Ember Sparks was never supposed to seduce me, but now that she has, I’m curious about her motives. All day that kiss lingers in my mind like a grenade going off hour after hour. We clung to one another mercilessly for a small eternity before leaving that afternoon. Ember has been through a few tough situations, and for whatever reason, we met in the middle of our pain. Tragedy will do that to you—make you desperate, weak. It can compromise who you were meant to be, sanding down your rough edges when you least expect it. I didn’t want them sanded down. I prefer myself knife-sharp around the edges. It makes life more bearable, more palatable for those of us who need the grit inside of us just to survive. That’s how it felt after Meg died. Clawing my way to some semblance of sanity day after day. Even at that young age, I understood how necessary it was to steel myself against a world where anyone can be yanked out of your life brutally, barbarically like a tooth without Novocain. Yes, it hurt to lose my sister, but I wasn’t about to lose anyone else. Not like that. And as much as it was true, that I have been serially dumped, it’s also equally true that I paved the way for those most fortunate disposals. In the end, it was always me controlling the strings to our demise. The puppet master to my own heartbreaks. It feels better that way. I smell a rejection in the future, and I take a proactive stance. Not sure why I’ve never severed the cord myself. Now there’s something for Em’s armchair psychiatry. But I’m not about to lay it at her feet to chew on. Nope. In fact, I’m too focused on the fact I’ll be chewing on something myself in a few short weeks—a Porterhouse the size of my surname’s home. That’s right. A rare steak the size of Texas will be my reward once I land Ember’s frozen little heart in my hand. Memories of that kiss, the conversation that preceded that kiss comes to mind. She didn’t seem frozen or bitter that day, and I can’t help but wonder if the thaw came quicker than expected.

I head into the Underground and find a seat in the back before ordering my usual three chili cheese dogs and an extra-large Coke. For some reason, working at Leland has me eating like a teenager again, and yet I don’t mind. I save the sushi and Sake for nights out. The Underground has come to be known to me as something more of a high school cafeteria that serves beer to minors rather than the glorified bar it strives to be.

A couple of familiar faces show up and take a seat at my table, uninvited might I note, just as my food arrives. Rowen and Lane each help themselves to a chili cheese dog as I watch.

“Please, take it all,” I say as they shovel them in, two bites at a time. “What brings you my way? Or was it simply the scent from my meal?” It wouldn’t surprise me at all if this were a new trend among college students, sitting wherever they please, eating off anybody’s plate. It’s a different day than it was ten years ago when I was a student here myself. Trish and I were already together at that point, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I had forever in the grasp of my hand—thus the proposal and the quickie wedding which followed suit. It’s not a memory I like to relive. My marriage to Trish, though brief, is a painful reminder that even the hardest of hearts—and those missing that proverbial vital organ such as myself—can still succumb to love’s illusion. But something good came of it—two things, Chelle and the kernel of an idea that led to my beloved research project, The Social Experiment.

“Freaking good.” Rowen reaches for my drink, and I slide it out of reach.

“Down,” I say as I glower at the two of them.

Lane shakes his head my way. “Dude, she dyed her hair for you.”

My lips curve with wicked delight at the idea. “She did, didn’t she?”

Rowen lifts a brow. “It’s all Sophie and Vi talk about—how smitten she is with you.”

“Smitten?” My ego floats to the ceiling.

“Dexter.” Lane shakes his head. That pathetic look in his eyes is all for me. “Have you met Ember? She’s an unscalable wall—emotionally speaking.”

Rowen nods in agreement. “She’s not your run-of-the-mill smitten kitten.”

The thought weighs me down, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. “What’s going on?”

“We’re not sure.” Rowen glances to Lane. “But the girls are being funny about it and not in a ha-ha way.”

“Oh, they’re laughing,” Lane assures me as he takes my drink, and this time I watch it glide across the table as he downs half of it. “And I think they’re laughing at you.”

“But she dyed her hair.” My head inches back as I try to process this from every angle. “She kissed me. She melted in my arms like butter on a griddle and laid it on me for an hour straight. You can’t fake shit like that.” I close my eyes a moment at the vulgarity I tagged it with. That kiss was beautiful, perhaps the nicest of my life. “You think she faked it?”

The two of them shrug at the thought before Rowen strums his fingers over the table.

“So you think you’re inching your way to that Porterhouse?”

“I know I am. I’ve got time. Long before these next few weeks are up, she’ll be professing her love for me from the rooftops.”

Lane tips his head at the thought. “And the TSE?”

“Screw the TSE.” I offer a shit-eating grin. “I built that heart-shaped world, and I can topple it if I want to. Besides, one miss is hardly a dent in the infrastructure.”

