Springtime in Moon Ridge is the epitome of beauty. The wild lavender fields have taken over as far as the eye can see, right along with six-foot mustard plants dotting the periphery in bushels, and together they marry over the landscape in a swath of purple and gold like a real-life Monet come to life. The surrounding mountains are verdantly green right up until their snow-covered caps. It’s a feast for the eyes as everyone at Leland basks in its visual glory, right along with the balmy seventy-degree weather.

I head for Coffeeology after my last class of the day, where Sophie and Violet sit waiting for me by the window, a spare drink between them just for me. What’s better than having a couple of great friends? Great friends who cater to your coffee addiction. I can’t help it. The scent of fresh ground beans is enough to drive me to the brink of an orgasm. Dexter Houston has it wrong. I shouldn’t be paired with a person. I should be paired with a coffee farm.

“Hey, bitches.” I grin as I take my seat and the spare drink all at the same time. I take a few quick sips and moan. “Iced dark mocha is truly my favorite. Bitter and cold as my heart.”

Vi wrinkles her nose. “You’ll need the caffeine. Any clue as to where date number two might be?”

I glance to Soph and shake my head. “Nope. I was simply told to show up at Windy Peak in an hour.”

“Windy Peak!” Sophie nearly shoots coffee from her nose. “I swear that place is permanently on my shit list.”

It was at Windy Peak the TSE had Sophie and Rowen rappel their way down a sheer cliff side. Of course, there was enough panting and grunting going on between her and Rowen during that episode and, trust me, it was for all the right reasons. That date really kicked their relationship off to a heart-dropping start. And if anyone expects me to free-fall my way down a mountain, I’m pretty sure my heart will drop right out of my chest. Come to think of it, a death might be good for ratings. I wouldn’t put it past Dexter to secretly plot my demise on his way to conquering the Nielsen ratings.

“I doubt they pull the same stunt twice,” I say, hopeful that my logic holds true. “I’m no fan of heights. Besides, I would never agree to that.” A thought comes to me. “Hey?” I look to Vi. “Didn’t they make you ski down a sheer cliff early on in their demented game? If getting my blood pumping is on their agenda, it had better entail a mattress and a cute member of the football team.”

Soph looks up. “I thought your guy was on the basketball team?”

“My guy as in Lenny? Yeah, he’s a b-ball boy, all right. And no offense to Lane”—I shoot a quick glance to Vi, whose boy toy dominated the dribbling game at Leland—“he’s the reason I’m requesting someone from another pig-skinned game. Lenny is about as exciting as a goal post. I’d say basketball hoop, but I’m guessing that hoop gets more action than he does. No offense to the minions who are hard at work behind Oz’s velvet curtain, but there’s no way I’m losing my head or my heart over that eight foot tall sack of bones—boy—emphasis on the boy. I need a man—that whole mattress scenario might be nice, too.”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “You do realize that the entire point of this exercise is to make you fall in love over a short amount of time. It’s basically a pressure cooker. And you’re right about that whole get-your-heart-beating theory. It’s a scientifically proven fact that couples are more likely to fall in love once they’ve suffered a shared traumatic incident—one that gets your blood racing. You know, like scaling down a cliff or a mountain. Windy Peak, you say? My advice to you is bring cleats and a helmet.”

Vi nods. “You might want to duct tape your body parts down for safe measure.”

“Huh.” I contemplate the fact I’m about to venture out on some death-defying date, and that whole clash of the titanium bicycles comes back to me. “What if I told you I already had one hell of a heart-thumping unwanted one-on-one with the god of matchmaking himself?” I quickly relay my hellish encounter with Demented Dexter Hold-’em-Hostage-by-Hair-Houston and the two of them sit there, slack-jawed, eyes the size of golf balls.

“God!” Sophie leans in clutching her chest. “He spun you by your ponytail?”

Vi chokes at the thought. “Now that is kinky. Hey? Maybe he’ll work a little of that action into the show? He is striving for a ratings hike, and God knows that truth is stranger than fiction.”

“Speaking of fiction…” Sophie nudges me with her foot from under the table. “How’s your fictional love life coming?”

“As fate and irony would have it—great. I’ve buffed and polished his ego to a mirror shine. I’ve done so much stroking, my palm is almost as red as Dexter’s. And I might have landed a quick little peck on his lips to make sure he gets the lusty point.”

“What?” Vi cries in horror. “You kissed him? No! That’s not how this works.”

Sophie groans in agreement. “Geez, Ember!” she barks as if I just confessed to yanking off his summer sausage. “He’s going to think you’re a run-of-the mill skank. You want him to fall mercilessly in love with you, not into bed for a quickie.”

I contemplate my options a moment. The latter would satisfy a rather long-suffering itch, but I don’t dare say a word. For a second, I envision Dexter with that pompous look on his face, his suit jacket gliding off his shoulders, his lids hanging heavy as he gets right to loosening his belt.

