, there’s a safe word?” It speeds out of me so fast you’d think a rat just ran across my belly.

“It’s fro yo.” He gives a slight wink, and I smack him for teasing me.

“What?” A dark laugh strums from him. “We can change it to squirt if you like.”

I cover my face with my hands. “You are terrible!” I peer out from between my fingers. “Do you have your horns trimmed weekly to hide the evidence of evil?”

His deep, thunderous laugh reverberates over my skin as he kisses his way down to my belly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He buries a kiss just above that fuzzy triangle I didn’t think to shear. It’s as if my girl parts have donned a costume of their own—the seventies. “But I will if I have to.” He runs his tongue over my skin before looking up with a devilish grin. “Kidding.” He pulls my knees apart with his shoulders and buries a quick kiss over that tender spot that’s been calling his name since the day I laid eyes on him.

“Rush!” I scream so loud, mostly in ecstasy but partly because I was not expecting that and I hate surprises.

He slides back up and dips his tongue into my mouth, and I twist my head, disgusted by the fact I’m privy to where it’s just been.

“I knew you were sweet. You taste like sugar.” He melts a kiss over my lips, and soon our tongues are dancing and we’re doing that thing we do so well.

“There’s not a sweet bone in my body, and you know it.”

He gurgles with a laugh. “You’re sweet where it counts.” He lands a kiss over my chest just above my heart.

Rush and I lose ourselves in fevered kisses, soul-melting kisses, so hungry we can’t get enough kisses, wild kisses that are far from ever being tame.

His leg dives between mine, and reflexively I wrap my thighs around his back, my heart thumping so strong and so loud each beat deafens me.

“You ready?” There’s a sadness in his eyes, that lazy grin he wears all but gone. His eyes are glossed over, giving him that stoned look I’ve seen a dozen times before, but this time it’s far more severe. This was a high like no other I’ve ever invoked with him. And sadly, I can’t help but wonder how many other girls have seen this gorgeous side of him.

“I’m ready,” I whisper.

Rush flexes, carefully guiding himself inside me, and I can feel my innocence splitting like an atom. A rip, a tear, a furious spear of white-hot pain, and then he’s in me, so deep I gag for a moment. It feels as if he’s right up there in my throat, testing the boundaries of every inch of me.

Rush is inside of me, loving me with his body, with his heavy panting, his throaty groans, and for unknown reasons my eyes flood with tears.

I love him.

This much I know is true.

---

To say the morning after was awkward would be putting it mildly. Rush rolled over, smiled, and then bolted upright in horror while whacking me ever so gently—hell, not all that gently if I’m telling the truth—in the face with a pillow. I assure you this was not your run-of-the-mill pillow fight. This was Rush screaming tarantula! And me running around his room naked and screaming at the top of my lungs until we discover rather simultaneously it was merely a false eyelash gone astray. Yes, that was pretty.

A week floats by, and Rush and I have yet to reenact the raunchy routine. He assured me he understood the importance of waiting a few days before diving back in and drilling for oil. Okay, so he didn’t include the crude commentary, but I digress. Hopefully, we’ll pick up where we left off sooner than later. There are a few bennies I’ve yet to cash in on, such as the ever-elusive O. Don’t get me wrong, Rush is no slouch. He put in his time on the job, and it was a forceful yet enthusiastic effort at that. But my body kept seizing up moments before liftoff, and, well, after an hour or three, I decided it was in the best interest of his oxygen intake we give up on the effort.

But on this Saturday night, Sunday, Serena, Harley, and I have decided to meet up for dinner at the Black Bear. The football team didn’t have a game, so most of the Briggs population has chosen to congregate here. I’m late, and by the looks of things Sunday is already on dessert. To be fair I asked her not to wait for me.

I spot Rush over in the back with the usual suspects—Seth, Knox, Grant, and Lawson. My brother catches my eye and offers up a quick wave, so I shoot one right back. Rush turns around and does a double take, winking nice and slow once he sees me.

Sunday scoffs. “My brother is such a goof. Remind me to tell him no one likes a person who winks.”

