The next morning, I wake up in a cold sweat from a dream I’ve had.

In the dream, I’m sleeping when Lacy walks into my room.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m scared in my bed by myself. Can I get into bed with you?”

“Sure,” I say in my dream, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just be friends,” she says as she slips under the covers with me. “I’ll forgive you for what you did if you forgive me.”

My stomach clenches up. “I’m still not over that.”

Her face puffs up, and she starts to cry. “I don’t understand you insist on carrying on this grudge.”

I clench my jaw, and even in my dream I feel my chest vibrate with raw anger.

“It’s your fault. You should never keep things from me.”

“I can make it up to you,” she says, licking her lips.

She’s never looked as sexy as she does in my dream. Her big, baby blue eyes look up at me like a puppy dog who just got caught on the couch, but will do anything it takes to get back in my good graces.

I’m so damn aroused as she slips her hand down my abs, and farther, until she’s inches—no, millimeters from gripping my cock, her gaze fully focused on mine.

I’m rock hard, at full attention. But before she can lower her hand, the door swings open, and a monster of a man stands in the archway.

In the way only a dream can manifest, the man is a hybrid mixture of my father and Leotard Larry.

Hence the cold sweat when I wake up.

My cock is as hard as I am confused by this dream.

Extremely.

My erection points straight up at the ceiling mirror, standing at attention.

I rub my eyes, put two feet on the floor, then get down to do some pushups to get this hard-on to disappear. In just my basketball shorts, I head to the dining room to start some coffee.

But as I approach the dining room, I smell something odd.

The place already smells of coffee, eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns.

To my goddamn surprise, Leotard Larry is already up, smiling as he cooks up a storm in my kitchen.

I clench my fists for a moment, then let the tension drop.

Because he’s got a big, warm smile on his face. And it appears to be genuine.

“Good morning!” he sings.

I blink a few times. He’s got on shorts that are way too short even if this man is a dancer, a lime green tank top, and he’s wearing my ‘kiss the cook here’ apron, with a down arrow pointing to the crotch.

He’s got bacon frying up in one pan, eggs in another, and the oven is preheating, probably so he can throw in the hashbrowns which are resting atop the stove.

Jesus. This guy certainly knows his way around the kitchen.

“Morning,” I growl back. I’ve always been suspicious of nice people. What kind of guy makes eggs in the morning for his one-night-stand?

“Oh my. Did you sleep okay?” he asks, leaning in. “I’ve got some coffee here for you. Cream or no? Well, you know the way around your own kitchen. Silly me. I hope it’s okay I’m making breakfast for everyone.”

I’m still groggy, and in a haze of disbelief that Leotard is making breakfast.

Lacy really knows how to pick them.

I pour myself a cup of black coffee and take a seat on a stool next to the island counter, watching him work the pan. He seems like a damn expert.

“So. Good night last night?” I arch an eyebrow at him, panning for information.

He turns and winks, still with that same sly smile that still leaves me wondering what the hell is going on with him.

“How about you, how was your workout last night, big guy?”

Big guy? The last time I got called that was by my mom. When I was seven.

“Fine,” I say gruffly.

“It really shows. You probably eat a lot of protein, though. How many eggs for you?”

“Four,” I say.

“Oh wow,” he says. “I’ll have to throw in another one on for you. Is scrambled okay?”

I nod slowly as I take a sip of my coffee. Footsteps pitter patter down the hallway, and Lacy comes toward the kitchen. Her shoulder length hair is all messed up.

Sex hair.

I’ve seen it too many times not to recognize it. I open my mouth to make a comment, but then think better of it.

Might as well not show my cards. I don’t want her having the tiniest inkling that I actually give a shit what she does. I attempt to pry my eyes away from her, but it’s impossible. She’s got on tiny short shorts and a tank top that shows off her belly button. And slippers.

The only proper way to describe her right now is ‘casual sexy.’ Does she even have a bra on? Fuck, those are some perky breasts.

Breasts. I hate Lacy.

Clearing my throat, I plaster a casual smirk onto my face and pretend I’m looking out the window as she gets to the kitchen.

She sets an empty bowl of popcorn in the sink, then kisses Leotard on the face.

“Morning. Mmm it smells delicious. Thanks for cooking, honey.”

“My pleasure,” he says, and she strokes his arm.

And the way he says pleasure while locking eyes with her makes me want to vomit.

“Coffee?” he asks.

Lacy nods, then comes to my side of the island to sit next to me. I flinch when she puts her hand on the side of my abs as she reaches across for the cup he pours her.

“Whoa. Are you okay?” she smiles at me, a devil’s grin.

“Fine. Just had some weird dreams.”

