He didn’t say it back?” Sophie twirls her coffee cup around and around as both she and Violet examine me with a not-so-veiled look of pity.

“He didn’t have to. It wasn’t mandatory,” I practically spit it out while trying to control my breathing. “I’ll admit, it would have been nice, but the fact I took off like the building was on fire didn’t afford him the chance. And we’re not really big on texting or calling, so there’s that.” God, it sounded so lame coming from me. I can only imagine how it feels to have heard it. “Look, I don’t need for him to say it. The point is, I said it. That’s a big deal for me. I don’t toss the L word around that easily, you know. I maybe say it once a year to my mother, and I doubt my brother or my sister have ever heard it.” True. I had a cat once when I was twelve that I said it all the time to, and he took off one day and never came back. I was pretty sure even at that young age I knew it was doomed to be a pattern for me. “I mean, did Rowen or Lane say it back immediately or vice versa?”

They both offer up reluctant nods.

“Fine.” I sag in my seat a moment. “Anyway, it’s extraordinary circumstances with us. The world wants to hear me tell Lenard I love him. Heck, I bet a part of Dexter wishes the same. But not all of Dexter.” I bite down hard on my lip because, to be honest, I have no clue what Dexter wants. “All I know is that he’s got my heart, one hundred percent of it, and if I never hear those words from him, I’ll be—”

“Hurt,” Violet finishes for me, and I can’t help but close my eyes in defeat because she’s right.

“I’ll be devastated is what I’ll be. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Sophie reaches over and clasps her hand over mine. “You were thinking that his psycho ex is back in town, and you just witnessed her digging her forked tongue into his mouth. You wanted to let him know he has more than a shot with you. I get it. And—I think you did the right thing. At least this way he has all the information to make the right decision.”

Violet groans as if she were about to be sick. She gives a quick glance around before leaning in. “And what about that psycho ex? You think there’s something left between them?”

“No way. Dexter shared that video with me and he looked sick to his stomach. Trust me, it’s all a cry of desperation on her part.”

Sophie nods in agreement. “Her next album is due out in July, and I heard preorders are at an all-time low. She has a full tour coming up and they can’t sell seats, even though they’ve slashed prices in half. She’s desperate on more than one front. I think we’re witnessing an implosion.”

Violet huffs, “It’s a publicity stunt. It’s clear she’s desperate.”

“Or, she’s got more than one screw loose. I don’t know”—I scan the ceiling as I rethink her performance on that video—“she was pretty wrecked. She wanted him back, or at least she did in the moment. I bet she was high.”

“Or drunk,” Sophie offers.

“Both,” Vi agrees. “Promise me if you see her coming you’ll go the other way. If that tantrum she threw didn’t land her what she wanted, who knows what she’ll do next.”

“The only thing she wants to do is Dexter, and there’s no way that’s happening. That boy is mine.” I lift my latte and let out a wicked cackle. “He’ll say those three little words to me before the end of next week. Get your wallets ready, girls. I’m looking forward to having my java hand-delivered twice a day. It’s going to be a beautiful, beautiful thing.” I knock back my coffee and shoot up a little prayer, just hoping that I’m right. Why did Scarlett Stafford have to come back and complicate things when I was so close to the finish line?

Regardless, I’d trade all the free coffee in the world just to hear Dexter say those three little words to me.

I would have sworn on my life he was feeling them, too.

---

Date five. Date five! I’m so close to the finish line I can hardly stand it. Date five takes place on a balmy Wednesday afternoon post classes and pre-finals. I won’t lie. I will be thrilled to be done with both. This farce I’m playing out with the TSE feels like some arduous lesson on method acting. I can no more pretend to be remotely interested in Lenard than I can in advanced calculus. No matter how hard Lenard might get for me, I will never want to do him. So, it seems they’ve got that in common, too.

It’s late afternoon, and soon Dexter will have to leave to pick up Chelle. A part of me still thought he might show. He hasn’t missed a single taping yet, and for him to miss this one, on the heels of my verbal diarrhea, it would most definitely signal a red flag. Sure, others might have been put off by the fact three full days have traveled by without a word, but I know that we’re different. I’m not freaked out by the turn of a couple of calendar pages in the least. When it’s right, he’ll say it. And it is right. What Dexter and I share is something unique to the two of us. It’s as if we’re two sides of the same coin. We’ve gone down a path of pain and are just now coming up for air—with each other. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that infamous bike ride that introduced us to one another was fate.