“You’ve winked before.” I knock her elbow off the table.

“That’s because I’m prone to picking up bad habits from him.” She runs her fork through her lemon pie before letting it fall to her plate. “Speaking of which—I’m sort of thinking about having a fling. You know—finding someone and having a little fun of my own.”

“What?” the three of us squawk at once.

“No,” I bleat, emphatic. “We are not of the slut variety. We need love and romance. A fling offers none of the above.”

“She’s right.” Serena is quick to side with me. That look in her eyes is lethal. If anything, Serena is all about protecting her cousin’s shiny intact-hymen virtue.

Harley shakes her head. “It’s hard finding the one, though. And if we wait around forever, we may leave this four-year institution untouched, unsung, and unloved.”

Serena bumps her. “Are you quoting your favorite movie again? I swear, this girl plays three things on a loop.”

“That’s because they’re tried and true,” she counters.

Serena scoffs. “Tried and true are two things you don’t need your girl parts to be.”

“Touché,” I sing. “Love conquers all. And you know what else it’s really good at conquering?” I glower at Sunday. “Your vagina. So, wait for it.”

She averts her eyes as if I just spewed false logic. “This coming from a girl who not only purports to being in love, but loses her virginity to a guy and won’t tell her roommate his name.”

The sounds of jaws dropping to the floor are apparently a real thing because a serious boom just came from the opposite end of the table.

“You’re kidding, right?” Harley looks personally offended. She’s so beautiful with her year-round perfectly tan skin, those illuminated eyes, I’m terrified Rush will wake up one day and realize it’s her he really wants to be with. So no. I will not be touting my relationship status with her or anyone else at this table for many, many reasons.

“It’s still new.” I glance over at him and wonder if it’ll ever get old. It won’t, but that’s not the point. “Besides, you witches don’t know him. He’s—older.”

Serena sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s a professor! It’s Professor Hastings! He is hot as fu—”

“Fugly.” I slap my hand over hers as if bringing her back down to Earth. “He’s fugly. My man is a thing of alien beauty who should come with a warning label he’s so darn hot.”

The three of them stare over at me with a marked silence and at full attention. It’s only then I realize there is no good way out of this mess. Once this nosy threesome is bound and determined, there’s not a secret safe on the planet. Rush and I are going to be outted. And sadly, a part of me is cheering them on. Coming out as a couple would be the logical next step. I mean, we can’t hide forever, right? Who’s to stop us from stepping up the big reveal other than Knox, Rex, Lawson, Sunday, Serena, and most likely everyone on campus that bears a double X chromosome.

“Who is he?” Serena harps as if it’s any of her beeswax.

My phone burps and twitches just as the 12 Deadly Sins take the stage, and both Serena and Harley have a little groupiegasm. They’ve expounded their love for Blake, the lead singer, on innumerous occasions. Yes, he’s cute and witty, and sings like an orgasmic dream, but he’s no Rush Knight, so I glance to my phone and don’t pay him any mind.

“It’s my mom.” I shrug as I show them the text. But neither of them is interested in my flimsy excuse to remove myself from the conversation. Instead, they do the honors for me as they glide out of the booth and onto the dance floor.

“Scoot.” Sunday knees me in the thigh until I bounce on out. “And don’t think for a minute I won’t stop until you reveal his identity.”

“Et tu, Brutus? Trust me, you’ll appreciate the need for anonymity once you start flinging penises with the best of Kappa Kappa Gag Me.”

She rolls her eyes as she plucks off her heels. “Finish up with your mom and join me. This conversation is far from over, young lady.” She offers an exaggeratingly cheesy wink before taking off in spite of decrying the facial gesture.

“You’re more and more like your brother every day!” I shout after her, and Rush turns my way. Those heavy lids of his speak volumes about where his head is and he lets his gaze ride up and down my body before turning back around.

Knox has Harper sitting on his lap. And Grant and Lawson each have their plus ones by their side, too. I wonder how far off we are from completing that quadrilateral of love. I wonder if my brother would ever accept it.

