Twenty minutes later, I'm parking my sedan on a Brentwood street and Kaylee is clutching at my forearm.

She forces her words out. "Are we really doing this?"

I nod as I pull the door open. "Call it a trial run."

She steps onto the street. Nods to the No Parking 10 PM to 6 AM sign posted in front of my car. "You're going to get a ticket."

"At three a.m.?"

"Yeah." She digs her cell—the one with the Hunger Games phone case—from her purse and stares at the screen. "It's really three a.m."

I nod.

"Why did you get home so late?"

"Walker and Dean."

"They take that long to find women to bring home?"

"Yeah." Or they were dragging it out for my benefit. Their benefit really. They both enjoy mocking my pining over the one woman I can't have state.

"Hmmm." She hugs her purse to her shoulder as she steps forward. "You sure about the car?"

"My car."

"Damn. Such an outlaw. What will you risk next?"

I flip her off.

She smiles as she returns the gesture.

I take her hand. Lead her across the small, neighborhood street. All the way to the main drag.

No lights or cross walks in any direction.

No cars either.

I turn to Kaylee. "You ready?"

She nods. Squeezes my hand and takes the first step into the street.

We run across the major road. Through the tuft of Eucalyptus trees on the other side. Over the wet green lawn.

Kaylee clutches her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. "You run fast."

"It's called exercise."

"I exercise. Just not running. Running is the devil."

"No wonder I like it so much."

She laughs. "That was bad. But funny too. I must be tired." She pushes herself up. Wipes her wet hands on her jeans.

I take them. Wipe them on my t-shirt.

Her palm lingers against my chest. She drags it over my torso as she pulls it back to her side.

Her eyes meet mine.

Her lips part.

I can see the words on the tip of her tongue.

And I'm not praying for her to hold them back.

I'm desperate for every fucking syllable.

Tell me you want me, angel.

Tell me you want me to fuck you so hard you get grass stains on your skin.

Tell me you want me to throw you on that bench, rip off your jeans, and lick you until you're screaming.

Her eyes go to the building to our left. One of the science buildings. "It's different than before."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She leads me across the campus. "It feels real. Like this is really happening tomorrow."

We move onto the sidewalk. Past the science building. "It is." Toward the foreign languages building. "I remember the first time I walked into a shop looking for a job."

"It wasn't Inked Hearts?"

"No. I met Ryan at this dive in Downtown LA. He knew Manning. Invited me to Inked Hearts. He invited Dean and Dean invited Walker."

"What was that place like?"

"It was cleaner than it looked. Very go the fuck away. Band stickers on the walls. A burly guy at the register. A bunch of elitists who scowled at tattoos that weren't traditional enough."

"And you liked that?"

"The bands, yeah. It was a lot of punk. Metal. Hardcore shit. Nobody who listened to KIIS FM would dare enter that place."

"Perfect for you."

Yeah, it was. It still is. I can't say I'm into the elitist bullshit anymore.

But the whole I'm pissed and I don't want your opinion?

I get that.

"You've been seventeen," I say.

"Only three weeks ago even." She bites her lip. "There was a long time that I didn't see you."

"Mom didn't want me around Em. Not once I started apprenticing."

"Oh. I never realized. I thought you were just—"

"An obnoxious teenager who didn't want to be around my family?"

"I guess. I'm not sure. I was young. And I... I mostly thought you were hot."

"And old?"

"Yeah. But the same age as Harry Potter."

I chuckle. "I think he's older."

"Probably. But shorter. And—"

"Submissive, apparently?"

"Yeah." Her cheeks flush.

I shouldn't have said that. It's too late. The part of me that knows better is tired.

"How exactly did it happen?"

"I moved out the day I turned eighteen. Moved into a shitty place in Downtown LA. Had too many roommates. But I still came by to hang out with Em. Picked her up from school. Took her out on the weekends. Not like Mom was gonna take her to do the shit she actually wanted to do."

Kay nods.

"It was fall. I'd just gotten my sleeve. I was gonna take Emma hiking up in the Malibu hills. She used to enjoy that kinda thing. If you can remember."