“And when it’s over?” Rowen’s features harden as if he were pissed at what it might mean for Ember.

“When it’s over”—an enormous breath fills my lungs—“I let her down easy.”

Lane narrows his brows at me, looking just as ticked as Rowen. “You’d better, dude. You won’t just have Ember to contend with. You’ll have Sophie and Vi after you, too.”

A dull laugh thumps from me. “It wouldn’t be the first time I had an entire league of women wanting to snap my balls shut in a vise.”

They wince at the visual.

“You’d better watch your back. I’m just saying.” Rowen takes another bite out of my meal, taking his time with it. “Ember Sparks isn’t one to mess with. Maybe you chose the wrong coed to get you that steak dinner.”

“Maybe.” But I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure Ember is the only one I’d like to deliver this brand of affliction, but I don’t say it.

Ember Sparks is going to fall in love with me whether she realizes it or not. Maybe the hair thing was nothing more than a joke. Maybe she thinks I’m one, too. One thing is for sure—she will fall in love with someone before the experiment is through.

And that someone is me.

---

Thursday, Ember’s first day with Chelle, I decide to leave work early and head to the house, only they never made it. I call Chelle and discover they’ve gone on an adventure to Pine Ridge to visit a ceramic shop, so I head that way, too.

Jolie’s Clay House is located on the town’s dusty main strip, right next door to a taxidermy shop and a bakery on the other side. I step in and find two enthusiastic girls sitting at an elongated table, the younger of which lights up like a Christmas tree at the sight of me.

“Daddy!” Chelle launches my way like a rocket. “Isn’t this great? Paint with us!”

I nod hello over at Ember who offers a vexing smile.

Chelle gives my sleeve a hard tug. “You need to pick out a biscuit ware because it’s been fired from its job,” she says it with such assurance I almost believe her.

A husky laugh comes from behind as an older blonde with familiar vibrant eyes steps forward. “She means bisque—pottery that’s been fired once. All you need to do is paint it, and I’ll fire it for you free of charge and glaze it.”

Ember swoops over between us. “Dexter, this is my mom, Jolie.” She wraps her arm around this older version of herself, and I can’t help but grin.

“Jolie of Jolie’s Clay House?” I offer her hand a hearty shake.

“That would be me.” She primps her hair and blushes at her brush with fame. “Go ahead and pick anything out. It’s on me today. Except maybe that oversized coffee cup the size of a bathtub. I don’t have a kiln big enough for it.” She dots a finger over her daughter’s nose. “Arlo is gonna help me talk to Elvis at the crematorium and see if he can help out with that.”

Ember wrinkles her nose at the thought. “Good to know.”

“It’s great to meet you,” I offer. “I’m Dexter Houston, Chelle’s—”

“Daddy”— she wags a finger at me—“oh yes, I know. And you’re also my baby girl’s boss.”

Ember’s pouty pink lips twist in a knot. “He’s my love master, too.”

Jolie swats the air just shy of Ember’s lips. “Oh, hush for goodness’ sake. There’s a child present.” She leans in close to Chelle. “Hon, I’ve got an entire Disney collection on that wall over there. If you look on the third shelf, I have a Snow White that looks just like you.”

“My mommy calls me Snow!”

“Well, I can see why.” Her eyes brighten as she watches Chelle dart for the goods. Jolie rises to meet up with her daughter once again. “Now, tell me all the juicy details. How long has this little tryst been going on? Is this the love match that crazy turd you told me about paired you up with?”

Ember’s mouth falls open a moment, a breath catching in her throat, and I’d bet money she was holding back a laugh. “No, Mom, this would be the crazy turd. He’s paired me with a boy named Lenard who is destined to have eight-foot-tall offspring right out of the womb.”

“Ooh.” She turns and winces as if she were struck on the cheek. “Don’t go messing with those gigantors. They’ve got big everything, and I do mean everything. I dated an ex-basketball player once—”

Ember nods my way. “Czechoslovakian. Nine-footer at least.”

Jolie waves it off. “That boy had a meat stick the size of a sledge hammer, and neither of us could figure out what to do with it. Save yourself the trouble, girl.” She pats Ember over the shoulder. “Pair yourself with a handsome devil like this.” She gives a sly wink my way. “I bet his wee willie will fit quite nicely.” She lets out a hoot before heading to Chelle.

“Did she just…?” I can’t bring myself to finish the thought.

“Oh, she did.” Ember steps in close until her cinnamon perfume warms my senses. “My mother isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. She certainly doesn’t mind offending, but most of the time she’s just kicking around the truth.”