I glance down at the text from my mother.

I love you. I just want you to know that. Bradley and I are hosting Thanksgiving at The Happy Squirrel cabin, and it would mean the world if you and Knox could make it. You can bring a date if you like. Please consider. I spoke with your father.

A flash of anger surges in me. The audacity. It was bad enough I had to camp out at that so-called loft engineered out of pretzels while she trolloped around with him prior to their wedding, but now she wants me to ditch my father on what is practically a high holy holiday in our family?

No way! Dad wins hands down. How could you even ask me to leave him all by his lonesome? I’m not you. I hit Send without a smidge of remorse.

She’s typing back, furiously most likely. She doesn’t take rejection well. We’ve got that in common.

He mentioned he’ll be in New York. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Regardless, there will be a place setting for you at the table. We need to talk. I miss you so much, Beatrix. You have my heart. You always have.

“Who is this woman who stole my mother’s phone?” I shake my head disbelievingly before burying the evidence of my mother’s insanity deep into my purse. I start to head out and note Rush hot on my heels. I stride toward the bathroom, hoping he’ll follow my lead, and sure enough, he takes the sexual bait.

Wordlessly, I grab him by the hand and make a mad dash for the ladies’ room. Thankfully, a stall sits idle and I don’t hesitate yanking him inside. I fumble with the lock, but it seems to be stuck and I can’t get the darn lever to loosen no matter how hard I smack it.

“Geez,” I hiss in a tizzy. My body spikes with heat in fear of getting caught. “You need a degree in bathroom stall sciences to figure out how to lock this thing.” And then someone on Mount Olympus smiles down at me and the lock glides right into place, securing the privacy of our spontaneous tryst.

“Hello to you, too,” he whispers with that demented clown grin pinned to his face, and it unleashes an entire rushing river to gush from deep within me. His features look oddly accentuated by the lighting, and those eyes—my God, I cannot get my fill. His cologne grips my senses, and suddenly all seems right with the world. That cloying feeling my mother invoked melts away like snow in the spring.

I pull him in and our mouths fuse together in a frenzy. Rush tastes like peppermint and beer, and I’m dizzy off his scent, his taste, the feel of his granite-like body against mine. I fumble with his pants until I’m holding him hot in my hands, and I lift my skirt and put his hands right over my bottom, just feeling his searing skin over mine and memorizing the feel.

Rush riffles through his wallet before coming up with a condom, and the look on his face spells out relief. “We got lucky.” He waves it a moment before biting it open and gliding it on.

I hike up over him with my legs around his waist, and just like that, he’s in me. My body slams against the bathroom stall aggressively again and again, and I can hear the distinct sound of giggles emanating from behind the closed door. One powerful explosion after the next and I close my eyes, bend my head back, and ride it out like a series of violent waves. Rush clutches onto me, digging his fingers into my ribs as his body quivers to completion. He lands an aggressive kiss to my lips, and we linger there a moment, just the two of us alone in this universe.

He peppers kisses to my ear. “Damn, you’re wild.” His heavy panting deafens me. The two of us just stand there staring at one another, those lusty lasers of his knifing right through me as if begging for more. “I’ll leave first. Plan for a sleepover tomorrow night.” He kisses me as he buttons up and ditches out of the stall.

I wait for all of three seconds before dashing into the foyer after him and bump right into—

“Sunday?” My voice pitches to unnatural heights.

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes round out as if they just saw the entire thing play out in real time. “Were you just in the bathroom with my brother?” The look of horror on her face quickly morphs into hurt, and I want nothing more than to drop in a hole—or a toilet as it were.

“No! I mean yes. He was in the stall next to me.” My entire body lights up like a flare with the lie. “My God, he is a grade A pervert. I’m pretty sure campus police should be warned of his predatory ways, but judging by how hard that girl was howling she enjoyed every minute.”

She slaps her hand over her forehead. “Of course. I’m so sorry you had to bear witness to it. God, he is such a pig.” She glares at the exit as if she were headed out to rip him a new one.

