"Since when are you and Ronan friends?"

I frown between sips of my peppermint chai latte. "What are you talking about?"

Mom’s manicured fingers tap her ceramic mug. "I saw you the other night. You were kissing—"

"You saw a hug, Mom."

She frowns. "I know what I saw."

"We hung out once, that’s it."

Mom stares at me, lips so thin they might disappear. "You kissed him, Gigi."

"What does it matter?"

"The last thing I want is for you to get hurt again."

Not likely. Ronan’s the one with a massive crush. He’ll be upset when I tell him more dates are out of the question. Assuming I ever pluck up the courage—or the desire—to do that. All I keep asking myself is—when is our next date?

I grab a gingerbread snap. "I won’t."

"Well, I hope not. Cause he’s going with you to the Nutcracker show."

"What? You and I are going together!"

"I know we were, sweetie, but I’m tired and Ronan called last night. He asked what your plans were for today, and I told him about the play. He seemed really interested, so I gave him my ticket."

"Ronan’s not interested in ballet!" Hell, I’m not interested. The only reason I wanted to go was to avoid him. I don’t need to get attached so soon after getting dumped by James, no matter how good Ronan is with his hands.

Mom waves aside my comment. "He assured me he was, and that he’d be glad to drive you. So he’ll pick you up at three. What?"

"First, you’re worried about him. Now you’re setting up more dates?"

"I thought he was just a friend."

Damn it. Ronan has no intention of going to the damned ballet. The moment we’re alone, he’ll whisk me to another undisclosed location to rip off my clothes, tongue my breasts, and hopefully repeat many of the delicious things he did yesterday.

I glance at my phone, annoyed that it’s already half past two. I grab it as I storm from the kitchen and text Ronan.

What follows the smiley face is several eggplant emojis.

Goddamn it.

I hate ballet even more than I loathe Christmas. Some of my earliest memories involve my mother forcing me into pale pink tights, which itched like crazy, and grimacing as she wrestled my hair into a shiny, slicked bun. Removing the dozens of pins hurt like hell.

Mom appreciated ballet, not me. It was for her sake that I bought tickets to the Nutcracker. I was more than willing to sacrifice a two-hour snoozefest for her. My only hope is that Ronan will be so bored from our second date that he’ll never call me again.

Yeah, it’s a long shot.

"There’s still time for you to take a rain check," I remind Ronan as we approach the desolate theater. "I won’t judge."

"We could go somewhere else if you want." The broken plea in Ronan’s voice clearly hopes I’ll say yes.

"Nope."

Ronan steers me past the box office and through the doors with a sigh. The carpet is worn well past its years, and the vested usher doesn’t even prompt us for tickets. A bartender ignores us as we stroll inside, his gaze fixed on his iPhone screen. A fraying poster advertises the 2016 Nutcracker ballet.

Ronan points and laughs. "They didn’t even print a new advertisement for this year."

And the whole thing looks like it was made in MS Paint. "Danville’s not known for its performing arts."

"No shit."

"And yet you came anyway."

Ronan’s hand links with mine, his eyes smoldering. "Because you’re here."

Jesus Christ, I could swoon.

This is my fault for encouraging him. I should’ve known better. The incident in the car only redoubled his efforts for us to be together.

I don’t want Ronan. He’s not my type. He’s been the arrogant ass next door for too many years.

Ronan chuckles as we step into a sea of empty seats. So far, we’re the first ones here. "Well, this won’t be awkward. We’re the only attendees of a ballet we both don’t want to see. Hey—where are you going?"

I walk up the rows. "To our designated seats."

A maniacal grin staggers across his face. "Oh, Good Girl. Sit wherever you want."

"What if they check?"

"For the love of—"

He grabs my arm, forcing me into the middle of the theater, which has a much better view of the stage. I sink into the squeaky seat as Ronan sprawls beside me. His arm drapes over my chair, and I pretend his warmth doesn’t light every nerve ablaze. A handful of people trickle in as the hour approaches, and I reread the playbill to ignore Ronan’s no-so-subtle barbs.

"I know why you wanted to come to the ballet."

"So I could avoid you."

"No, you came to see men in tights jumping around, their dongs out and about." He sniggers as the curtains open and the ballet begins with a Tchaikovsky’s music. "See?"

He points at a man dancing in white leggings with a prominent bulge.

"Why would I come here for dick when the Internet exists?"

"Because you’re so ashamed. Oh look, women in tights. They’re not nearly as sexy. Small boobs and sticks for legs."

"So you agree that men in leotards are sexy?"

"I think my bulge looks great in football tights."

I snort, keeping my eyes glued to the stage. Hopefully, Ronan will leave any second, and I’ll be free to get out of here. I glance at him, but he smiles as though happy to be by my side. The ballet passes in a blur of pastels and an orchestral soundtrack that occasionally skips like an old CD player. It’s mind-numbingly dull.

So not my thing.

Finally, the curtains close and an usher announces a fifteen-minute break.

"It’s not over?"

Ronan nudges my side, groaning. "Let’s get drinks. If I have to sit through another hour, I’ll need to be drunk."

I allow him to tug me into the empty lobby. The few people who joined us in the theater leave without a backward glance. I wish I could run after them and abandon all this pretense.

"Let’s get out of here. I’ll go anywhere you want. Fucking name it, and we’ll be there."

The whole point of this was to torture him. If I cave now, I’ll never get him off my back. "Go if you want. I’m staying."

"You hate this as much as I do. Come on, Gigi."

