Kurt Cobain mumbles over heavy guitars as Ryan turns onto a cozy Beverly Hills street. We park under the shade of a lush tree. It’s as green as anything gets around here.

He turns off the car, ending Kurt Cobain’s wail.

“Better.” He presses his back into his seat. Fidgets with the keys in his right hand.

“Who doesn’t like Nirvana?”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Doesn’t do it for me.”

“Playlist on the way back. Trust me. You’ll feel positively normal compared to how fucked-up some of these guys are.”

“Just guys?”

“And girls. But when it’s a guy… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl, but women tend to have more of an I’m better off without you attitude. Whereas guys can be very—”

“I hope you die in a car crash?”

“I’ve got one like that.”

“Did a lyric tattoo the other day.”

“Someone wanted that on their body forever?”

He nods.

“And you say you’re hopeless.”

His laugh is more sad than anything.

My stomach twists. My fingers slide over the center console. I want to touch him. To stop him from closing off.

But there’s something about his expression. Like he’s screaming leave me alone.

I unclick my seatbelt. Slide my purse onto my shoulder. “You ready?”

“No.” He undoes his seatbelt. “But I’m not gonna be.”

“We don’t have to—”

“I do.”

“Okay.” I reach for the door, step onto the pavement, smooth my dress.

Sunlight falls over Ryan as he gets out of the car. It bounces off his light skin. Sinks into his dark clothes.

He offers me his hand as he steps onto the street.

I intertwine my fingers with his. My skin buzzes from the contact. My body fails to understand we’re pretending. My pulse races. My stomach flutters. My breath catches in my throat.

It’s hot today.

And with Ryan this close—

God, I’m on fire.

I move closer. Fall into step next to him.

We turn the corner, walk past a lingerie shop, a yoga studio, a cafe.

There it is, the bakery chain doing the wedding’s catering. The shop is all white and pink, lace curtains, soft colors, three, four, and five tier cakes in the windows.

Ryan pulls the door open and motions after you.

The room buzzes. Conversation. Clinking forks. The hum of the air conditioner.

Two kids are sharing a cookie in the corner. The family next to them is tearing into a tiny purple cake. And the short, thin woman in an orchid cardigan—

Penny.

Ryan’s hand squeezes mine.

I pull him closer. Not for him—though I can feel how much he needs that. For me. Because her curious stare is draining every ounce of my warmth.

The guy sitting next to her is handsome. I’ll give him that. He’s tall, with neat dirty blond hair and green eyes. His relaxed t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders. His tanned arms are ink free.

He looks like a Dockers advertisement.

Like a guy who wears boat shoes.

He is wearing boat shoes.

It’s three steps to the ground floor. A giant display case of pastries is in front of us. A sign, with prices and coffee specials, is behind that. The tables are to our right.

Penny and Boat Shoes are sitting at the table next to the pastry case.

They’re sipping coffee from pink mugs.

She’s staring.

He’s oblivious.

Ryan drops my hand. Slides his arm around my waist. “You ready?”

I turn to him. Peel his sunglasses from his face, fold them, hang them on his shirt.

He stares down at me.

Hurt fills his blue eyes. I run my fingers over his cheek. I need to do something to wipe his pain away.

But that’s hopeless.

The best I can do is—

His palm plants on my lower back.

His eyelids flutter together.

Slowly, his lips brush mine.

My knees go weak.

My fingers dig into his t-shirt.

It’s a stage kiss.

It barely last two seconds.

But I still feel it everywhere.

The mint of his toothpaste. And something else. Some taste distinctly Ryan.

He unpeels his body from mine. Brings his mouth to my ear. “You look amazing in that dress, baby.”

My cheeks flush.

“I want to rip it off,” he stage whispers.

I bury my head in his chest.

“You wearing anything under that?”

“Maybe,” I stage whisper back.

His fingers skim my waist. My hip. He presses the cotton into my skin, feeling for the fabric beneath it.

I suck a breath through my teeth.

He’s really going for this.

He’s really touching me.

I… I…

“Over here,” Penny calls. Her voice is bright. Like she’s happy to see us.

Or happy to rub her new beau in our faces.

Ryan releases me.

But I’m still floating. I squeeze his arm. Focus all my attention on placing one foot in front of the other.

Somehow, I get to Penny’s table.

She stands. Smooths her off-white dress and offers her hand. “It’s been a while, Leighton.”

I shake. “It has.”

She motions to her fiancé. “This is Frank. I’m not sure if you’ve met.”

“No.” I offer him my hand. “Nice to put a face with a name.” Okay, so the name in my head is douchebag who helped destroy Ryan, but it’s still nice to have a face for my virtual punching bag.

“Ryan, you remember…” Penny presses her lips together. “Thank you for coming.” She motions to the chairs. “Please. Sit. I’ll check on the cakes.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Ryan pulls out my chair for me.

I sit.

He follows.

Frank folds one leg over the other. For a second, his eyes meet Ryan’s. He opens his mouth to speak.

But Penny cuts him off. “It’s coming!” She takes a seat next to him. Sets her left hand on the table like she’s making a point of showing off her massive rock.

Ryan’s gaze goes right to the two-carat ring. He pulls his hand to his side. Curls his body away from mine.

I scoot closer. Rest my palm against his thigh like I’m used to having my hand this close to his cock. “How did you decide on Maui?”

“I always wanted something on the beach.” Penny smiles. “And Daddy insisted on hosting it somewhere his business partners would want to visit.” The confidence in her voice wavers. “Since he was paying. You know how he is.”

Ryan nods. He knows what Mr. Winters is like.

They’re sharing some intimate history.

I hate it.

Penny pulls her hands to her lap. “Ryan, I… I’m really glad you’re here. I… I hope there aren’t any hard feelings.”