“I agree, but who cares, right?” I try to swallow, but my throat feels thick and dry. I can’t help but note how disheveled my hair looks after our romp and stomp, and I’m shocked that Sunday is buying the bull I’m slinging.

Scarlett comes up behind me and begins staring at the floor as if she lost a dollar, and her eyes widen as she traces my body with her gaze. She speeds on over. “Trixie, can I talk to you a moment?”

“Perfect timing!” I clutch at her shoulders. “I mean, I hate this song, so I was going to sit it out.” I grimace at Sunday, and my roomie glares at me for a moment before softening. We’ve begged the Sins to sing this song on at least twelve different occasions.

“I’ll be on the dance floor. This happens to be our favorite song.” She takes off, and I feel smaller than head lice for lying to her so brazenly about both sex and the 12 Deadly Sins. It’s a sad day when you decide it’s best to take down the entire music industry right along with your pride.

“What is going on?” Scarlett’s eyes are ripe with rage. Her hair shimmers like a burning inferno all its own, and suddenly I’m feeling out of the fiery loop. “I saw Rush leaving the girls’ bathroom.”

I suck in a quick breath. “I guess he gets around.” Now it’s my face on fire. I’m such a lousy liar. I’m sure I’ll be confessing the entire unholy event at the mic before this night is through. Maybe I’ll even start a new trend? Confessional karaoke.

“Save it.” Her eyes cut through mine like emerald blades. “I was in the next stall. I made it a point to memorize the shoes of the girl who was wasted enough to get laid in a bathroom stall. Gray sneakers, small hole in the right toe?” Her accusing gaze never leaves mine.

“For your information, my sneakers were once stark white.” I do my best to circle around her, and she blocks my path with that flummoxed expression.

She spikes her fists in her hips with that know-it-all look on her face. “I take it your brothers don’t know about this.”

“What do you know? I was just about to tell them. Isn’t that what every sane girl does after having bathroom stall sex with her boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Her jaw drops as if that were far more fatal than a sticky quickie. “Are you really seeing Rush?” Her brows do this weird squiggly worm dance, and she suddenly looks afraid for my safety.

“Yes,” I hiss right into her shocked little face. “And I expect you to keep it down. This isn’t news I’m sharing just yet. So help me God, if you tell Rex—my brother, who you—my quasi-sister—are bedding I will freak the freak out! Don’t you dare look at me as if I’ve lost my mind. You and I both know Rush Knight can make even the hardest heart fold.”

“You folded, huh?” Scarlett dropped the holier-than-thou act real quick after I pointed out the fact she was practically committing step-incest. It’s disgusting is what it is. But you can’t really blame Rex. Scarlett is a stunner. I guess my brother isn’t so hard on the eyes either.

“Yes, I folded. I folded like a lawn chair, just the way you did when my brother came sniffing around your bits and pieces. Now, please,”—suddenly I want to cry—“do not, I repeat, do not out me.”

“Fine,” she snipes. “But if you keep pulling stunts like that, you’ll out yourself in no time.” She chews on her lip a moment, her own eyes filling with tears. “You do realize he’s a notorious womanizer. That’s one cheetah that may never change his spots.”

“We’re together now. Spots have changed. What we have is different.” My throat constricts, making it painful to speak.

“Okay.” She nods without an ounce of believability. “Did you at least use protection?”

“And foil my plans to grow a fetus before finals? Yes, we used protection. You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“No.” She shakes her head wildly, and I tend to believe her. Scarlett has never been anything but kind to me. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.” She hitches a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Promise me you’ll be safe. Above all, guard your heart. And anytime you want, my door is open to you.”

“Thank you,” I say weakly. I’m just about to take off when she catches me by the wrist.

“I almost forgot.” She winces. “I know it’s none of my business, but Rex sort of filled me in on all the drama with your mom. I get it. I haven’t always gotten along with mine either. She took off and started a whole new family. I thought maybe she hated me.” She glances to the ceiling, blinking back tears as if it were ludicrous. “But I know for a fact your mom doesn’t hate you. Rex and I have been going to those excised parenting meeting she attends.”