“Whoa.” Soph waves a hand in front of me. “We’re losing her. Where’d you go?”

Vi grunts, “She’s got him naked and on his back.”

“He’s not on his back.” I frown over at her. “And he didn’t even get a chance to take his shirt off.”

“Look.” Sophie closes her eyes as if she’s at her wit’s end with me. “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. Do not jump onto the nearest mattress. Do not collect two hundred orgasms. You want him to grovel at your feet.”

Vi holds up a finger. “Two hundred orgasms?” She looks long and hard at her roommate before shaking her head as if coming to. “Never mind.” She looks my way with a look of pity. “No more kissing. Heck, no physical affection whatsoever. If you keep giving him something he’s not even sure he wants, he’ll be issuing you a restraining order rather than sending flowers.”

“Nice.” I fold my arms tight across my chest. “So what you’re saying is that I’m on my way to a misdemeanor.”

“Felony in some states,” Vi is quick to point out. “Play it smooth.”

“Hard to get.” Sophie jabs her finger my way as if it were the winning answer. “Make him beg for that next kiss.”

“And then what?” I ask both stymied and breathless. All of this is brand new territory to me. I’ve had a few boyfriends, if you can call them that, but I don’t recall any begging going on. And seeing that the thought thrills the hell out of me—it’s clear I’ve been doing it wrong. Dexter Houston on his knees is quite the visual. It’s officially the screen saver of my mind.

“Fine. I’ll drive him so insane, he’ll bear holes at the knee from groveling. I’ll just turn up the charm.”

Sophie nods wildly. “Make sure to throw in an aerobic activity.”

“Something quasi-dangerous!” Vi adds.

“Aerobic and dangerous,” I parrot back.

“Heart racing.” Sophie lifts her latte.

“Heart breaking.” Vi lifts hers as well.

I lift mine in solidarity. “Here’s to racing to break Dexter Houston’s black little heart. May he never know what hit him.”

Sophie and Vi exchange a quick knowing glance.

“And, Em?” Sophie pulls her drink back apprehensively as if what she were about to say were hardly toast-worthy. “Just be aware that these techniques have a tendency to work both ways.”

Vi clenches her jaw tight. “Above all, guard your heart, lest you too fall hard and break something in the process.”

A spurt of laughter bubbles from me. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I fall in love with anybody—especially Dexter Houston.”

“Okay then.” Sophie raises her drink once again. “To utter annihilation.”

“To annihilation!” Vi and I chime in unison.

Dexter Houston is going to fall on his knees and beg for more, right before I grind his heart out like a pile of smoldering embers.

Annihilation indeed.

---

Windy Peak is just a quick jaunt from the now infamous Wild Rose Trail where Dex and I experienced our life-threatening meet-cute. I suppose the threat was strictly relegated to me, but I’m all about balancing the scales, and for the next five weeks, Dexter should very much fear for his life and his ego. But I’m not out to commit bodily harm. I’m all about the heart and squeezing the ever-living crap out of it with my tiny little fist.

A bevy of trailers surrounds the base of the mountain, and I head over and find Seth speaking to his pretty plus one, Petra.

“So glad you showed!” Seth belts it out as if I were rescuing him from a hostage situation. “Let’s get you into hair and makeup, and I’ll fill you in on what lies ahead for the evening.”

He walks me over a few feet where I’m promptly pushed into a chair. “First, I’d like to go over a few things the demographics have shown concerning your on-screen debut.”

“We haven’t aired yet, right?” My heart thumps inside my chest, first adrenaline rush of the night. It’s becoming clear I should probably ask Arlo not to view this with his buddies down at the fire station. I haven’t exactly been on my best behavior.

“Not yet, but we always show it to a small sampling of students to get their thoughts on what couples we should focus on. The good news is that you’ve been selected.”

“Lenny and me? Go figure!” I give the makeup artist a quick thumbs-up, but she promptly ignores me and continues to tease my hair toward the stratosphere. Unless it’s eighties night, it’s a totally unnecessary move on her part. And what the heck is up with her face? Is that burn on her cheeks? Is she so violently embarrassed to be here she can’t stop blushing? She pulls out a red palate of powder and begins liberally rubbing what looks like a bunny tail into it. Or that.

Dear God. I’m going to look like a street whore.

“What’s the bad news, Seth?” I have a feeling it’s only downhill from here.

“They unanimously selected you as the villain of the season.”

“A villain!” My adrenaline soars again, this time in a good way. If I keep having these heart-stopping moments all by my lonesome, I’m liable to fall in love with myself. I chortle at the thought. “That’s great news, Seth, and don’t you forget it.” I glance up to the blushing demon giving my hair a few quick—might I add rather violent tugs with her comb—“Be sure to give me some of those pointy brows that make you look like you’re perennially curious. If I’m going to be the villain, I want the classic look. Cruella de Vil all the way. Only instead of collecting puppies with which to fashion a coat, I’ll be collecting hearts.” Lenard and Dexter will be my first two victims. My God, this is going to be a hell of a lot more fun than I ever anticipated.