“Sounds like the apple doesn’t fall far from the truth.”

She makes a face at me, searing her eyes into mine. “Let’s see… Snow White’s father was a prince—I guess that makes you a royal pain.” She bites down on her bottom lip, batting those long lashes at me like a threat, and something in me demands to have her.

“I think we both know the only royal pain around here is you.” My hand glides over her back as she leans in another notch, closing the gap between us. “You want to show me around and help pick something out?”

“I know just the thing.” Fifteen minutes later, the three of us are rooted to the table with an arsenal of acrylic paints. Chelle is working steady on her Snow White piggy bank, her little tongue protruding to the side as she pours her full concentration on the effort. Ember is painting a ceramic bicycle, and I’m beginning to sense a theme with her. And me—I’m painting an oversized ass–as in donkey. As soon as Ember presented it to me like a prize, Chelle nearly died of laughter. She immediately begged me to paint it for her budding ceramics collection. Something tells me that Ember just introduced Chelle to an obsessive new hobby. Not that I mind. Jolie is a kick to be around. Whenever she thinks we’re not looking, she’s snapping pictures of us on her phone. She’s insistent that I’m famous—more like infamous, her daughter was eager to inform her.

An hour goes by, and the three of us surrender our treasures to Jolie.

“I’ll have these fired immediately. You can pick them up in a few days.”

“Next week.” Ember nods to Chelle. “And then we’ll do another batch.”

“Yes!” Chelle pulls her fist in with gusto as if she just won money on the winning team of the World Series. “I knew she was the right person for the job, Daddy,” Chelle smarts my way. “Mommy says she’s too good for you and ga-gested that I tell you to keep on looking.”

Ember and Jolie break out into a riotous laugh.

Jolie tucks her pinky in the corner of her eye to dry her tears. “You tell your mama that my baby girl can hold her own. There isn’t anything your daddy can bring that my girl can’t handle.”

Just as I’m about to say something in my defense, anything, the bell chimes from the door as an oversized dude in a dirty T-shirt and yellow pants strides in. I spot a fire truck parked outside and a few other firemen headed to the bakery next door.

“Arlo!” Ember leaps for him and latches on with a hungry embrace. “What timing! We were just leaving. This is Chelle, the little girl I’m fortunate enough to hang out with part-time, and her father, the donation station.”

Chelle giggles up a storm before looking past him and gasping. “A real-life fire engine, Daddy! Can I take a look?”

Ember takes her by the hand. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll let you sit behind the steering wheel.” Ember leads her out the door, and Jolie follows along.

It’s just Arlo the firefighter staring me down like I owe him money.

“Nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand. “Dexter Houston. I work over at—”

“Leland.” He folds his enormous arms across his chest, and I glance briefly at those inflatable muscles of his. “Look, my sister says you’re running that circus she’s tangled herself in. I don’t want to see her hurt.” He takes an intimidating step in close, and I can’t help but gauge how far the exit is. Too damn far to make a clean break. I’ll have to break a chair over his head if I plan on making a run for it.

“I can’t control what Ember feels. She knows what she’s gotten herself into. She’s a strong girl. She’ll be fine.” I take a step toward the door, and he shoves his hand to my chest hard as hitting a wall.

“My mom shot me a few pictures of the two of you. Whispering in her ear? Touching her hair? Dude, don’t fuck with me. I know when someone’s got the hots for my sister, and you’re no exception.”

Crap. I was certainly whispering to Ember because some of those heated exchanges we were having were simply not meant for Chelle’s ears. I couldn’t help it, though. It was Ember who started the racy exchange, and it was that damn donkey that sponsored it. I had to answer her question. Why yes, I do have balls the size of a donkey’s. And the hair thing? I couldn’t let her dip her newly dyed tresses into a puddle of pink paint. Anyone seated next to her would have done the same.

I offer a dry smile to her brute of a brother. “I’m sorry if you think that. I promise I have no desire to pursue your sister in that manner. I’m faculty at Leland, and I happen to enjoy my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pluck my daughter off that ladder she’s climbing before she leaps down and leaves an impression of herself in the street.” I head out to find Ember, right on her heels, and they both do one of those king of the world poses while Jolie documents the entire event on her phone. That phone is equivalent to a snitch at this point. Arlo, here, nearly picked the low hanging fruit off my body for the hell of it just for looking at his sister. Nope, Arlo cannot know what I’m up to. Good thing this is a quick shot. Once she openly declares her love for me, I’ll cut her loose, make it look like her own delusions were running wild. Arlo just so happened to remind me in a roundabout way that Ember is off-limits in more ways than one. I might not be a professor at Leland, but I’m pretty sure the Dean frowns upon employees hitting on coeds. Anything between Ember and me will have to be kept tightly under wraps, undercover, under heated sheets if I’m lucky, and I’ve never fired a shot that I didn’t hit the sexual bull’s-eye with yet.