"Sort of. She doesn't ever get dirty now. Unless it's the beach."

I nod. Emma is different than she was before the accident, but I'm not sure how much is her growing up and how much the ache of losing Mom and Dad.

"Mom saw me coming into the house. Asked about the tat in that why would you do that voice. I told her Ryan had done most of it. She'd met him once or twice."

"And she hated him?"

"She never said as much, but yeah. She grabbed Emma and made up some excuse about how they had somewhere to be. Then she found me and told me she didn't want me around her daughter. Not if I was going throw my life away."

"Oh, Brendon. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was—"

"That's your mom. It must have hurt."

Like a knife in my chest. But that was how it had to be. "Not everyone deserves to be in your life."

"Still. I know how much you love Em. How much you... well, you really are a family man."

"You could say that."

"It must have killed you, that rejection."

Maybe. I've always been angry. I think about it and I see red. I see injustice. I see bullshit. Sadness doesn't seep in.

"Your dad too?"

"He always followed her lead."

"And you... did you not see Em for all that time?"

"I still did. Just not when Mom was around." I'm good at keeping secrets, I guess.

"Oh." Kaylee takes another step forward. Another. Another. She stops in front of the building. Looks to her phone then to the stone sign. "This is it."

"First stop tomorrow."

She nods. "It looks good. Traditional." She gives the tall brick building a long once over. "Were you... were you hanging out with the kinds of people Em shouldn't be around?"

"Sometimes. I wasn't choosy about my friends. Or the way I spent my time."

"You mean..." She presses her lips together.

"You can ask."

She looks up at me. Runs her fingertips over my jawline. "You mean drugs?"

"Sometimes. It was never my thing."

"You'd rather be in control?"

"How the fuck did you know?"

It's strange. I never want to share anything. And certainly not with Kay. The way she looks at me—like I'm a guy worth loving—is too intoxicating. I can't bring myself to convince her otherwise.

But I want to tell her this.

I want her to know how many people I disappointed.

How many people I continue to disappoint.

It's still fucking heavy.

"Brendon?" She tugs at my t-shirt. Her eyes meet mine. Are you okay?

"What's next?"

"Oh." She looks to her cell. Taps the screen a few times. "The English building is this way. I think... It would be stupid, majoring in English."

"No."

"Yeah. Reading and writing aren't jobs."

"They are. But even if that's not what you do—so what? All jobs are communication. That's English."

"Maybe. I don't know. I think... I think my parents expect more."

"They just want you to be happy."

"How do you know?"

"You'll get it if you have kids one day."

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't know. I'm Emma's dad as much as I'm her brother."

"You're good at it. Whatever it is."

"Maybe." I try. It would be fucking amazing, having a family of my own. One day. But I'm not sure I'm the kind of guy who should be a dad. Or a husband. "Do you want kids?"

"I don't know. It's hard enough taking care of myself. That's so far off... I want to figure out this semester before I move on to the rest of my life."

I follow her along the concrete path.

The campus is beautiful this late. Big green lawn. Dark blue sky. Yellow streetlamps. Brick and concrete everywhere.

Every few minutes, we pass a student. Half are heading to or from the library. The other half are on their way home from a night of over indulging. It's in their messy steps and their habit of staring too long.

We go past every building in her schedule, even the one where her adviser is.

Finally, we stop at the building where Kaylee is taking her creative writing class.

She stares up at it. "I never would have taken this if you hadn't pushed me."

"Is that a thank you?"

"We'll see how it goes." She turns back to me. "I remember when you were younger."

I raise a brow, incredulous.

"There were times when you stormed to your room, all pissed off. But most of the time, you were sitting on the couch, scribbling in your sketchbook. You were a good guy."

I wasn't. That's what she doesn't get.

A good brother, maybe.

But not a good guy.

I used friends for drugs or booze.

I fucked women then threw them away.

I lied to my parents.

"I wasn't." I stare back at Kay. At all that trust in her eyes. I don't deserve it, but I still want every fucking drop of it. "I was an asshole. I treated people like shit."

