Emma presses her red lips together as she descends the stairs. "What does that look mean?"

She's a vision. Black cocktail dress. Fuck me heels. Long hair pinned to her head.

Elegant neck on display.

It's like she's offering her flesh to me.

Begging me to wrap my arms around her and scrape my teeth over her skin. Not enough to hurt. Only enough she feels it everywhere.

I want to make her shudder. And shake. And groan my name.

I stay put.

If rehab taught me anything, it's wanting something without taking it.

I still fall asleep every night craving bourbon.

But I've stayed away for months now. I go to meetings. I distract myself. I avoid temptation.

If I can give up booze, I can keep my hands off her.

"Hunter?" Her dark eyes fill with curiosity. And a hint of insecurity.

She cares what I think.

Not in some shallow I want you to find me hot way.

She actually gives a shit about my opinion of her.

I don't have anything eloquent to say. But I have to get this out. "You look gorgeous."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush.

"Grown up."

"I'm nineteen."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"Really?" She moves into the living room. Stares at me like she's assessing the claim.

"Yeah."

She nods. "I guess you're the same age as Brendon."

"You guess?"

"You just seem so… Immature."

"Right back at you."

Her laugh lights up her eyes. "See. Look at you, lashing out after an insult."

"You'd never do that."

"Never ever." Her lips curl into a tiny smile. Her eyes meet mine.

Something passes between us.

This understanding.

I'm not sure what it means.

Only that I want more of it.

I want to know the Emma behind the sharp comebacks and the fierce fashion.

I want to understand all of her.

To peel back the walls around my heart so she can understand all of me.

But I don't understand myself half the time.

I'm still sorting my shit out.

I'm a mess. And she shouldn't have to clean me up.

Fuck. I'm getting distracted again.

There are a million reasons why this can't happen.

I need to stop getting lost in what ifs.

I'm going on this date.

Convincing Emma I'm not interested.

The end.

Emma turns as she assesses me. She shakes her head. Something about how I'm ridiculous.

But in a way she likes.

She's smiling.

Blushing even.

It's too fucking obvious that she wants me too.

That we should cancel this pointless attempting at stemming our feelings. Go to her bedroom. Get horizontal.

Fuck, I want to make her come.

I never feel like that.

I want women, yeah.

I'm plenty generous when we do get down to it.

But it's not because I'm craving their satisfaction.

With Em—

I want to make her feel good.

However I can.

"Could you?" Her voice pulls me back to the room.

Her brother's place.

My temporary place.

Because he's the only person willing to help me piece my life back together.

Fuck, I need to get my head in gear here.

I shrug my shoulders. Shake my head. Channel thoughts of baseball.

It helps.

Emma motions to the black coat hanging on a rack by the door.

It's elegant. Modern. Perfect for her. "You want to wear it?"

"No. Just hold it for me."

That's the ultimate boyfriend task, but there's no sense in bringing that up.

"You ready?" I grab my keys from the table. Slide them into my pocket.

She checks her reflection in the window.

"You look perfect, Em."

Her blush deepens. "I know."

"You staring 'cause you're vain?"

"Making sure my boobs look good."

Fuck.

My body ignores my apprehension.

My cock stirs at the thought of her perky tits.

Damn, I want to strip her out of that dress.

Tear off her panties.

Carry her to the couch, spread her legs, dive between them.

I arrange the coat in front of my crotch.

Breathe deeply.

Try to name the Dodger's lineup in my head.

Fuck, I hate baseball.

I hate everything that isn't making her come.

I move outside. Open the passenger side door for her.

She shoots me a curious look, but she still slides inside.

I do the same. Turn the key. Pull out of the driveway.

Her chest spills into her dress as she leans forward.

She doesn't ask permission.

Goes straight to blasting some band that was popular when I was in high school.

They're good.

But they're too nostalgic. They bring me back to a time when shit was okay.

I drank like a fish, yeah, but only at parties. Only on weekends. Only when everyone else was getting wasted.

My brothers cared about me.

My friends didn't look at me like I was broken.

No, that's bullshit.

High school sucked.

Mom was always wasted.

I hated half my friends.

Struggled to pass most of my classes.

Failed to gain my older brother's approval.

I was already drinking myself numb.

I was already fucked.