Sorry, Arlo, this girl is mine in every sinful way.

The next day, Ember arranges for Chelle to take a ride around Moon Ridge on the fire truck they were both defying the laws of gravity on. And the day after that, I spring for pizza, and we play board games until it’s time for Chelle to hit the sack. Ember stays an extra hour, and I pull out a deck of cards. We play Black Jack for Oreos with Ember winning a good portion of the chocolate loot. Ember is a blast to have around. Chelle loves her. My body demands to have her.

Yes. Hiring Ember Sparks was a winning move indeed.

I’m going to get my steak, and I’m going to eat it, too—but a part of me is craving another meal entirely.

---

The top of the tower on a Saturday night is usually occupied by drunken frat boys and coeds alike, each trying to nail down a memory that will last more than the fifteen seconds it takes to make it. But on this spring evening, with its clear auburn sky, fresh after a sunset that burned across the sky like a meteorite, the rooftop is covered with a small army, each with a black vest with the letters TSE emblazoned over the back in neon orange. It’s the night of Lenard and Ember’s third date. By this stage in the game, the electricity is heart pounding, the audience is screaming at the top of their lungs for that first elusive kiss to ensue. And with the other dozen couples, it already has. Lenard and Ember are the holdouts of the group—and as furious as I’d typically be, I’m not entirely opposed to their chaste status.

Dan nudges me in the arm as we stand to the side, the wind lashing around us, the floodlights set up by the crew blinding us from above. “Let me get this straight. You think she’s close to offering up the sushi?”

“For shit’s sake.” I glance around, suppressing the urge to deck him, sending him sailing twelve stories to the ground floor for the verbal malfeasance. It was clearly an error on my part to quote Rowen and Lane. “Have a little decorum. No, I don’t think she’s ready to offer anything up.” I watch from a safe distance as Ember sits in a canvas chair while getting her hair done. “If she did offer up her body, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t resist. She’s beautiful—smart as a whip, too.”

Dan grunts as we inspect her, “I bet she carries a whip, if you know what I mean. If she offers to tie you up”—he clucks his tongue—“I’d think twice about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were smuggling a bayonet in that purse of hers. Consider what those boys said a warning. She’s gunning for you, dude. And she’s coming for you hard.”

My perverted mind takes a moment to rearrange those words, and I can see her springing up for air while seated over my lap, her skin glowing pink in the night.

“But why?” I can’t help but ask. “It makes zero sense. You think she’s still pissed about that biking mishap? It’s practically ancient history at this point. Besides, our latest biking adventure eclipsed it by far.” I filled Dan in on that lip exchange the night it happened like some giddy schoolgirl.

“I don’t know, but this is starting to stink like Limburger.”

“No way,” I say it fast and sharp like a reprimand. “She’s got a good heart.”

Ember does a double take in our direction and spikes right out of her seat. That tight red dress she’s donned hugs her every curve. It’s wrapped around her, tied off on the side, and I’m half-tempted to pull one of those dangling strings and see what happens.

“Hey!” She waves wildly with the look of both shock and surprise as she runs this way, her tits pumping up and down, unrestrained from anything holding them back.

“Damn,” Dan grunts it out. “She’s got a nice rack, too.”

“Be quiet,” I mutter without moving my lips. “I forbid you to speak.”

“Oh my God!” Her eyes light up like flares as she latches onto my brother unexpectedly.

Crap. What in the hell is happening? “I’m over here, sweetheart.” I give one of her curls a slight tug as she continues to howl into my brother’s neck. Her long, luscious thighs are wrapped tight around his body, and a heated flare of anger rips through me. I’m about to rip my brother up for the hell of it.

She pulls back and takes my brother in, that grin on her face only spreading wider. “I love you!” she shrills so loud half the production crew turns our way for a brief moment. “Oh my God, you have to sign my boob!” She jumps down from his waist and takes off screaming for a pen.

Dan lets out a riotous chuckle. “The chick’s got great taste in men, I’ll give her that. And I was right about the nice rack, too—at least as far as I can feel ’em. I’ll give more detail once I scribble my name over one.” He shrugs. “Sometimes they want me to kiss it. You know, kiss it and make it feel better?”

I knot up his shirt and pull him in without thinking. “You don’t touch her rack or any other part of her.”