"Even if that's true... does it really matter?" She presses her lips together. "Things can get better. People can get better."

"In theory."

"You... you were different before you had ink. You're more yourself now."

"I've had ink as long as you've known me."

She shakes her head.

I turn toward her, pull my jeans down my hip to show off my sic transit gloria quote. "Pretentious high school shit."

"Excuse you."

"For me. Not like I took Latin."

"You wanted the world to know glory is bullshit?"

Basically. I nod.

She moves under the street lamp. "I... I have ugly parts too. Things I don't want anyone knowing."

It's hard to believe. Kay is sunshine and cotton candy. She's the sweetest person I've ever met. Hands down. I shake my head.

She nods. "I guess that's fair. Since I don't believe you were ever a bad guy."

"It is." I move toward her. Until my hands are skimming her hips.

She looks up at me with those doe eyes.

Her lips part.

She nods.

It's like she's begging me to kiss her, touch her, fuck her.

Her arms slide around my neck. "I like the guy you are now." She reaches up to run her fingers through my hair. "A lot."

"Kay..."

She nods. "I know."

But she doesn't. Because I'm not gonna say shit about how this can't happen.

She looks up at me. "You... you're—"

I cut her off with my lips.

She's soft.

Eager.

Pliable.

I feel her everywhere. In my heart and my head and my bones.

My palm goes flat against her lower back.

I pull her body against mine.

Kiss her harder.

Deeper.

Fuck, she tastes good. Like mint and like Kaylee.

Her lips part to make way for my tongue.

Her fingers tug at my hair.

Her nails dig into my back, pressing the cotton of my t-shirt into my skin.

It's like she's begging for more.

Like she's begging to do away with every layer of fabric between us.

My hands move of their own accord.

One slides over her ass.

The other slips under her t-shirt.

She groans as my fingers skim her stomach.

She arches her back to rock her hips against mine. Shudders as she rubs against my hard-on.

There are only a few layers of fabric between my cock and her cunt.

It's too much.

I need her naked.

I need her on her back on that cold concrete bench, looking up at me like I'm the center of her universe.

She pulls back with a sigh. Looks up at me with every ounce of trust in the world. "I..." She leans into my touch. "I looked at your sketchbook."

What?

"Fuck." She jumps back. Covers her mouth with her hand. "I... Oh God." Her eyes go to the ground. "I'm sorry."

She...

What the fuck?

Time grinds to a halt.

I can feel every brush of the breeze.

Hear every distant footstep.

See every one of her lip quivers.

It's written all over her face.

She saw the drawings of her.

Where the fuck does she get off?

Could be with you. She's still here. That's why she's hinting at all this shit about being ordered around and tied up. She's into it. She wants it. She likes that you're a sick fuck.

Her chest heaves. "I'm sorry. It was wrong. A total invasion of privacy. But... if you want things to be even, we can do that. Look at my journal." Her voice cracks. Her eyes fill with terror. "Anything you want."

No. That isn't what I want. I don't know what the fuck I want. My head is spinning.

She knows how I want her.

And she's here.

She's into it.

My body is screaming for me to pin her to the wall. To push her jeans to her knees and plunge my fingers into her cunt. To growl you want it rough, angel? I'll show you rough.

But my head...

My heart...

"I'm sorry. I just... I want to know what you're thinking and feeling. I want it so badly. That's no excuse, but..."

"How much did you see?"

"Everything."

"And you..." My tongue trips over itself. There's nothing I can ask.

This is the only reasonable explanation for her behavior the last few weeks.

But it doesn't make any fucking sense.

Kay is sweet. Innocent.

She doesn't want it dirty and rough.

She doesn't cross the line like this.

She knows better.

"Do you?" Her voice is soft. Apologetic. "Do you really want me like that?"

The world is red. I blink, but that does nothing to help.

I pull my keys from my pocket. "Take the car home."

"But—"

"Now, Kay."

"Where are you—"

"I've got it under control."

"But..."

"Now."