Now it’s me with my jaw rooted to the floor.

“She loves you. She’s cried buckets for you at those meetings. And after listening to Rex, I think maybe your father—without meaning to—pitted you against her.”

I yank my hand back. “How dare you. My dad did nothing but cover us in love. Please, don’t ever bring this up to me again.” I bolt out the door and run all the way to Cutler Tower. Somehow my mother managed to usurp the glory of tonight’s little bathroom games.

Figures.

If anyone can ruin a good time, it’s my mother.

---

Rush and I lose ourselves in our own little world. The Love in the Night hour hosts a few more of Whitney Briggs’ self-proclaimed D-list celebrities, Laney and Ryder—the exes that find their way back in time for Christmas. Roxy and Cole, the feisty beauty and the brut womanizing beast—they remind me most of Rush and me. Izzy and Holt—the ballerina and the bartender—WB wasn’t remotely involved, but I appreciated the cougar aspect of it all. And then my favorite by far, Annie and Blake—she’s sweet as sugar. The deaf girl and the rock star. What’s not to love? All of the above had a happy ending, and all of the above are still going strong. It just goes to show that Rush and I can last forever.

It’s a blustery Saturday night and Knox asked me to come over and watch a movie with him and Harper, as if. I can just picture me snuggled up between the two of them while they play footsie.

Gross. No thanks. Anyone who finds brushing up against my brother’s sweaty feet even remotely a turn-on is someone I intrinsically can’t get along with. Sure, on the surface Harper and I get along, but deep down, where it counts, she’ll always be the other woman to me. I know how twisted that sounds, but he’s my other half, and I’ve never had to share him with another woman, not even our mother.

I bypass Knox’s house like a reflex and park in Rush’s driveway instead. The driveway in front of Knox’s house is currently clogged with Harper’s wheels. And instead of hopping the two-foot picket fence between them, I head straight to Rush’s door and give a gentle knock.

The door opens, and there he is, Rush Knight dripping wet with a towel around his waist, those luscious beads of holy water gliding over the ridges of his abs.

His chest bucks. “I thought you said you had a hot date with another man tonight?” That sloppy grin glides up his cheek.

“I did, but I decided to stand him up for you.” I dig a finger into his rock-hard chest as I make my way inside and shut the door behind me. Rush moans as he takes me in from head to toe. His arms race up and down my back as his crotch rubs against my thigh.

“Wow, Knight. Is that a telescope you’re hiding under there, or are you just really, really glad I came over in time to help you alleviate that horny protrusion?”

“It’s a rocket that NASA implanted in my body.” He pumps a wry smile. “And they demand I find a nice dark, wet home for it. You know of any place we can keep this government secret safe for the night?”

“Hmm.” I tap my chin. “If it’s for the security of this country, I’ve always been a fan of the space program. Deep—deep space.”

“Ooh.” He winces, and those heavy lids of his drop down a notch.

And just like that, I drop to the floor.

“What are you doing?” There’s a dark hint of mischief in his voice as he asks. It’s more of a rhetorical question at this point.

I snatch the towel away quick and sharp as if I were a magician unveiling my next act. And shockingly I am. There he is, hung like a horse, like a real live Clyde the donkey, and the boys in the back don’t exactly look like a pair of homely backup singers. Nope. This band has three main acts, and I plan on juggling them all at once. Mind you I have no clue what I’m doing, but I’m a quick learner. They didn’t exactly let me in with the best and the brightest for slacking off.

“I decided I needed another lesson.” I blink up innocently at him, and Rush springs to life, just shy of grazing my lips with his pointy presence. “And it suddenly looks as if you’re up for giving it to me.”

He lets out a ragged breath as if this entire event were already pushing him over the edge. His fingers rake through my hair, and it feels like the most decadent massage.

“Trixie,” he expires my name like the hiss of a tire. “You have no idea how insane you make me.”