Fate. Destiny. My mind can’t stop spinning with how silly that all would have sounded to me just a few short months ago. I sit through hair and makeup, do a wardrobe change into a bikini—two-piece—and yes, I agreed to this skin baring ensemble—and get mic’d up with something that looks like a necklace made of cables. I’m sure this will be a hot commodity some day in the future, but for now it looks as if I’ve lassoed myself with a copper wire.

Seth leads me out of the tent as we head toward the pool at the lower level of Paradise Falls. I’ve loved Paradise Falls for as long as I can remember. It was the subject of many romantic fantasies once I grew to be a horny teenager, and I’ll admit to having one or two recently with Dexter as my muse.

I do a quick scan of the area, but Mr. Houston is persona non-grata. He showed up last Wednesday, stayed the whole time, too. But a kid's schedule can change on a dime. Trish may have needed him to pick up Chelle a little early. It’s hardly anything to panic about.

My heart lets out a death rattle as if maybe it is.

“So, here’s the deal.” Seth pinches a tight smile before it dissolves to nothing. “You’ve got this date—good choice by the way.” I nod, appreciating his approval. It was ladies’ choice this go-around. “And one final date coming up next week. I think we can all say we’re thankful for that kiss last week. The test audience has fallen hard for the two of you. They’re calling you the dark horse of the series.” He winces because I think we both know it’s not true. “I think if you wanted to do some more of that, it would be a good thing. If not, no pressure. We can always go with the angle that the two of you are taking things slow. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I let out an enormous breath it feels as if I’ve been holding for the last five weeks. “I’ll see if the mood strikes.” It won’t, but poor Seth doesn’t need to stress about it just yet. “And I definitely like the slow road angle. I think everyone should see that love comes in different paces for different people.”

“I’m going to quote you on that.”

“I have no doubt about it. Hey, where’s Dexter?” I pretend to crane my neck as if I have a sudden urgency to ask him a question. I do, but I wouldn’t dare ask it.

“He’ll be here. He said he had to take care of something first. And according to social media, there’s been a sighting of Scarlett and Dex this afternoon. I think her fans are relieved he’s finally taking her up on her plea. That was pretty desperate, but it looks like it worked.”

“What? There’s no way.”

“Why not?” He inches his head back as Petra joins us. “Isn’t that right?” He dots her cheek with a kiss. “Dex and Scarlett are getting back together.”

“They had better.” She averts her eyes. “I think our leader should have a love life himself.” She cackles my way as if expecting me to agree. “I mean, it’s obvious she’s mad about him.”

“Or just mad.” I shrug. “As defined by the DSM-5.” I know my way around a psychology book or two.

“Crazy or not, rumor has it she’ll be coming to Leland next fall.”

I suck in a quick breath. Crap. There will no escaping her. “Looks like Leland’s collective IQ just got a little lower.”

They share a dark laugh on Scary Scarlett’s behalf, and before I can get another dig in, I spot Dexter speaking with some of the crew.

“I’ll be right back.” I traipse across the dirt path, kicking up a plume of dust with the kitten heels I’ve donned. It’s safe to say I didn’t have Lenard in mind when I picked out this cherry red teeny-weeny bikini and the little white fluff puffs I’ve slid my feet into. Nope. This is one hundred percent Dexter bait. I’ve got a week to wrangle those three little words from him and, by God, I’m going to do it. And as much as I need it to be genuine, I’d take an I love you for delivering a garlic pizza with anchovies if that’s what it took. He might cost me my ego, but he’s not costing me my lattes.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?”

He turns, and his eyes flash wide like frying pans before he takes a few steps out by the trailer with me. Dexter doesn’t breathe a word in my presence, just bears hard into me with those beautiful marbled eyes, and I melt like winter snow at his hot feet.

“Um”—I clear my throat, offering him one last opportunity, and the silence between us grows unbearably deafening—“I just want you to know that I’m not looking for an organ donor. I don’t need your heart.” My own heart wallops its way out of my chest and into my throat.

A slow smile builds on his lips, and he takes me by the hand into the makeshift office, closing the door behind him. It’s dim inside, not a soul in sight, but then I can’t seem to take my eyes off his to confirm that.

Dexter lands his mouth soft over mine and blesses me with a kiss that says so much more than words can ever convey—soft and easy, taking his time with me as if we had all night. He pulls back, and I’d bet my life that there is moisture in his eyes.

A horn sounds outside, signifying a callout for everyone to get in their places.

“We’ll talk,” he whispers, his thumbs rubbing small circles over my cheeks.