Ember comes striding back, this time with her feet in heels. That tight red dress bares a daring cleavage, and for a second, I consider shielding her from my brother and his budding hard-on. He’s a bigger pervert than I am, and from this day forth I’m banning him from the set.

“Hey, big boy!” She hands my brother a Sharpie before shooting me a dirty look. “I saw that by the way.” She irons the wrinkles from his T-shirt. “Nice try at intimidation, but I’m the only man handler around here.” She glides her hand over his chest and gives a little growl while looking right at him. “Now, get to signing.” She turns her back to me, and judging by that stupid look on my brother’s face, she just whipped one out. “Right above the nipple. Please.”

My brother grunts as he willingly complies, and Ember tips her head back, moaning to the moon as if she were having the time of her life.

“Oh, that’s it! Right there. Yeah, honey, a little harder. Faster.” She edges her shoulder toward him and, swear to God, my brother is about to go flying over this rooftop. I have no problem with committing a felony this evening. I’m sure Chelle will have a nice life with Trish and Bart.

Crap. What am I saying? It’s like I’m losing my freaking mind over this girl. It’s bad enough she’s haunting my thoughts—first thing when I wake up, last thing when I finally get to sleep. Hell, I see her in my dreams—only then it’s me bringing out those groans in her, and my brother and his twisted pen are nowhere to be found.

“Dot it with a kiss.” She tips her chest up, and I go into full Karate mode slicing the air between them.

“It’s time for your mic to get strapped on,” I say, pulling my brother and his puckering lips the hell away from her.

Ember struts off, giggling like a teenager. “I got my boob signed by the lead singer of Leather and Chaps!” She lets out a hoot that echoes over the campus below.

Petra strides over with those Poindexter glasses, that permanent scowl on her face whenever she sees me.

“Looks like we found someone who gives Ember that elusive spark. Maybe we should mic you up, Dan?” She gives him a playful knock with her elbow. “What do you think, Dex? If this love connection between Lenny and Em doesn’t hit its stride tonight, I think we need to initiate the Samson option.”

The Samson option is technically my brainchild. Once we’re in too deep with a couple and the chemistry simply isn’t there, we bring in a few more suitors and at least find someone who puts a smile on the girl’s face. We can’t leave the audience high and dry. It’ll tank ratings. I’ll lose funding. I’ll be forced to work the family business—the brewery. Not that the brewery is hell. It’s just never been my baby. It’s my father’s and his alone.

“No.” I hear myself say it loud and clear, and both Petra and Dan raise a brow my way. “They’ll hit it off.” I give a tight smile along with the false assurance.

Petra heads out as the cameras start rolling. Dan and I watch from afar as Lenard and Ember start in on what might pan out to be the stalest date in The Social Experiment’s history. Lenard goes on and on about his interest in astrophysics, and just when I think Ember is about to doze off, taking about a dozen cameramen to dreamland with her, she rises to her feet and pulls the front of her dress open as if it were a robe, and the poor guy’s face goes white as chalk.

“I got my boob signed by Dan Houston!” Ember screams into the night like a drunken sorority girl, and Seth calls for the crew to cut the cameras.

He looks to me, slitting his throat with his finger. “Can’t use it. She’s one free spirit.”

I flick my hand through the air, and the crew wraps up the night.

“She’s a free spirit, all right.” Dan sniffs the air as if proud to be a part of her primitive outburst. “You think you can contain that? Little bro, you wouldn’t know where to begin. That ember is about to spark a wildfire strong enough to reduce your world to cinders. Word to the wise: don’t play with fire. If you do, you’re liable to get burned alive. Hell, judging by the way you almost took me out, I think you’re already toast.” He offers up a firm pat to my shoulder before taking off.

The crew disappears one by one, as a skeletal staff remains to disassemble the mock stage intended to bring out the romance.

Lenard is ushered to the elevator by both Petra and Seth, clearly in need of a stiff drink at the Underground after that shock therapy Ember threw at him.

But it’s her I wait for.

Ember bounces out of the makeup tent in her sky-high heels, her dress glowing like a ruby under the three-quarter moon, that ever-present grin on her face expanding like elastic once she sees me brooding.

“Where’s my favorite Houston brother?” She gives a quick wink, and I can tell she enjoys tugging at my balls.

“He’s at my place.” I bleed a wicked grin myself. “He said show up in an hour.” I brush her cheek with the back of my hand, and it feels like a downed wire landing in a puddle of water. “He’s interested in mapping out the rest of your body with his lips. And, Ember? It is your favorite Houston brother who’ll be there to greet you.”

Her mouth falls open, but I don’t bother waiting around for a response. Instead, I head back to my place and wait for her to show.

And she will.