"Are you always this spacey?" Emma asks.

"They played this song at my prom."

"You went to prom?" Her nose scrunches. "Really?"

"Fuck yeah." I snuck in a flask. Spent the entire dance getting drunk with my date. "You know what happens after?"

"No offense, Hunter, but I don't believe you waited until prom to lose your virginity."

I chuckle. "That hurts."

"Mhmm."

"And you?"

"I went to prom with Kaylee."

"She was your date?"

"What's funny about that?" Her eyes bore into mine. They're intense. Defensive. She cares about her best friend. Cares about their friendship.

"It's sweet."

"Well, it's not like I had a virginity to lose at that point."

"Oh?" I turn onto the main drag.

"Oh?" Her hearty laugh fills the car. "Is that supposed to convince me you're all cool and collected when it comes to my sex life."

"We're two people talking."

"I'm still waiting for the lecture."

"On Vanilla Latte?"

Her lips curl into a smile. "Vanilla Latte?"

"That's what he ordered, isn't it?"

"How do you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"You're a snob."

I shrug. "So are you."

Her smile spreads a little wider.

I nod you are.

She motions a little.

Fuck, the look on her face. Her expression is easy. Joyful.

I want that.

All of it.

I like her, yeah.

But it doesn't have to be sexual.

I can make her feel good without making her come.

I can be her friend.

I can get close without touching her.

I tease her. "Does he have any idea what he's getting into?"

"You're supposed to be worried about me, not him."

I am. But I can't let her know that or she'll get into trouble just to annoy me.

I was the same way when I was her age.

"You seem like you can handle yourself," I say.

Her gaze flits to the mirror. "Mostly."

"If you can't, call me."

"You're going to be there."

"In the future. If you need help. If you're scared. If you're too drunk to drive. Whatever it is, call me."

"Forever?"

"Yeah."

"What about when you move out of Brendon's place?"

"Shit, that happens after forever. I forgot."

She tries to hide her smile but doesn't quite get there. "So you'd be cool if I wanted to go back to his place?"

Fuck no. But I have to convince her I am. I have to convince her I'm not interested.

I turn onto Ocean. This place is close, but it's not quite close enough to walk. Not in Emma's shoes.

"On the first date?" I ask.

"Oh my God. Slut-shaming much."

"Seems a little fast."

"Oh yeah, I bet you've never had sex on the first date."

"Never." My poker face cracks immediately. "I'm practically a virgin."

"Uh-huh." She turns to me with a wicked smile. "Plausible."

"You shouldn't stereotype like this."

"Oh?"

"Just 'cause a guy has tattoos…"

"You and Brendon weren't exactly quiet during your conversations."

"He was always quiet."

A laugh falls from her lips. "Okay, sure, he was quiet. But you? Not so much. You were bragging about a new conquest every other day."

Before I discovered just how much I enjoyed alcohol, sex was my preferred method of distraction. When I realized I could combine them—

I was a slut by anyone's definition.

"I'm just surprised you're off this whole 'why don't you commit to celibacy' thing." Emma sets her purse in her lap. Plays with the zipper. "Brendon and I don't really talk about sex. God knows I don't want to hear what he does to my best friend. But he does realize that I have sex."

"Do you?"

"How is that any of your business?"

It's not. But I still want to know. And not just because I'm responsible for her. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Hmmm. Maybe. That's kinda stretching it."

"That hurts." It's supposed to be a joke, but it doesn't feel like one. I burned almost all the bridges I had. I'm lacking friends. And Emma—we have a connection. One that means a lot to me.

"Don't do that whole Dean feigned melodrama thing. I can only handle one person like that."

"Don't meet my younger brother."

"Chase?"

"No. Wes."

"Oh yeah. Lighter hair and a lot more sass?"

"Exactly." I stop at a red light. We're right in downtown Santa Monica. Surrounded by quaint shops, trees lined with blinking lights, the orange glow of sunset. "You actually planning on banging Vanilla Latte?"

"His name is Collin."

"Question stands."

"Should I reiterate that it's none of your business?"

Probably. "Let's make a deal."

"Is this another quid pro quo thing?"

"Yeah."

"Why not just offer information voluntarily?"

"All right. I'm gonna tell you the last time I had sex."