I bite down on a smile I’m not sure I can hide and skip right back out of that tiny tin box and straight for the man I will never have feelings for. Lenard and I have a blast swimming and splashing in the base of the falls. We race one another to the edge and back, I climb on his shoulders as he runs us through the curtain of water, and we lounge on the mossy rocks as the late afternoon sun warms our dewy skin as if we were at summer camp. In all it’s a perfect day. He’s just not the perfect boy for me. By the time they call it a wrap, Dexter is nowhere to be found, but I’m not worried. Dexter said we’ll talk, and I know that running from me will be impossible to do for the next few days.

---

Friday night finds me twiddling my thumbs in my dorm room. It turns out, Chelle is recovering from a sore throat and has opted to stay with her mother through the rest of the week. I’m severely bummed that Chelle isn’t feeling up to her cheerful self. And I’m extremely bummed that this gives Dexter an added layer of invisibility in my life. I’m starting to feel an awful lot like Scarlett. Not having Dexter in my life is starting to weigh heavy on my psyche. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. Why would he avoid me? So I do what every red-blooded American woman would do. I text him and demand to know what the hell his problem is. Not really. More like…

Hey, Dex! It’s Ember. Remember me? Look. It’s clear I freaked you out. But I don’t want there to be weirdness between us.

Delete, delete, delete.

I try again. Hey, what’s up? You hungry? I’m buying if you want to join me!

Delete.

Once again. Look, you said we’d talk. Either you’re a man of your word or you’re not a man.

That’s the one I send—the one that quasi-emasculates him. I can’t help it. It’s my way.

My phone lights up as he texts right back. That I did. I have a working dinner tonight. How about my place ten o’clock?

I’ll be there. I text right back, somewhat regretful that I didn’t make him stew for a couple of days the way he did me.

He texts again. I am a man of my word. And tonight, I’m hoping you’ll appreciate everything I have to say.

My mouth falls open at the thought of what it might be. This is it! He’s going to say he loves me. I can feel it.

Dexter Houston loves me.

A rush so powerful hits me it feels like the most addicting, beautiful drug has just been infused straight into my heart.

This feeling right here is what the rest of the world must feel.

This is it.

This is love.

About seven thirty, there’s a knock on my door, and as much as I shout for Taylor’s tramps to hit the road, they don’t seem to get the picture. My fornicating roomie is off scouting the fraternities on this fine evening, and I’m about to rip whoever is on the other end of that booty call a new one, and trust me—they won’t derive nearly as much pleasure from it as I will.

I swing open the door, only to have Sophie and Vi staring back at me, pale, slack-jawed and, dare I say, petrified?

“What’s up, chicas?” I nod them in, but they remain frozen under the doorframe as if someone stopped time. “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out. Spill it or I’m going for the big guns—texting Rowen and Lane.”

“No!” they shout in unison, both fumbling for my phone as I carefully ease it back into my pocket.

Sophie looks to Vi and shrugs. “We sort of have a surprise for you.”

“Yes.” Vi nods to her, uncertain. “You might say you’re about to get kidnapped.”

Sophie looks to my feet. “She’s got shoes. Grab that jacket off her bed and let’s get out of here.”

Vi does as she’s told—grabbing Taylor’s two hundred fifty dollar buttery black leather jacket, and since I’m being held captive against my will, I don’t bother correcting them. Instead, I slip it on as they speed me along to Sophie’s old Honda, Gertrude, and Vi shoves me in the back, all but strapping me in as we take off in a fury.

“Hey, this is fun!” I kick the ceiling as I struggle to right myself and get my belt on. “What the hell are you girls on? I hate to break it to you, but I’m not rushing any sororities.” I bubble out a laugh, but neither of them reciprocates. Nary a cackle, a witty comeback, or a grunt is to be heard. Instead, Sophie runs stale yellow lights, glides by stop signs as if they were suddenly optional, and breezes us off to the ritzy end of town where the residential tracks fade into a distant memory and a series of strip malls take over. She pulls into the Pinewood Steakhouse and lands us in a parking spot outside of the valet fun zone.

“Um, wow, thanks, guys. I guess steak it is. In the future, you might want to note I’m basically a pescatarian. But in a pinch, a nice big, fat, juicy cut that still has a little moo in it will do. And by the way—I don’t have my purse, so if someone wants to spot me a twenty...”

Vi scoffs. “Please”—she hops out and extricates me along with her in one jarring move—“I don’t think any of us will have an appetite once we’re through.”