This plan is crashing around my ears. "I don’t hate it…it’s okay."

He turns to the bartender and orders two vodkas on the rocks with lime. Ronan searches me through deeply skeptical blues, giving me the sensation that I’m being x-rayed.

He sips his drink, taking my hand. "Let’s go somewhere else."

If I say yes—he’ll have me all to himself again. "I paid for these stupid tickets, and I intend to get my money’s worth."

"Fine. But we sit in the top box."

Ronan leads me up a staircase streaked with dirt, the usher ignoring us as we vault the steps. I walk into a heavy curtain coated with dust. Ronan rips it apart and bursts with laughter.

"Nice," Ronan comments as he studies the two folding chairs. "Really puts the luxury in luxury seating."

I suppress a sneeze, sinking into the uncomfortable plastic. Our vantage point offers an aerial view of the extremely shabby stage. It’s like looking underneath a rug. After a few minutes of waiting, the ancient curtains slide open with a mighty squeak, and pastel colored ballet dancers prance into the spotlight.

Beside me, Ronan giggles. "Normally, I’m not this immature."

Already bored with the new performance, I study the cheap props that are supposed to look like the interior of a fine palace.

Anything to avoid Ronan.

"Do you think they bang?" He points at the man prancing in the giant mouse hat and at the Sugar Plum Fairy.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Humor me. There’s nothing else to do."

I study the girl in the fraying purple tutu, whose glittered makeup and flawless dance can’t save this train wreck. "There’s bound to be something going on. He’s lifted her by the crotch three times already."

"Totally agree." He nods seriously, finger slipping down his chin. "Makes you wonder if there are ever accidents. I could see them accidentally fingering the chicks."

"Or on purpose, if they’re you. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this stuff. I mean, look where we are. It’s dirty."

"It definitely is, but that’s why you like it." Ronan nudges his chair closer, sliding an arm over my shoulders. "If you didn’t want to talk about nasty things, we wouldn’t be staring at some guy’s ass."

My cheeks flare with heat, both at his touch and the smirk in his voice. "You are unbelievable."

"I know."

"That wasn’t a compliment."

"You’re all bark and no bite, Good Girl." Ronan waits a torturous second before intertwining his hand with mine.

My gaze crashes into his stormy eyes, and then a stream of pleasure burns between my legs. He guides my palm over the bulge between his thighs. I squeeze before realizing what I’m doing.

His eyelashes flutter as though in ecstasy. "You want me just as badly as I want you."

I touch him through his slacks, reaching to graze his balls, struggling to hold all of him. I’m grabbing Ronan’s balls. Never in my wildest dreams would I’ve imagined this.

Ronan closes his eyes in lazy contentment. His length pushes my fingers, demanding my full attention.

"I—I shouldn’t." A gasp hitches in my chest. "Ronan, we’re at the ballet."

A deep contented sound rumbles from the back of his throat. It’s hotter than it should be.

"Nobody’s watching."

He kneads my neck before hooking his fingers into my hair. Tugging slightly, he pulls my head over the chair. My throat kisses the air before his lips lay claim. His hot trail leads to my chin, and then my mouth. The first kiss paralyzes me. The second fuels my blood with desire.

He kneels, hands sweeping my back. His lips are sweeter than honey. My heart is aflutter when he breaks the kiss, breathing deep, eye-fucking me through those intense blues.

God, they’re so blue.

Ronan slides under my dress, his palms stroking my thighs. A devilish grin crosses his face as he hooks my panties and slips them down my knees. In shock, I watch him untangle them from my ankles and shove my underwear in his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

My voice is almost lost in the swell of violins as a Tchaikovsky tune picks up pace.

Ronan grabs my hips and yanks. Suddenly, I’m hanging off the chair and Ronan dives under my dress. The fabric rolls down as my legs hook onto his shoulders.

"What the fuck are you—oh!"

A wet heat caresses my pussy. It’s so sudden. I have to believe tongue plus vagina is hardwired into my brain as amazing.

He laps at the very center, slowly tickling the sides to loop over my throbbing nub. Ronan breathes into me, hot breath billowing over my wetness. The licking spreads downward, and deep into me.

"Ronan." I dig into his shoulders, spine zapped with pleasure. "Ronan, oh my God!"

The usher could walk in on us, but getting caught would still be worth it. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt. The few times James put his face down there, he was so goddamn clinical about licking me that I asked him to stop.

Now? I don’t care if it gets me arrested. "Don’t stop."

He continues his torturously slow circle. In and out. Around. I buck against him, but he holds me vice-like. I can’t move.

I’m transformed into a feral creature consumed with lust. Ronan grunts as I dig into his hair. I keep looking down, expecting him to stop and order me to suck his dick—to say that I’ve had enough, and it’s his turn.

He doesn’t stop—and it’s becoming clear that he won’t until I’ve come. I barely hold myself in check, when he grinds his tongue into me. My chest heaves. The glowing ball of heat becomes an inferno lashed from Ronan’s mouth. He dives into me. Thrusts. Sucks.

Violins swell as I swell.

Then I clamp my thighs against Ronan’s face, unable to stop the moan. It booms from the box seat. A smirking Ronan emerges, kissing my legs, kneading pleasure into my pussy as it convulses.

"You’re amazing."

"Well, I try."

I seize his collar, pulling him to me. Our lips crash as he kisses me long and hard. Mad with desire, I grab his cock. He chuckles and pulls my hand away.

"Not here, Gigi." His eyes flare like two suns. "When I fuck you, I want you all to myself."