Seth gives a dark laugh, that expression on his face looks just shy of pain. “It’s not quite a good thing, Ember. What I’m trying to say is that if you don’t come across a little more likeable, you’re bound to get the bad edit.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “You mean the crazy edit?” I’ve watched enough reality TV to realize one poor soul gets sacrificed on the altar of psychosis just to give viewers someone to throw emotional peanuts at. “Oh my God, you cannot let that happen to me. I will walk.” I bat away the possessed woman attacking me with a fiery bunny tail.

“Relax”—Seth holds out his hands in the event I decide to knock him over and make a run for it—“there’s plenty of time to rectify this. The first thing you’ll want to do is open up about prior tragedies. Have you lost a pet? A parent? The audience will love you. All they want is some assurance that you’re human. They don’t need you to be their best friend, just relatable. You’d be surprised how quickly people’s opinions can swing in the other direction. I’ll have Lenard ask you a few prodding questions. Feel free to run with any of them. Remember—you want to come across as affable.”

Affable. Why does that sound like something that happened to Vi? I make a face. It would figure—I magnetized to her like a moth to flame. She was the official campus bitch for months. And if I’m not careful, it’ll be my turn next.

“Got it,” I’m quick to assure him. “I’ll mind my P’s and Q’s. Speaking of which. We are nowhere near a bar. What kind of a good time do you have planned for me in this godforsaken desert?”

Seth crimps a smile. “Head out when you’re through and I’ll show you.”

Once Red-Faced Ruby is through gooping me up, I’m ushered back to Seth who promptly leads me past a curve in the road, only to reveal what looks like a bounce house, a giant blow-up slide and a couple of fat suits waiting on the side.

“What in the fresh hell is this?” I demand. I am completely not amused. “It looks like a fairground,” I whine as a stagehand sticks his arm down my shirt and mics me up. “Please tell me we won’t be joined by an entire herd of thirteen-year-old boys. I’m allergic to prepubescent teens.” This was true even when I was a prepubescent teen myself. I’ve always had a low tolerance for goofballs that border on bullies.

Seth frowns, but I pay his silent judgment no mind as I note a G-Wagen pulling up behind him. About damn time.

Dexter has his sunglasses on masking his gaze, but by the way my backside suddenly heats up like a blaze, I’m betting I know exactly where those perverted eyes have landed.

“Looks like the real show’s about to start,” I quip to myself.

“That it is.” Seth gives me a spin before navigating me to where poor lumbering Lenard stands with a long stick in his hand that vaguely resembles a ten-foot Q-tip.

“You ready to joust?” Lenard lets out a whoop in lieu of hello as the production team helps launch me onto a giant round arena—of the blow-up variety, of course. Everything set up at this mock carnival is fit for an eight-year-old’s birthday party. Hey! Maybe Dexter rented it out in hopes to use it later for its rightful purpose. I’m sure Chelle and her friends would have a great time, bouncing, leaping, and laughing themselves into delirium.

Lenard helps me onto a small raised circular platform above the glorified arena, and his hungry gaze hooks to mine.

“Damn, you’re beautiful.” He sheds a greasy grin that motivates me to send him flying.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” I can’t help spouting off like a smartass. I’ve never been a good sport with cheesy come-ons.

“I’m attracted to you.” His chest heaves as if it’s ready to pounce to prove it.

“Everyone’s attracted to me.” I give a hearty wink and catch Seth just out of the shot, shaking his head my way. Crap. Affable. Right.

A buzzer goes off, and I knock poor Lenard into tomorrow round after round before the TSE shuffles us to the oversized slide that looks just as death-defying to climb as it does dangerous to descend.

Dexter strides his too-cool-for-school self my way, and the warmth of his cologne reaches me before he does. The purple haze outlining the mountains behind him only highlights his vexing good looks—peppered stubble, glowing coffee-colored eyes, hints of a naughty smile. Dexter has it all going for him tonight. The fact he’s donned his requisite zoot suit makes him that much more comely against this foreign terrain he’s dragged us off to. He steps in close, and my body heat spikes. My heart begins to race for no good reason. Probably fight-or-flight—only after jousting like an Olympian, I’m too exhausted to fly anywhere.

“That was quite a show,” he quips. “Remind me to never meet up with you in a dark alley.”

“Yes, well, I’ve taken a cue from Teddy Roosevelt. Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

He belts out a short-lived laugh. “I’m sure there are some very soft things about you. The things that come from your mouth are not on the list. You ready to climb the Matterhorn?”

I offer a wry smile at his dig. “You’re right about my mouth, so I won’t bother with a comeback. Although it is rather nice to be recognized for my acid tongue. And if by Matterhorn you’re referencing that ridiculous descent into hell, you’re right a second time.” Men do love to be right. Gifting them that virtue is equivalent to licking them like a kitten on their most prized location. “You do realize how gravity works, don’t you? Look, I realize you’re no physicist, but a human body isn’t meant to glide down a luge that steep with nothing but a bale of hay waiting to break their fall at the bottom.”