I think on that inadvertent riddle she just gifted me as Sophie grabs my other hand like I were a child, and the two of them shuttle me inside.

“Of course, we won’t be hungry once we’re through, but, believe me, I can eat an entire acre of bloodied bovine. And the onion blossoms they serve here are to die for!”

Sophie pulls me in an alcove just past the entrance. It’s gorgeous in here, rustic pine—its namesake wood—runs through the floor and panels the walls. The dining room is filled to the brim and with at least ten people per table. Boisterous laughter ripples through the air in bursts as people predictably have a great time. A waitress walks by with a giant onion blossom sitting pretty on a platter, and I groan at how crispy and delicious it smells.

“I’ll take two,” I chirp. “I wish Dexter was here with us. We should totally triple date asap! You guys are going to love him as much as I do. He’s so witty, and sharp as a razor when it comes to business. Did you know his parents own a brewery? I smell free beer, witches!” I let out a howl and attempt to give them each a high five, but they’re tight-lipped and slightly distracted while craning their necks into the dining room.

Sophie looks to Vi and nods. “You know, Ember, we just might start that triple date sooner than you think.”

Vi flashes with anger my way. “Like now.”

“What? I’m not dressed. I don’t even have my face on!”

Sophie pulls me in and begins hissing, panting in my ear—and the restaurant, the tiny alcove we’re in collapses on itself as the floor beneath me begins to spin.

A Porterhouse? A bet?

The more she speaks, the more I want to jump out of my skin. This can’t be happening. This is a joke. I pull back to appraise them both, and my stomach plummets as I inspect their solemn faces.

“Oh my God.” I can hardly manage to get the words out. Then as if someone switches off the lights in my world, my body goes numb, and all I see is red. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Atta girl.” Sophie grabs me by the shoulders and navigates us past tables full of chortling patrons, each one with a silly grin on their face, and suddenly it feels as if the entire world were in on my humiliation.

Sophie stops abruptly, her cheek close to mine as she leans over my shoulder. Vi comes up alongside me, pointing to a table in the center of the restaurant. There he is, Dexter Dead Man Dining, flanked on either side by Rowen and Lane. A riotous laughter breaks out at once from the three of them as I stagger my way over.

“What’s so funny?” My voice drifts from me, foreign, unrecognizable, tight with revenge.

The three of them look up simultaneously, and those smiles slip right under the table.

Dexter bumps his seat back an inch as if he were preparing for a quick exit. “Ember?” He glances behind me. “Sophie, and Violet.” He offers an amicable nod, looking confused as hell. His mouth falls open as if to add something, but he glances to his cohorts a moment as if seeking their permission.

Dexter looks damning in that dark suit of his, his stubbled cheeks afford just the right hint of shadow to his comely features, and those marbled dark eyes look as if a storm were brewing. It’s hard to believe someone—the only person outside of my nuclear family that I have given my whole heart to could betray me so cruelly. I guess that’s not true. I had given my whole heart to my father, and he left it on the table when he took off in the night. My love was unwanted then, and it’s unwanted now. How silly of me to think that people had a thread of goodness in them—that Dexter was that person for me. I’m nothing more to him than a nighttime delight, something to heat his sheets, some young pretty thing he can go wild on to fulfill his perverse desires. The Dexter I thought I knew is nothing more than a lie.

Rowen looks to his better half. “Soph, what’s going on?”

I take a step forward. “Let’s have Dexter tell us.” It comes out monotone. The words pull from my lips like toxic fumes. “Say it.” I look right at him as his gaze hardens over mine. “What exactly are we celebrating tonight, Dexter?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten as he gives a brief glance to Rowen and Lane.

A waitress pops up with two enormous platters, one in each hand. “Porterhouse?” She blinks those doe eyes innocently at the boy, and I take the giant slab of meat with a bone running through it like a fissure through my heart.

“I’ll help you with that.” I land the entire platter over Dexter’s shirt before reaching over and snatching a handful of mashed potatoes off his tie and smearing it over the top of his head. “That’s the least of what you deserve for what you’ve done to me. I said I loved you, Dexter!” I shout so loud my voice echoes off the ceiling, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that all eyes are fixed on me. “And you couldn’t say it back. Now I know why.”

His eyes latch onto mine a moment, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was pissed, but I don’t care enough to decode his emotions. I take off for the front with Sophie and Vi in tow as we blow past the crowds and jump into Sophie’s car.

A hand thumps against the rear window, and I glance back to see the look of anguish in Dexter’s eyes as we pull away.

Good. I hope it hurts just like I feel—like hell.