Sometime later, the sexy bartender man was getting his flirt on with Roni—and Becca—and Maggie had started taking bets on who was going to make out with him before the night was through. Hopefully not Becca, since that probably wouldn’t go over too well with her husband.

We were all gathered around on the designer couches in front of the big fireplace, and there was a general speculation going on about how much fun we were actually going to get away with having here.

Was the bartender just a spy? On Jude’s security payroll? No one seemed sure. Not even Maggie.

Then the volume of the music went up. Way up. Ludacris’ “What’s Your Fantasy” started pumping through the room. The lights, rather suspiciously, dimmed. And the bartender, as he continued to make drinks, started to dance.

As it turned out, he was a pretty great dancer. Or rather, stripper.

Kind of reminded me of Channing Tatum’s panty-wetting performance to “Pony” in Magic Mike XXL… but with liquor bottles instead of power tools.

“Does my brother know about this?” I asked, sipping my drink and trying to contain my laughter as the women around me dissolved into a whole lot of giggling, squealing and gasping.

“Who do you think paid for it?” was Devi’s response.

We watched the dude peel off his clothes—all of them—to the rest of the song… at the climax of which he stirred—yes, stirred—the drink he’d just mixed with his semi-hard dick. Which was all kinds of wrong and yet, somehow, weirdly hot. Stress the weirdly. Most of us laughed until we cried. And Jesus, that felt good. When was the last time I’d laughed this hard?

Too fucking long ago.

Devi slipped a hefty tip in the stripper’s little bowtie, which was the only thing he was still wearing. I didn’t think Katie even looked. She was too busy stuffing a pillow in her face.

“Okay, ladies,” Becca announced, holding the drink high in the air. “I’ve got two young kids, which means I don’t get out much, therefore, I’m milking the shit out of this night. Which means whichever one of you tries to disappear to pass out first gets woken up—and you get to drink the dick drink.”

“You mean the cocktail,” Maggie put in, to a round of snickers.

“Look out,” Katie warned her sister. “At the rate you’re going it’ll be you.”

Then Roni stepped up, took the drink from Becca’s hand, and unceremoniously downed it.

All of it.

After that, it was pretty clear all bets were off, and the party mood pretty much launched into the stratosphere. Which, if I knew Roni, was her intention.

Wild. Card.

The stripper, who’d managed to pull his g-string back on, dragged a chair into the middle of the room and beckoned Katie to it. Katie obediently took the seat of honor—after some cajoling—with her hands fixed firmly over her face.

“Oh, shit, you have to look,” Becca told her. “You really have to look.”

“I can’t.” Katie peeked out between her fingers, eying the security guy, who’d left his post by the door and was strolling toward her chair… just as the sexy, angsty, slow-grinding lament of The Weeknd’s “The Hills” kicked in. “What about the security guy?” she stage-whispered, like he couldn’t hear her.

“What, that guy?” Devi reclined back on the couch, tossed her pedicured feet up, and smiled.

Which was when our security guy—or more accurately, stripper number two—busted out some sexy-smooth dance moves… and started shedding his shirt.

* * *

After that, things got messy. Fast.

There was more drinking, a lot more dancing, a little more stripping—and not just by the strippers—and a lot of acting like drunken fools. There we were, a bunch of (somewhat) sophisticated women, between us a handful of established careers, money in the bank, even a couple of children… partying like it was our first spring break.

Which was when Brody walked in.

His blue eyes landed on me, where I was lounging with Katie on one of the couches, tonguing a Jell-O shot from a dick-shaped shot glass. I swallowed and smiled, because, well… I was kind of drunk.

He was followed closely by Jude and Zane, who strutted right on in… making it pretty clear it was their plan to crash our party all along. “Your men have arrived,” Zane announced as he and Jude struck bodybuilder poses.

Next to me, a drunk bride-to-be erupted in giggles.

