Aubrey’s drunk. Or, at the very least, extremely fucking tipsy. I watched her down three beers at the keg before filling up her fourth and exiting the house. She’s here on her own, or maybe with a friend, but she’s not here on a date—or, if she is, he’s nowhere to be seen. Now, she’s out in the yard, dancing on her own.

There isn’t even any music.

She’s wearing cowboy boots and denim cut-offs and a loose tank with the armholes cut low, and I can see her bra. Everyone can see her bra. But I haven’t been close enough to work out what’s on it. If I had to put money on it, I’d say they were donuts or maybe rainbows. I know she owns pairs with both those things on them because that night with her, when we were both high on weed (and maybe each other), she paraded around in them. For me. My own private fashion show.

Fuck, she was cute.

She’s still cute.

I take another hit of Mary and lean against the brick wall of the house while I watch her lift her cup, sway her hips, move her head from side to side with the music only she can hear. I smile; at her, and at me for being a creep and watching her from a distance. I’m still smiling fifteen minutes later when she’s still doing the exact same thing. But that smile fades instantly when a guy approaches her from behind, puts his hands on her waist. Before I get a chance to think straight, I’m making my way to them, my jaw clenched. “A little close, no?” I grind out. I don’t know why I’m pissed, and maybe a little jealous, but I’ve had my hands where his are, and I don’t like it.

“Sorry, man,” the guy says, and I recognize him from school, but I don’t know his name. “Is she yours?”

“She sure as fuck isn’t yours.”

His hands leave her to go up in surrender, his apology quick to come. I wait for him to be out of earshot before taking a step toward Aubrey. “You look like Miley Cyrus. The “Wrecking Ball” hammer-licking Miley, not at all like the cute “Party in the USA” one.”

Her eyes narrow to a glare, her gaze moving to somewhere behind me. She shouts, her words slurred, “Yo, Guy! I can be yours for the night if—”

I cover her mouth, her lips wet against my palm. “You’re wasted.”

She mumbles something beneath my touch, and I release her slowly, my hands going to her hips, pulling her closer. And swear to God, three weeks have never felt so long. She’s exactly how I remember her. Every dip, every curve. Every expanse of space between us. I close the gap, hold her to me.

Her arms lift, her fingers linking behind my neck, those olive green eyes blinking up at me. “You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t have your number.”

“You just texted me.”

“I stole a business card from your work.”

“Oh.”

I sniff her hair, listen to her giggle. “You smell different.”

“And you still smell like a venereal disease.”

I press my mouth to her neck, re-familiarize myself with her flesh. “Let’s get you home, Red.”

“I’m not fucking you tonight, Lo.”

I rear back but keep my hands on her. Anywhere on her, so long as I’m touching her. “As tempting as that is, I’m not into taking advantage of drunk girls. Which you clearly are. And who are you here with, anyway?”

“Joy.”

“And where the fuck is she? Shouldn’t she be taking care of you?”

Her lips press tight, and I already know the answer. She’s with some guy who’s no doubt balls deep inside her. “Sorry,” Aubrey says, her loose features attempting a cringe.

“Like I give a shit. And on the topic of giving shits, why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t have your number.”

“Liar,” I laugh out. “Lachlan told me it was on your phone.” More like I beat the details out of him, but whatever.

She says, “You know why I chose to move to a small town?”

“Why, Master of the Deflect?”

“Because in small towns, everyone knows everyone, which means that if you wanted to find me, you could have. You know where I live, Logan.”

I smirk. “Did you want me to find you, Red?”

Her eyes narrow, but her hands stay put. “I find you vile, Lo.”

I kiss her neck again. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No.”

“So stubborn.”

“So cocky.”

“Even if I wanted to find you, I couldn’t have. I’ve been in Cambodia for the past three weeks.”

She scoffs. “Of all the excuses in all the world, you had to—”

I pull back, reach for my phone. I scan the photos until I find the one I want, then practically shove it in her face. On the screen is a picture of me, standing beneath a sign that reads “Welcome to Cambodia.”

Her eyes shift from the picture to my face, again and again. “What the hell were you doing there?”

“Working.”

“You have contracts in Cambodia?”

“Long story.”

She sighs, and I don’t know if she means to pull me closer, but the second she does, my hands find her waist again. We stay like that, silent, for seconds that turn into minutes. She’s still swaying, and I wish I knew what song was playing in her head. I wonder if it’s Otis Redding or Obey Trice. Crowded House or Cypress Hill. Or any one of the songs we listened to that night, back and forth, while we lay naked in her bedroom, on her couch, at the kitchen table when the munchies got the best of us, in between moments of laughter, and the greatest mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had. Which is saying a lot. Because I’ve had a lot of sex.

“Are we dancing?” she asks.

“Um… you’re swaying, and I’m pretty sure I’m just holding you up.”

She continues to sway, her nose pressed against my chest, her breath warming every inch of me. “You left me a stupid note.”

“At least I left you a note.” Which I’ve never done.

“You said you had to be somewhere. That was it.”

“I did. I had to be at the airport. Laney called me just after five, freaking out because they realized I wasn’t home. I forgot we were leaving that morning. Correction. You made me forget we were leaving.”

“Who’s Laney? The girl trapped in your sex den?”

“What the fuck?” I guffaw. “Laney’s my brother’s girl, and please, don’t ever, ever, say her name and sex in the same sentence again.” An involuntary shiver runs through me, literally shaking my bones.

“Still. Your note was stupid. You could’ve elaborated.”

“I had five minutes to go home, pack, and get on the road. I was in a rush. You’re lucky I managed to find a pen and a piece of paper.”

She pulls back then, looks up at me. “Your note was stupid, Logan.”

“My note was stupid,” I reluctantly concede, because she’s drunk and this is clearly going nowhere.

“Good.” She nods. “Will you take me home even if I tell you I’m not sleeping with you?”

I crack the tiniest of smiles. “Will you let me take you home even if I swear I won’t sleep with you?”

“I have to tell Joy.”

“Fuck Joy.”