His lids slit low as if he were trying to seduce me, and my heart thumps wild as if accepting the offer. “Are you implying I’m lacking in intelligence?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see. How cold is it out tonight?”

“About fifty-five degrees.” He bounces on his heels, proud of his short-lived stint as a weatherman.

“What a coincidence—it matches your IQ.”

He barks out a laugh. “I assure you it’s just a touch higher. You don’t get an eighty share of a primetime slot for nothing, sweetheart.”

A flash of anger rings out through me like a tuning fork at the sound of that pet name he keeps trying to gift me, and the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with my needle-sharp manicure is real.

“That’s right. You run this circus, don’t you? Rumor has it, you have to fail a personality test to work here.” I cringe a moment, hoping that neither Seth nor Petra heard, and judging by the fact they’re off sharing a laugh by the refreshment table assures me they didn’t. Not to mention the fact I’m supposed to be stroking, not bruising his ego.

Dexter groans, his lids lowering another notch, and the sight sends the tenderest part of me into an involuntary spasm. “You really did ride in on a broom, didn’t you?”

My mouth falls open at the witchy dig.

Dexter steps in close, his body heat wrapping around me like a pair of searing arms. There’s something innately sexual about him that’s hard for even me to deny. As much as I’d like to rub his broken heart in his face, there’s a distinct part of my anatomy that begs to go there first.

“You’re a colossal embarrassment to this university,” I hiss, completely overriding any false urges I might have had regarding the stroking of his oversized ego. “Once they unmask you, and they will, all they’ll find is a soulless body that is miraculously functioning without a beating heart.”

“Action!” someone shouts from behind. “Let’s do this!”

Seth pops up and buoys me to the makeshift stairwell at the base of Inflate-Gate Mountain. “About halfway down, the two of you will pause. That’s the perfect time to insert your story.”

“My story? Oh, the sob story, right.” I glare over at Dexter for conjuring up this foolishness to begin with. Lenard and I hoist ourselves to the top of what feels like the threshold to outer space, and I’m shocked as hell I didn’t incur a nose bleed, or the fact my fillings haven’t imploded. Who knew there actually was a stairway to heaven? I glance down at the miniature people below and the ground as it pulsates in and out like a threat and quickly regret this little sidestep to sanity I’ve taken.

Much to our surprise, there’s an entire production crew waiting for us at the top, and they’re quick to help Lenard and me into those inflated suits I spotted earlier. Only they’re not so much Sumo garb as they are Velcro-coated. It turns out, we won’t be gliding headfirst into a concussion after all. We’ll be struggling our way down the steep embankment on what amounts to a fly strip.

“First one down wins the prize!” one of the interchangeable nameless, faceless handlers shouts.

“What’s the prize?” I’m only mildly curious. If there’s a Porsche involved, I might just strip myself of this safety suit and nosedive down now. But I have a feeling it’s more of a booby prize—as in good old Lenny here will be moved to cop a feel before the night is through. I’d hate to see him do it. It will be awful hard to shoot from the free throw line one handed.

“It’s up to you.” The nameless, faceless, utterly disappointing stagehand grins as he gives Lenard and me a push toward planet Earth.

A shrill scream razors out of my lungs, shredding my throat and my vocal cords along with it. I will never forgive Violet Hathaway for turning what should have been the best year of my life into a variable first-class tour of the seventh circle of hell. Sure, Sophie and Vi each came away with the love of their lives—but what will I end up with? Judging by that wall of plastic I’m about to slap into face-first, a broken neck might just be an educated guess.

Whoomp!

“Shit,” I mutter into the stiff, grimy surface that my face is currently plastered to. The body suit I’ve donned is sticking to the fuzzy lines that run lengthwise all the way down this hellish thrill ride, and it’s not until I pry an eye open do I realize I’m still hanging out somewhere in the stratosphere. Lenard is nowhere to be seen. I crane my neck in every direction until I spot him about thirty feet below me, army crawling his way even farther away by the minute. “Crap.” It takes everything in me to rip myself from the bionic hold this seemingly innocent fat suit has on me. The sound of jeans ripping accompanies my every move, and if these are the acoustics I’ll be stuck with for as long as it takes me to get back to solid ground, I’m pretty sure I’ll be hearing this in my sleep for years to come.

I rip and tear, curse and holler until I land sideways next to Lenard, panting like an imbecile while he looks as if he’s ready for a nap cocooned in his Velcro-fashioned hammock.

A small blip on the screen of humanity jumps and waves his arms at me from below. Judging by that shining chrome dome, I’m guessing it’s Seth. He offers two enthusiastic thumbs-up. I take it this is where I throw myself a pity party.