I would’ve laughed myself, and maybe thrown some pretzels at them, if I wasn’t so busy watching the other little display going on. Namely Amanda, in her bikini top and low hipster jeans that showed off her tight, muscular butt, throwing herself into Brody’s arms. Brody’s arms, which went around Amanda. I watched, transfixed, as he spread his hands on her bare back, the thorny vines of his rose tattoo in my face.

And I wanted to trace every one of those vines with my tongue… taste every last inch of his tattooed skin.

Since I was pleasantly buzzed, this desire rose up hot and fast, unchecked, uncensored. I felt the rush of saliva in my mouth. I felt the butterflies in my stomach and the throb between my legs. There was no denying it.

Why bother?

I wanted to rub every part of me against every part of Brody Mason. Naked.

And I definitely wanted his hands off Amanda.

I wanted them on me.

I wanted his mouth off her, too, but she was up on her tiptoes again and he was leaning down to meet the kiss she was bent on giving him, and I had to look away.

There was only so much torture I could take.

Zane had sat down on the couch across from me, between Maggie and Becca. He threw an arm on the back of the couch behind each of them, his thighs spread wide in his shredded jeans. Which Becca seemed to enjoy. Maggie, on the other hand… I really couldn’t tell.

He watched the floor show with us, which at the moment featured one of the strippers, naked, showing Roni some graphic thrusting moves. “Are chicks really into this?” he asked, like he was genuinely curious.

“Oh, yeah,” Becca said, sipping her drink.

Katie giggled and looked elsewhere. I didn’t think our guest of honor had even seen a dick all night, unlike the rest of us who couldn’t seem to look up without getting smacked in the eyeball with one. We watched as the stripper lay Roni on the floor and dry-humped her, naked. Well… he was naked. She was still wearing her incredibly tiny bikini.

They could’ve been having full-on penetrative sex and we probably couldn’t tell the difference.

“Okay,” Zane said. “I think I get it now.”

“Hot. Damn,” said a male voice behind me. I glanced up; Dylan and Ash had arrived, and Ash was making a beeline for the front row.

“What’s his deal?” Becca asked, checking out Ash in all his inky-haired, tattooed and pierced glory, as he checked out the show.

“Huh?” Zane said, distracted. “Oh. Ash is into dudes.”

“Oh my God,” Becca gasped, like she’d just been told unicorns were real. “Really?”

“Yeah. Chicks too, though.”

“Really.” Becca sipped her cocktail, eying the Pushers’ lead singer over the rim of her glass. “Do you think he’d strip for us?”

“Say one more thing like that and I’m telling Jack,” Katie threatened in her slurry, happy voice.

Becca eyed her sister. “We’ve been together eighteen years, little sister, you think my husband doesn’t know what a perv I am?”

Just then, Becca’s husband, Jack, walked in with my brother, and it was pretty clear he knew exactly what kind of perv his wife was when he took one look at the scene, collected her from the couch and backed her straight up into the kitchen—where they proceeded to make out against the fridge.

I watched for a minute without meaning to, but when his hand went up her skirt, I looked away.

“What is this noise?” My brother’s eyes were bright with drink, a big, sloppy-happy grin on his face as he stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around like it was hurting.

This noise was Nelly, “Hot in Herre,” the cabin was currently throbbing with it, and it was getting hot in here.

“What?” Katie protested. “I like it!”

My brother’s eyes locked on his fiancée… and her white bikini top… and her skimpy cutoffs. Katie’s cheeks flushed as he stalked over and dropped to his knees on the couch, kneeling over her. He then proceeded to strip off his shirt, to the music, his performance met by a bunch of drunken hooting and hollering.

“You like it?” he asked, his eyes only for Katie as he leaned in… making her lean back until I scooted out of the way. I didn’t even think he saw me as he pinned Katie down and started giving her tongue like there was no one else in the room. Before I could fully process what was happening, he slid his hand up her side, right up under her bikini top and squeezed her breast.