He looks to his ex-girlfriend. Forces his frown into a neutral expression. “It was for the best.”

Her sigh is heavy with relief. “Good. You… um, I sometimes worried you two were…” Her laugh is hollow. “You look good together.”

“Thanks.” I squeeze him tighter. “But this is nothing.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

“You should see how good we look naked,” I say.

“They can.” Ryan smiles wide. “Unless you deleted those pics, baby.”

“Never.” My cheeks flush. Me and Ryan naked. In a photograph forever.

His bare torso against my back.

His hands on my hips.

His cock driving into me.

The mental image burns into my brain.

Boat Shoes chuckles.

Penny nudges him. Frowns. That isn’t funny.

I let my cheeks flush. “We, uh… Sorry. We lost track of time this morning. Stopped before we could finish.” My smile is a fuck you. “You know how it is when you can’t keep your hands off someone.” Like when you want some khaki wearing asshole so badly you sleep with him even though you’re in an eight-year relationship.

“Here we go.” An older woman in a pink apron spares Penny my vengeful stare. She sets two plates of cake between us, then goes over each flavor. They’re all impossibly fancy. Earl Grey with grapefruit frosting, vanilla bean and lavender, poppy seed and lemon creme, etc., etc.

Penny looks to Ryan. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Yeah. A coffee is going to make up for cheating on him.

My nails dig into my thigh.

She’s so…

Who the fuck does she think she is, inviting him to her wedding?

To this cake tasting?

To this half-assed attempt at an apology?

“I’m good.” Ryan’s eyes meet mine. “You good, Leigh?”

“Great. Thanks.” I hate her expensive cardigan. I hate her I’m gonna be a bride ivory dress. I hate her perfect smile.

I need her to be wrong.

I need her to hurt.

I need her to cry herself to sleep wishing for his forgiveness.

Does she even realize how thoroughly she broke him?

Like a reflex, my hand goes to his chest. I tug at his t-shirt. Pull him into a kiss.

My lips brush his.

My other hand slides into his wavy hair.

My knees knock together.

I suck on his bottom lip. Groan against his mouth.

He presses his palm against my thigh.

He kisses back.

Not like it’s pretend.

Like he needs me as badly as I need him.

My anger dissolves.

I don’t care about Penny. Or Boat Shoes. Or whether or not the sun rises tomorrow.

I only care about Ryan’s teeth scraping my bottom lip.

Fuck.

The room spins as he pulls back. I blink, but that does nothing to steady me.

I’m buzzing.

I’m floating.

I’m riding a wave of the deepest, purest bliss.

“I… Uh…” I need to say something. To convince him I know this is fake. To convince them it’s real. “You’re so sweet. It makes me…” I turn back to Penny. At least, I think that’s Penny. The room is still this blur of pink and white. “You know what a good kisser Ryan is.”

“That was a long time ago.” She picks up her fork. “Shall we?”

Boat Shoes whispers something in her ear.

She shakes her head. Digs into one of the slices of vanilla bean. “Be honest. Tell me if you hate it.”

Hate. It’s such a funny word.

Who could hate anything?

The world is so beautiful and bright.

Sweet, like spearmint.

Like lemon.

Like Ryan.

* * *

When I finally come down from my high, Penny and Boat Shoes are debating between Earl Grey lavender and lemon poppy seed.

It’s an easy choice.

Lemon.

Like Ryan’s soap.

Like…

Okay, I’m still floating. But fifteen minutes of wedding small talk cure me of that.

There will be a hundred guests. And a reception at a hotel ballroom. And have Penny and Boat Shoes picked their song? Oh, they have, and it’s something as douchey as his face…

I’m about ready to stab them both with my fork, when Ryan excuses us.

He helps me up, slides his arm around my waist, pulls me close.

We stay like that as we leave the restaurant. As we walk down the sunny street. As we step into Ryan’s car.

His pretenses fall away as he pulls the door closed.

He turns to me. “You have—”

“Huh?”

“Here.” His thumb brushes my lip.

The pad is rough, calloused, but his touch is so soft.

He stares back at me as he catches a drop of frosting on his digit.

Slowly, he brings it to his mouth.

His lips curl around his thumb. He sucks icing off it like it’s some part of me.

Heat pools between my legs.

God, he’s sexy.

I need to focus on anything else. “You hate it?” I’m not even sure what it is. The morning. The meeting. The bakery. The too sweet cakes.

“No.”

“But you hate her?”

“No.”

“How can you not? She barely apologized. Oh, sorry about fucking this asshole. Have some free cake. How about a coffee? That should make up for it.” I dig my cell from my purse. “Sorry. I shouldn’t get pissed on your behalf—”

“It’s fine.”

I try to place the tone of his voice, but I can’t.

“Trust me. The breakup playlist will help.” I reach for the aux cable.

“I trust you, but—”

“Good.”

“Is he awful or is it me?”

“Boat Shoes?”

His laugh bounces around the car. “Frank, yeah.”

“I refuse to call him anything but Boat Shoes. And yes. He is. I’m sure he has some redeeming qualities. A fat bank account. Or a massive cock. Or ungodly oral sex skills—”

He stares at me like I’m crazy.

My cheeks flush. “I don’t mean, uh… I’m sure you’re also incredibly talented. But I… uh… I don’t get it. I know that doesn’t help, that it probably hurts worse—it did for me. But I don’t get why she’d—”

“Leigh—”

“Sorry.”

“I need to wash that taste out of my mouth.”

Yes. With your lips. Or your neck. Or your cock. Right here is fine. As long as you promise to pull my hair… Ahem. “Me too.”

He nods. “You want lunch?”

No. I want you to unzip those jeans and pull me into your lap. “Sure.”