The blood rushes to my head as I try my best to right myself, but it’s no use. I look like an idiot strapped to a cutting board.

Lenard nods my way. “So, Ember—tell me a little about yourself. What have been the defining moments in your life? What’s made you into the person you are today?” Each word comes out as staccato as the next. If the two of us don’t reek bad production from a defunct drama department, I don’t know what does.

I take a moment to glare down at the army of cameras pointed at us like trained snipers.

As much as I want to inform him that it was Dexter Houston and his giant donkey balls that have molded me into something short of a clown at a children’s party, I don’t. Instead, I segue into what it was like growing up poor in Pine Ridge, marginalized simply for the fact of the socioeconomic status of your neighbors. And before I know it, I’m shoveling out details regarding shady Eddie, the sperm donor who spilt his load to make me happen, then made my mother sorry for ever meeting him for the next million years before he did us the favor of taking off for greener pastures. I tell him about the waitressing gig at Buffalo Bills, where a pink sequin bra and panties were about all I was asked to wear, about the night Arlo found out I gave up on carving out a future for myself in order to help my mother keep her lights on, and how I eventually clawed my way into one of the most prestigious universities in the country.

“And that’s essentially how I landed here with you,” I say, hiccupping through tears as Lenard takes ahold of my hand and does his best to roll his way over to me. A horrible ripping sound explodes from him, the sound I imagine a 747 makes while losing a wing at thirty-thousand feet—horrifically loud and frightening, considering what’s to come.

Hey? Maybe this whole social experiment—this pour-your-soul-out date is all a bigger part of some cosmic agenda where I finally come face-to-face with my inner demons.

Lenard launches over me with a thud, landing his inflated crotch near my face and his finger up my left nostril in an attempt to hold my hand. Or I come face-to-face with humiliation. Either way, it works.

Needless to say, not a single romantic moment is to be had as Lenard and I work as a team trying to scoot ourselves down this nightmare one eardrum splitting move at a time. Once we hit the bottom, even the crew looks as if they’ve had it with us.

“Did I win?” Lenard asks no one in particular, and exactly no one bothers to answer. Instead, we’re stripped of our mics, and Lenard takes off with a meager wave. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he just ducked into one of the trailers with a cute little thing from production.

Seth comes up with a somber look on his face.

“How’d I do? Am I affable? Or did I cement my status as the Wicked Witch East of the Rockies? I’m secretly rooting for the cute pointy shoes and a wand. Can production furnish me with those for next time? And I’d like to see about getting a big hairy mole placed right about here.” I dot my chin with my finger, and Seth smirks.

“You’re both, I think—an affable witch.” His brows do a little waggle. “And I’m not sure how you did it, but the jury is still officially out—for now you’re in the clear. So, no love connection yet, huh?”

My mouth falls open at the implication. “You think Lenard and I are blowing this, don’t you?” We are, but the truth really does hurt. “Maybe if you didn’t hurl us down a toy mountain and tossed a lobster and a steak our way instead, we might actually get somewhere. I think both Lenny and I would rather nosh on some good food than bang our heads against a wall for a half hour straight. I’m pretty sure a concussion does not a romantic evening make.”

He glances back to where his cohorts are huddled. “You know I think you’re onto something. I’ll run it by production and see if they agree. I’ll send you an email next week with details.”

“I’ll be holding my breath.” I offer up a wry smile. “And, Seth? Thanks for suggesting I slit my guts open for the sake of ratings.” I wrinkle my nose. “It felt good in a strange way.”

He offers a pat to my back. “If anything comes of this, it’s cheaper than therapy.” He takes off, and I can’t help but think a few more stunts like this one and I’ll need the most expensive therapy on the planet to excise my newfound fears from me.

“You did great,” a deep voice strums from behind, and I turn to find Dexter darkened by shadows as the sun ducks down behind the chocolate mountains. His shoulders stretch wide as a linebacker’s. His features look much more chiseled in this dim light. He’s atrociously handsome in the most lethal manner possible, and a part of me demands to drop to my knees in worship.

“I did lousy,” I say, plucking my purse from the bin I dumped it in and fishing out my keys. “Lenard and I have zero chemistry. I mean, wasn’t that the point?” I step in close to him, slightly pissed he’s made such poor decisions about my love life and yet more than greedy to take in his intoxicating cologne. “I need someone electrifying, someone who’s excited to be with me—who I’m excited to be with.” I get lost in Dexter Houston’s dark stormy eyes as my heart drums wildly in my chest. That dirty stubble on his cheeks indicates the end of another sexy day, and I can’t help but growl at him for making my insides melt like sugar over an open fire. Dexter Houston certainly doesn’t fight fair during daylight hours, but with the magic of night falling hard and fast around us, it makes him that much more delicious.

“You need excitement?” His lips curve with wicked intent.

I close the gap between us and give his tie a smooth tug. “I said I need someone exciting. There’s a big difference, Dexter.” I toss the tie back in his face. “Figure it out.”