“And that’s my cue to get some air,” I announced, to no one in particular.

As Katie moaned into my brother’s mouth, I grabbed my furry jacket and headed for the patio doors. Unlike some of the girls, I was fully dressed. And maybe I was a little drunk, but as I pulled on my boots I definitely felt the dynamic shifting in the room.

Zane and Maggie were looking pretty cozy on the couch, his arm around her as they shared some kind of intense, whispered conversation. His ring-laden hand was on her bare thigh, his thumb smoothing back and forth beneath the hem of her skirt.

Roni was dancing on the coffee table, sandwiched between a shirtless stripper and a now-shirtless Ash. Ash had his hands on her ass, and while I watched, he leaned in with hooded eyes to kiss her, their mouths coming together in a slow burn.

Becca and Jack had retreated into a shadowy corner. I could see her fingers digging into the back of his neck as they made out. Her leg was wrapped around his hip, his hand still up her skirt… and I definitely heard her mewling little sex noises as I rushed by.

At least Brody had vanished; the last I saw Amanda, she was lounging in a recliner, alone, laughing and fanning herself with a wad of cocktail napkins as she watched Roni twerking it up between two shirtless studs.

I didn’t even want to know what my brother was doing to Katie, but I giggled to myself as I stepped outside, overcome with that giddy, slightly envious feeling you can’t really help but feel in the presence of all-consuming infatuation. Jesus, though. Get a room.

Well, it was their cabin. So technically, the rest of us were the pervy voyeurs crashing their pre-wedding sex time.

I walked around the corner of the wraparound deck, still smiling, and ran into Jude. “Hi!” I said brightly. The many cocktails I’d enjoyed had left me pretty damn giddy and really, all these happy, groping couples and swinging dicks, along with the feeling that everyone here, except me, was probably getting laid tonight, was making me feel like an awkward teenager at a party I didn’t belong at.

Been there before.

Jude was on his phone, but he flashed his gorgeous grin at me as I walked on by. “Don’t go far, bratface.”

“Yes, sir.” I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

Bratface. There was one nickname I hadn’t missed. Except that I kind of had.

I’d missed everything about my old friends.

Now that I was here, among them again—and I’d had enough booze to let my guard down a bit, and enough fun to start to remember how much fun we used to have—I could admit it to myself.

I’d missed them all, like crazy.

I wound my way around the deck and down a flight of stairs to the boardwalk in the near-dark. Then I burst into laughter in the fresh, coastal rainforest air under the stars. Seemed like a good idea. Therapeutic, even. A hell of a lot better than crying, which I would’ve thought I’d be more likely to be doing this weekend.

Then I heard a creak on the boardwalk. I turned around.

Brody was standing in the shadows, about three feet from where I’d just had my one-woman giggle fit. I’d almost walked right into him in the dark.

“Uh… hey,” I said, breathing through the last of my laughter and choking a giggle back.

He just stared at me, his eyes seeming to glitter in the dark. Amused, maybe. Still pissed off, probably. I really couldn’t tell.

So I shrugged and said, “So… dicks waving all over the place… not your thing?”

“Could do without,” he said.

“Yeah. Um… me, too.”

Then silence fell between us, fast.

I wanted to say more. There were six-and-a-half years’ worth of things to say, and not one of them came to my lips. Instead, I pictured his hands on Amanda’s bare back as she stretched up on her toes to kiss him.

“I guess, I’ll… uh… just leave you…”

I started to turn away—but the next thing I knew, he’d grabbed me by my waist and yanked me against him. Hard. Our hips slammed together; so hard I felt the firm package in his jeans. My chest squashed against his and his warmth sank into me. His warmth and his smell… his musky, manly smell, a smell that had always reminded me of fresh air and deep, green woods, and still did, even when we were surrounded by both.

My heart pumped against his as I drew a shaky breath, my hands settling on his shoulders. I didn’t push him off. My fingers, involuntarily, dug into his jacket.