“Oh, you did?” she rests her hand on my forearm. “Want to tell me about them? I’ve been reading a few books on dream interpretation, actually.”

I pause and look down, staring at her hand on my arm. I bring my eyes back up to her, my gaze steely. “Hands off the merchandise,” I growl.

She looks down, and then reacts as if surprised. “Oh. I didn’t even think about it. Sorry.” Getting up from her chair, she brushes my shoulder with her boob. And her hand lingers for just a moment too long on my arm.

What the fuck is going on?

Am I imagining this? Why is she touching me right in front of her one-night stand? I decide to call her out on it.

Right after this delicious, amazing-smelling meal compliments of Leotard Larry, the modern Fabio.

After breakfast, Leotard Larry leaves. Lacy and I are sitting across from each other at the island. She scrolls through Instagram on her phone.

“What. The hell. Was that?” I spew, feeling my muscles tense. I hope she’s ready for a morning battle.

Actually, I hope she’s not.

“That was a man who knows how to cook.” She pats her belly, smiling, and picks her fork up off her plate, stares at it, and then cleans it with her mouth. “Good thing dance class is in the afternoon today. I’m going to have to invite him over more often.”

I stand up and walk around to her side of the island, taking a seat next to her. Even sitting at the high bar stool, she’s got to twist her head up to look at me.

“That’s not what I’m referring to.”

“Oh?” she says casually, not looking up from her phone. “You’re going to have to stop speaking in code. I’m not a mind reader, you know.” Finally, she brings her eyes up to meet mine. They glow with defiance.

“Don’t you dare play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She shakes her head and glances back at her phone. “I’m just not sure, Carter. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Oh? You need me to be specific? Here you go.” I muster my best girl-imitation voice. “Oh my God. You’re so big! Fuck me just like that!’”

She furrows her brow.

I return to my normal voice. “Were you making a fuckin’ porno last night? What the fuck?”

She shrugs. “You were the one who told me adults have fun relationships. So I took your advice to heart. Thank you.” She winks.

I rake a hand through my hair. I consider calling her out on what felt like obvious flirting during breakfast—her hand on my forearm, her boob brushing my arm, but I’m sure she’ll just deny it.

I’m smart enough to know that’s on purpose. She’s a dancer. Dancers are taught to move through every space with purpose. Lacy Benson is trying to fuck with me. Unluckily for her, she’s dealing with the best.

“What are you trying to do, Lacy?” I squint. “Drive me up a fucking wall?”

“Why would you care who I sleep with? And as far as the porno, comment, do you ever listen to yourself? The other night was disgusting. You think I want to listen to that all summer? You’re such a hypocrite.”

I scoff. “I let you crash here, and this is the thanks I get. You buffing some guy the first week.”

She puts down her phone and leans toward me. “Why are you such. An asshole.”

“Born that way. It’s in my genes, obviously. You should know that better than anyone.”

She bites her lip. “You want to go there?”

“Not really. But you know why I am the way I am more than most. I’m just stating the facts.”

Her eyes get a little foggy. She swallows. “I am really sorry about how that all happened. You know. I never meant to hurt you. I—”

“We’re not fucking talking about this at nine thirty in the morning on a Wednesday.”

“Oh really?” She stands up, and starts heading down the hallway toward her room. I follow a few steps behind her. “And when exactly are you planning on talking about it? It was like nine fucking years ago, at least! Get a fucking grip, Carter! It’s time to grow up. Not sure if you noticed this, but everyone had their problems growing up in Blackwell. You act like you’re this special case! Newsflash: you’re not.”

“Wow, thanks for the breaking story,” I say sarcastically. “In other news, I’m not having this discussion.”

Her eyes gloss over, and I resist the emotions coming over me. She’s playing a game. Trying to get me to feel sorry for her. I won’t let her affect my emotions. “You were pretty shitty to me too, you know. And I’m trying to forgive you. Maybe you could learn something from that.”

She slams the door to the bathroom in my face.

I clench my jaw, and a fist. I want to pound on the door.

And I especially don’t want to talk to her about it now that she’s boinking some guy in my apartment. Even if he does make one hell of a breakfast.

“No more sex in the house,” I blurt out.

She opens the door a crack. “Really? You can agree to that?”

“I will. If you will.”

“Done.”

She shuts the door again.

The fact of the matter is, Lacy and I will never be friends again. I’ve accepted that. She, apparently, hasn’t.

I go to my room to get ready for basketball practice later, my heart as hard as a diamond.

Smokey must sense I’m feeling angry. Purring her way into the room, she jumps up on my bed, asking to be pet.

“Well alright, Smokey. If you insist.”