"And I want to know because…" She fails to pull off her shrug. Her pupils dilate. Her tongue slides over her lips. Her fingers dig into her bare thighs.

She wants to know.

She's desperate to know.

I wish I had a better story.

Something deserving of that kind of interest.

"Two months ago." Right when I got into rehab. When I was desperate for any kind of distraction. "Guess you'd call it a fuck buddies thing." More like fuck our way into ignoring our problems thing, but close enough.

"Commitment. Not what I expected from you." She shifts in her seat. Uncrosses then recrosses her legs.

"No. Just… convenience."

"Convenience how?"

"She was my neighbor."

"And you rocked her world?"

"Yeah."

"Did she rock yours?"

"No."

"Damn." Her laugh breaks up the tension in her brow. "You could sugar coat it."

"Would you?"

"No, but… that's me."

"And you?"

"We talked about this whole quid pro quo thing."

The light turns green. I press the gas. Focus on the road.

"Have you always slept around?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Huh?" I turn to face her, but it doesn't help me figure out her intentions.

"Well, you know my brother. He was screwing around because it made him feel in control of his life when he wasn't."

That's awfully perceptive.

"Or Walker. He enjoyed sex. But he was also afraid of getting hurt. Because he's got issues with his sister. She's an addict. Or Ryan. He went the other way. Totally avoided intimacy after his ex cheated. He's only been with his ex and Leighton."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah. Hard to believe too. Guy that looks like him." She makes a show of fanning herself. "He could clean up." Her voice is easy. Casual.

But there's something about her expression.

She's trying to make me jealous.

It's petty.

Stupid.

Effective.

I know it's a ruse. That she's pushing me.

But I hate the idea of her wanting someone else.

I can see her and Ryan in some tiny room. Her tugging at his black t-shirt. Him pinning her to the wall. The two of them groaning in ecstasy.

He's madly in love with his girlfriend.

Emma isn't interested.

But I'm still seething.

I push it aside. Reach for something else. Something I can handle. "And Vanilla Latte?"

"What about him?"

"Is he as hot as Ryan?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Why?"

"You have eyes."

"Not attracted to men."

She shoots me a really look. "You can still tell when a guy is hot. And Collin… he's cute. But he's not on Ryan's tier." She leans back in her seat. Smooths her dress over her legs. "What was your sex life like?"

"What?"

"What were you getting out of it?"

"Do I need to explain the mechanics?"

"Yeah, you came, sure. You can come by your hand."

"It's better—"

"Is that really all it is? You were treating women like your own personal fleshlights. Because if so, you're a fucking asshole."

I am an asshole. But that's not it. "Sex was a distraction."

"From…"

"Dealing with my shit."

She unzips her purse. Pulls out her red lipstick. Applies another coat. "That suits you."

"Does it?"

"Yeah. You're like… You're trying to be more miserable than Matt." She references the Daredevil protagonist who…

He is a miserable motherfucker. But he's got a sense of humor. And he sure as hell enjoys beating people up.

"But, like, instead of getting your rocks off with violence, you do it with sex. Which is probably healthier," she says.

"Score one for me."

"He has magic powers, so…"

"So we'll give him one for those."

She laughs. "Are you two competing?"

"You're the one comparing us."

"I guess so."

"How do I stack up?"

Her eyes find mine. "Really?"

"You won't hurt my feelings if you like him better."

"Well, you're both incredibly annoying."

"That means a lot."

"Hypocrites. He's always telling his friends to stay out of things even though he's out there kicking ass."

"True."

"Whereas you're all 'never touch a man,' even as you're making plans to fuck Carpe Diem." Jealousy seeps into her voice. She clears her throat. Smooths her dress. "And, um, well, I guess you're taller."

"Another one for me."

She laughs. "Better hair."

"Body?"

"Hmm. He is super-hot. But you… You're pretty good too."

"Fuck, I'm so flattered. How do you do it?"

She laughs. "Your ego is big enough."

"I thought I was pathetically begging you to compare me to a TV character?"

"Yeah, but because you think you're better than he is."

Better? No.

As much of a fucked-up mess? Maybe.

But at least I'm off my drug of choice.

I've gotten pretty good at resisting booze.

If I can figure out how to resist Emma…

Then I'm golden.