I looked up into the dark of his eyes. He was scowling at me.

“You have any idea what you almost did?” he growled.

I swallowed thickly. “Wh—what?”

He jerked his chin, glancing over my shoulder. I looked back; over the edge of the boardwalk behind me… and into the abyss.

An ice-cold shiver prickled through me. There was no handrail behind me. None.

I’d almost backed right off the boardwalk.

The sudden sensation of tumbling into the dark, my body breaking on the rocks below, tore through me… and a chill shuddered up my spine, accompanied by a wave of nausea.

I’d be dead. If it wasn’t for Brody’s quick reflexes. If it wasn’t for his strength. If it wasn’t for him holding me right now, tight against him, I’d be dead on the rocks below.

I peered uneasily into the dark.

Okay, maybe not dead? I really couldn’t tell how far it was down there, or what lay below. For all I knew it could be three feet to a bed of soft moss. But there were snarls of branches poking up out of the black, and I definitely wouldn’t have escaped unscathed.

At the very least, he’d saved me from scrapes, bruises and embarrassment.

At worst…

I swallowed again, peering up into his eyes. They were in shadow, but I could just make out the dark pools of his irises as he looked back at me. His breathing wasn’t right; it was quick and shallow, like mine. I watched in a daze as his full lips parted. He drew a deep breath, his chest rising against mine. I thought he was going to say something…

He didn’t.

He didn’t let go of me, either. His fingers curled, digging into my waist.

And a voice in my head said, Just kiss him.

It came out of nowhere. Well… maybe it came on the wings of those last few Jell-O shots I’d done with the girls. Just tell him you’re sorry, it said.

Just tell him you miss him.

Tell him… everything.

But I didn’t do any of those things.

“Thanks,” I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse.

Brody said nothing. His mouth shut and his eyebrows furled. He still looked pissed, but there was something else in the shadows of his eyes. Concern?

Like maybe he would’ve cared if I’d just plummeted to my death?

So that was something.

Tell him you love him.

I opened my mouth, unsure of what would come out—but then he released me. He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if to assure me—or himself—he wouldn’t touch me again.

“Use the fucking handrail,” he said gruffly, nodding toward the rail on the other side of the boardwalk, where the twinkly lights were strung.

“Right.”

Then he turned and walked away.

I hugged myself, moving over toward the rail, still unnerved by my near-tumble into the dark… and even more unnerved by the feel of Brody’s hard body against mine.

After a few steps, he stopped. He shook his head once, then suddenly turned back. “I owe you an apology,” he said, not looking at my face.

“You do?”

“Yeah. You know, for kidnapping you. And generally being an asshole.” He glanced at me briefly, then added, “I’m just looking out for Jesse,” like that made it okay.

Maybe it did.

I knew the depth of friendship he had with my brother, the kind of friendship that had endured many years and many ups and downs; the kind of friendship I’d never really had with anyone, because I’d always been so afraid to let anyone get close.

I just stood there, hugging myself against the breeze coming up off the water, and breathed, “Okay.”

Brody nodded shortly, then walked away. I opened my mouth to say something else, anything, but he was gone. He went back up to the party, leaving me standing there alone in the dark with his words… the music throbbing through the night echoing the throb of my heart.

I’m just looking out for Jesse.

I clung to the railing, grateful for the support. It was stunning how deeply it cut me to hear those words, to know that Brody was no longer looking out for me… even though I was the one who’d made it that way.

But there was a time… a time when Brody looked out for me, too.

It started sometime after I got my first period.

I could still see him, standing there at my front door with the little bag from the pharmacy in his hand.

I was thirteen, and it was the middle of the night. I knew what was going on when I woke up bleeding, but I wasn’t prepared; despite my early development in the boob area, I was kind of in denial that this was really going to happen to me. My mom had no feminine products in the house, either. With her illness and all the medications, she’d gone through early menopause. She’d been sleeping for hours, so I wasn’t about to wake her. She couldn’t drive at night anymore, anyway.