His jaw goes slack as that silly grin glides right off his face. It seems I’ve pissed the big boss off. Boo-hoo. I bet he’ll have me swimming through maggots next week just to prove the point he has that much power.

“What did you think would happen on that whirlwind of terror?” I ask. “Is that your idea of a romantic date? If you had a hot blonde within arm’s reach, I hardly think you’d dress her in an impenetrable rubber suit and make her tumble around the fairgrounds of terror.”

His lips twitch again in a way that’s beginning to both infuriate me and heat me up in all the right places.

“I prefer brunettes myself.” A slow spreading smile erects itself, leaving his teeth glowing like the Cheshire Cat’s. “And no. My hot date would be nowhere near the fairgrounds of terror.” That perennially bored look crosses his face once again. “I’ll make sure your next date is so romantic, Cupid himself vomits on the saccharine scene.” He offers me a brief nod before taking off toward the parking lot. “Meet me at the Winding Rose Trail tomorrow at three.”

“Tomorrow? But I thought I didn’t pick up Chelle until Thursday,” I shout after him.

“You do. Tomorrow you’ll be given a different task.” He turns back, and the whites of his eyes flash like lightning. “Biking with me.”

A laugh gets caught in my throat. Biking with Dexter. I shake my head.

I’ll be there, all right. And something tells me I’ll be a brunette. There’s no way I’m losing out on free coffee for the next entire year. Every sip will taste twice as sweet knowing that I broke Dexter Houston’s haughty heart to earn it.

---

Brunette. Brunette! My hair shines a glossy—glorious shade of mahogany as I unload my bike from the trunk of my car and grab my helmet. There’s no way I’m donning this thing until Dexter has had the appropriate amount of exposure to my new luscious tresses.

Moroccan Sand. That’s the color I went with last night while combing through the multitude of offerings at CVS. I threw in a teal eyeliner and a cherry-flavored lip gloss while I was there. The teal smudged over my upper lid makes my eyes pop like sirens against this new dramatic dark-haired backdrop, and that cherry lip gloss currently coating my pucker is going to make his mouth water once he tastes it for himself.

That conversation I had with Sophie and Vi comes back to me, and I frown as I slam my trunk. Holding off on kissing Dexter, making him pant for it, only seems to infuriate me more. For some reason, everything about Dexter Houston infuriates me these days—with the exception of his sweet babe, of course. She’s an angel, and I know just the place I’m taking us when I pick her up from school Thursday—Pine Ridge to do a little dabbling in the arts. That way, she gets to paint all the ceramics her little heart desires, and I get to visit with dear old Mom. It’s a win-win. Besides, I’d much rather my mother is briefed on all that dark history I vomited out at Lenard’s feet last night. I’d die if she saw it on air without the proper priming. Arlo crosses my mind, and just as I’m wondering what to do about my brother, a tall, vexingly handsome man strides by with a pair of bike shorts vacuum sealing his rear—my limbs shake, begging to try to bounce a quarter off it.

“Is that how you roll?” I shout after him, and he does a double take in my direction. “Invite a girl out for a date and then treat her as if she were invisible?”

His eyes grow large as he takes me in. A frozen look of horror takes over his features, and I’ll be a horse’s ass if he confesses to detesting brunettes in the next five minutes. Quite frankly, I don’t care. I’ve made the move from blonde to bold, and I’m not changing it back for anybody. Every single time I’ve looked in the mirror since I’ve done the delicious deed, I’ve craved both coffee and chocolate. Coincidence? I think not. I’ve never met a man who’s had the power to whet my appetite quite the way Moroccan Sand has. And to top it off, I’ve already mentally booked a flight to Hawaii just to dig my feet in an oven-heated tropical beach. It might not be Morocco, but the flight time is shorter, and I can almost afford a one-way ticket.

“September Sparks?” He stomps his way back as if he were affronted, his bike still dangling from his arm as if it were made of Styrofoam. But, judging by the way his biceps are frozen in a severe form of flexion, that bike might as well be made of lead.

“That’s right.” I schlep my bike over to him while batting my lashes like mad. “Mama’s got a brand new banging ’do. Daddy like?” Holy crap. Note to self: google the shit out of decent pick-up lines when you get home. At this rate, he’ll think I’m certifiable and cheesy.

The muscles in his jaw pop as he studies me with marked aggression. “Daddy like.” He shakes his head just enough as if approving of a meal he’s been dying to sink his teeth into, and I can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl. If this keeps up, I’ll have Dexter eating from the palm of my hand—even if I am lacing the just desserts I’m offering up with arsenic.

His brows pinch in the middle, and he ticks his head back suddenly. “What made you do that? Did you do that for me?” His mouth falls open, and he looks as if he’s holding back a laugh.

“No! Hell no.” My blood boils at the thought of him getting his ego stroked into oblivion—and then, just like that, I remember it’s my duty to do so.