“Insanity is a good thing as long as you’re on the right side of the psychosis.” I lean in and grab the length of him in my hand, the boys with the other, and my mouth opens ever so slightly as I try my best to learn as I go. And I can’t help but wonder if that old adage, fake it till you make it, applies to something like this.

Just as my lips make contact with something so wide that the girth of which will never fit into my mouth—and he can forget about the length—the door swings open, and I glance over to find my brother standing there, mouth and eyes wide-opened—a look of intense horror written on his face that I have never witnessed before.

The three of us freeze—a panicked paralysis hits us as the breeze whistles in harsh and biting.

“I’m going to kill you.” He lunges for Rush so fast I duck and roll just to escape the onslaught.

Knox roars like a lion on fire as he knocks Rush against the wall so hard a plume of dust goes flying as the drywall splits.

“Oh my God, STOP!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but Knox launches Rush around the room like a naked pinball. The muscles in Rush’s arms and legs bulge like bricks as he struggles to tear my brother off him, but Knox is driven by a ripe madness that can only be brought on after witnessing such an unholy sight. And who could blame him? I was holding Rush’s manhood like a microphone, my mouth opened as if I were about to sing an aria.

A shrill scream escapes me as I struggle to process what’s happening. Knox pins Rush against the kitchen cabinet and connects his fist to Rush’s face over and over again until blood begins to squirt onto the white counter.

Harper runs in screaming and strangles the shit out of Knox until he relents and stumbles backward. He’s panting, all of his hatred still pouring over Rush.

It takes a moment for me to pick up the towel and throw it over to Rush, but he wipes the blood off his face with it instead of concerning himself with modesty. I never said he was shy.

My brother stomps on over to me, and I’m afraid for my own face. “Is this what you want, Trix?” Knox riots just inches from my nose. “What the fuck are you thinking?” His voice reverberates right through my bones. “This dude is with a different chick every day of the week! Are you going to let him use you like this? I thought you were smarter than that!” he thunders so loud the windows hum as they rattle.

“This is what I want!” I riot right back at him. “Rush and I are together! We’ve been together all semester. We’re in love.” Those last words come out softer, like something that should remain unspoken.

“Love?” Knox bounces back on his feet—the way he does on the field as he’s psyching up for a big play. “Trixie, this guy doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. He’s a sociopath that prefers his victims in the bedroom. Who the hell told you he loved you?” He takes an aggressive step toward Rush. “Did you fucking lie and tell her you love her?”

“No.” Rush closes his eyes a moment.

And then it hits me like a lead ball to the stomach.

Rush has never said those words to me.

He looks over at me longingly as if begging me to forgive him.

“You love me, right?” There’s an edge to my voice. “I said it to you.” Tears break through as my heart falls right out of my chest and explodes into a big bloody mess at my feet.

Harper pulls me to the door. “Come on. I’ll get you home.”

“No.” I shake her off, my gaze still locked over Rush. “We were real, right? Tell Knox we were the real thing. Say you love me.” I knife that last sentence out like the command it is.

Rush takes a breath and not a single word evicts from his throat. His eyes gloss over as our eyes lock, but his jaw remains locked with no intention of moving.

Knox lets out an awful grunt. “You can’t say you love her, can you?”

A horrible silence clots up the room, a silence so deafening I will hear it, feel its coldness forever in my nightmares. Rush just stands there, naked, gorgeous as all hell, with the inability to speak a single word.

An intense searing pain works its way through my body, a bone-shattering ache that I have not felt since the time my mother was taken away in court. A hiccup of a cry bucks through me, and I snatch my keys off the floor and get the hell out of there.

Rush is just like my mother—a damn liar who never loved me to begin with.

“Trixie, wait!” But it’s not Rush running after me. It’s Knox. He tackles me as I’m about to duck into my car, wraps his arms around me tight, and pulls me close, his mouth next to my ear. “I love you, Trix. I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you. I love you so much it hurts.”

I guess you’d have to have a twin to understand the impact of those words. Knox knew I needed to hear them from someone—anyone really.

“I know.” I offer a quick kiss to his cheek before ducking into my car and hightailing it the hell out of there.