There was nowhere open within walking distance at that time of night, and I was scared to take the bus. It was my first period; how did I know if I was going to bleed all over the place and everyone would see?

So I did what I did in any emergency. I called my brother and told him what happened.

His band had played a house party that night, and he was still there. I could tell he’d been drinking. His voice got all happy and slurry like that when he was drunk. But he told me not to worry; he’d take care of it. He was going to “send help.” And before I could protest, he’d hung up.

I called him back but got no answer. I didn’t even want to think about what kind of “help” he was going to send, but what could I do?

I was bleeding, for God’s sake.

Forty-five minutes later, I was curled in a miserable ball on the couch, rotten with cramps, when I heard a motorcycle pull up. I knew only two people who rode a motorcycle. Neither of whom I wanted to see in that moment.

Jude, and worse… Brody.

I dragged myself up and opened the door to find my brother’s super-hot eighteen-year-old friend, his forehead creased in concern, blue eyes staring me down, a bag from the all-night drug store in hand. In that moment, I silently vowed never to ask my brother for anything, ever again.

Brody handed me the bag. Then he proceeded to tell me, uninvited, how to use the tampons he’d brought—and that it might be difficult to “put them in” if I was, “you know, a virgin.”

I could only hope the look I gave him caused him to wither and die while I was in the bathroom.

“I got the plastic ones,” he went on, totally unfazed as I turned and walked away. “The lady at the pharmacy said they’re easier to use. There’re some pads in there too, in case—”

“Please stop talking,” I said, as I shut the bathroom door behind me.

After I’d gotten myself cleaned up and came back out to the living room, I could still see his bike out the window. I slipped out the front door and found him sitting on the steps, smoking a cigarette.

I sat down next to him.

“You should quit smoking,” I said, instead of thanking him like I should have.

“You should be on the pill now.” He glanced over at the pin on my sweater, the one he’d given me when I was eight. “And you need to stop wearing that shit. Throw it out.”

I watched as he mashed out his cigarette on the step, still reeling from that first comment. “I’m not having sex with boys!” I blurted.

He didn’t react, just said, “But they’re gonna want to.”

I stared at him some more. “I don’t care! That doesn’t mean they get to.” I hugged my knees. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Jesse doesn’t let me date.”

He studied me. “You want to date?”

“I’m thirteen. Everyone else is hanging with boys.”

“You hang with boys all the time.”

“My brother’s friends don’t count. Anyone who calls me ‘little sister’ or ‘bratface’ doesn’t count.”

“I don’t call you bratface.”

“No, you call me princess.” I rolled my eyes like it was worse, but secretly, I liked it.

He leaned in, bumping his shoulder gently against mine. “Don’t worry, princess. By the time you grow up, men will be falling at your feet.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

Then he got quiet, and something strange happened.

At the time, I really didn’t know what it was. But he was looking at me. Looking at me in a way I’d never seen him look before.

And I just pretended it wasn’t happening.

I looked away.

I held my breath as he leaned in, slowly. I felt his breath on my cheek. His lips, hot and soft, brushed against my skin, lingering for a moment.

He took a breath.

Then he was gone.

I watched him walk to his bike, throw his leg over and roar away.

Two days later, my brother gave me “the talk,” along with a six-month supply of birth control pills and a box of condoms. Then he showed me a bunch of ghastly, gnarly pictures of venereal diseases on the internet.

He had a fat lip and some bruises on his face that he wouldn’t tell me where he’d gotten.

And the next time I saw Brody, he had a black eye.

Even at thirteen years old, I could put two-and-two together on that one. And at that point, I pretty much decided I was never, ever going to need those pills, or the condoms; not with all the overprotective big brothers around. I was never even going to be kissed for real.

I was wrong about that.

I was wrong about a lot of things.