Make him grovel. It will only taste sweeter when I pluck out his bleeding heart and crush it like a tin can.

I clear my throat. “But then, maybe I did.” I offer up a cheeky wink before snapping on my helmet, hopping onto my bike, and hitting the trail ahead of him.

Dexter comes up quickly on my side—riding against the cliff’s edge this time around, while I’m snuggled safely against the warm wall of granite. If one of us should fly off the edge this time, I’ll make sure it’s Dexter. Chelle’s beautiful face etches itself in the sky ahead of me, and I can’t help but groan. Okay, so homicide is completely off the table this afternoon, but that won’t deter me from verbally slicing off his balls whenever I feel like it. Sophie and Vi form in the sky in place of Chelle, and it’s an all-around shitshow. Okay, I get it. No slicing off any quasi-vital body parts. But none of the above visual hallucinations—real or imagined—will stop me from jabbing him with a dig every now and again. I mean, even the best relationships have a rationing of good-natured ribbing. Only in this case, his ego will slowly die by way of a thousand paper cuts. My tongue is sharp and wild. It’s a damn shame not to let it out of the stall every now and again.

Dexter takes the lead and takes a left up ahead rather than pressing forward to the exact spot he dangled me by my pretty pony. I suppose he smelled the possibility of a friendly push coming on. I’ll admit, it was mighty tempting. I wonder how he’d like it if I took the opportunity to go on a groping spree before spinning him on his ear and dragging him to safety? Okay, so he wasn’t necessarily groping, but it doesn’t mean I have to hold back if the moment arises either. For a second, I lose myself in the thought of running my hands down that diamond-chiseled chest of his. Those furiously cut abs I’m sure he’s housing. Face it, you don’t get arms that look hulkish and leave the six-pack out of the fun. How I would love to slather him with ice cream and enjoy one delicious me—

“Oh God!” I cry as my front tire hooks onto something and jackknifes right then left, sending me sailing over the handlebars and into the summer grass with its vibrant green loft. My body slams to the ground, my back hitting hard with a thud, and my head bouncing twice like a rubber ball.

“Shit.” Dexter appears above me, his face warbling in and out like a bad movie.

“I’ve hit my head,” I whisper stupidly.

“I think you’ve hit just about everything you own.” He gently removes my helmet and helps me to a sitting position. “Look at me,” he says it stern, and oddly—two collapsed lungs be damned—he’s lighting a fire in my panties that I alone won’t have the power to put out. “You might have a concussion.”

“I don’t, I can promise you that.” Concussion equals hospital and I’m not going. I do my best to sit up my gaze still pinned on his. “Your eyes look so amazing,” I muse as I take in their crimson glory. He pulls me over his lap and lands my cheek against his chest until I’m relaxed, catching my breath as I gaze up at him in wonder. “How I wish you were anyone but Dexter Houston.” Crap. I hate it when my mouth goes off without my permission. With my luck, my brain has rewired itself and that’s all I’ll ever be able to do again.

“Now that’s interesting. Who would you rather I be?”

“I don’t know. Let’s rename you. Lester Grubs?”

His brows flex a moment. “I’m sure we can do better than that. Give it another go.”

“Lester Grubs was the janitor at my middle school. He looked the other way when I threw away my uneaten lunch. I hated cafeteria food.”

“And I’ve earned his esteemed moniker by what criteria?” He pulls back and inspects me again. “I’ll have you know, I’m rethinking the concussion. You might need a medic after all.”

I shrug. “Fine. I’ll call you whatever you want, just no doctors. I’m terrified of needles, and I hate hospitals. The only way you’ll get me near one is kicking and screaming.”

“Really?” He offers up a lopsided grin, and my stomach does that adolescent roller coaster thing. God how I hate that adolescent roller coaster thing, but so few things give it to me—outside of an actual roller coaster—I rather appreciate the ride. “Your next date just so happens to take place in a—”

My finger lands over his lips, sealing them shut. “Don’t even think about it. It’s bad enough I eviscerated myself to help nudge your Nielsen ratings. You can thank Seth for that by the way. I hope he gets a raise. My mother will be getting the heart attack, thank you very much. She’s not one to air her dirty laundry. And I aired it, shook it out, and rubbed the grimiest part in the camera’s face.” I tuck my forehead to his chest a moment as the feeling comes back to my body once again.

“Seth, huh?” His fingers warm my arm as a sweet breeze trickles by, forcing the summer grass to bow in a sea of rippling waves. “I’m sorry if you felt pressured to do something you weren’t ready to do.”

“Ready?” I pull back to get a better look at him. “I’m pretty sure I’d never be ready to do that.” A ragged breath escapes me. “Oddly, it felt like getting a weight off my chest. I guess I should have told someone earlier, anyone outside of the millions I waited to divulge it to.”

“Can I ask how your relationship with your father is now?” His fingers dig softly in the back of my hair, and I curl in closer to him like a kitten.

“I haven’t spoken with him in about two years. He eventually cleaned up enough and got a job out in California. He married an artist in Venice, and they work as a team trying to hawk her work. My mom says he’s finally at peace, whatever that means.” All of the anger, the hurt I’ve felt toward my father bottlenecks in my throat, and I can’t get another word past the painful congestion it’s caused. I bite down on my bottom lip hard, trying to fight the unexpected tears that demand to join the party. My chest bucks, and I struggle to rein it in. “Sorry, I must have hit my head harder than I thought.” I do my best to give a little laugh. A tear or two escapes me, and I hate that I look like such a child. “I guess I just wish he didn’t leave my mom in the dust like that, you know?”

Dexter wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer. “People can be idiots.”

“Yeah, well, he’s sort of the leader of the pack. He’s the fearless idiot leader, and I never want to be like that. Nor will I ever attach myself to anyone with a remote wandering eye.”

“Thus the relationship issues.” He nods as if agreeing with himself, and I give his chest a generous swat.

“Are you analyzing me?”

“Nope.” A dark laugh rumbles from him. “I’m simply saying I can see why you would be cautious.”

“Darn right, I am. You only need to touch a hot stove once to know you don’t want to get burned again. I don’t do relationships.” Sophie and Vi appear in the theater of my mind, shaking their heads at me. “I mean, traditionally speaking.” I’m back to batting my lashes at him. “So, what has you so freaked out about commitment? I heard you loud and clear on night one.”

His gaze glides past me into the horizon, his eyes wide and blank as if he were staring into an abyss. “Some people aren’t cut out for the long haul.”

“Like you?” I tap my finger over his chin, playing with the soft divot that’s hardly noticeable to the naked eye. And, my God, my eyes would love to see this man naked. I mean, is that a bowling ball he’s stuffed into those bike shorts, or am I sitting on a boulder? There are some things you gotta see for yourself to believe. Amiright, or amiright? I give him a little wink without meaning to, and he sighs as if surrendering.

“My sister died when she was six. I was ten at the time. She was the world to me, my favorite playmate, my best friend. It was my job to protect her, and I couldn’t do it. She fell out of a tree house at a neighbor’s. She was in a coma for two weeks. She never came out of it.” He blinks hard, and his lashes line with moisture. That’s all it takes. Tears pour from me, and they’re all for Dexter.

“I’m so sorry.” I bawl as I wrap myself around him. Dexter had become an anchor in an angry, unstable world, and the wind is threatening to blow me away like a withering leaf. “That’s so terrible. I can’t imagine how you’d ever recover from that.”

“I have an older brother. He helps. But you don’t get over it. I don’t expect to.” He gently wipes the tears from my cheek, and I reach up and catch a lone tear pooling in the creases of that pained smile he’s putting on for me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s not a mystery why you don’t want to stick around. You’re afraid you can’t protect them.”

His affect falls flat. “Honey, I was dumped twice.”

“Never mind.” I blink a quick smile. “Good thing I’m not a psych major.”

“Good thing.” His forehead wrinkles, and I’m guessing there was a modicum of truth hidden in my analysis after all.

My lips tremble uncontrollably. “What was her name, your sister?”

His cheeks pull down as he presses his lips together tight until they glow unreasonably pale. “I haven’t said her name in years.”

“Say it.” I give a little shrug. “You might find it makes you feel better. She was real,” I say it weakly. “Take the power away from death. You can still have that piece of her. It belongs to you.” I nod through the deluge pouring from me like a faucet.

Dexter lands his forehead over mine, his lips flexing in and out of a dry smile. “Her name was Meghan.”

His gaze hooks to mine, sharp and dangerous as if he were about to sail off the edge of his own emotional cliff, and I’d do anything to stop him, to save him like he saved me. So I do the only thing I can think of. I lean up and latch my mouth over his before he dives over the edge and loses his sanity. My lips linger over his as I twist my body to better accommodate the very action I have no plans of abandoning anytime soon. His mouth is hot and hungry, and he tastes like mint, so very delicious I cannot get enough. To hell with the rules. Dexter earned this kiss, and I’m giving it to him lock, stock, and smoldering hot barrel. I want it. And a part of me hopes he wants it, too.

Dexter pulls me in close before digging his fingers into the back of my hair, his chest expanding beneath me, wide and spacious like a brand new pathway I’m about to embark on. How I ever ended up here I will never know, but already I never want to leave. How I wish Dexter Houston was anybody else—some frat boy I met on campus, a bartender who I couldn’t help but make doe eyes with, the janitor at Leland—anybody but the man who spiked my heart on a spit and is relishing watching it burn. The man I spilled my heart out to for ratings.

A soft moan floats from me as our kiss intensifies. His fingers glide down the nape of my neck as he warms my back with them. Dexter Houston wields his tongue like a molten hot spear as he lashes me with it, hot and fierce and in every way exquisite. I was supposed to seduce him.

He was never supposed to seduce me.