Moonlight bounces off purple hair as she steps onto the concrete.

She looks fucking perfect with her fancy updo and her soft makeup. It’s not a Leighton I see often, a formal version of the punk rock princess.

She’s as beautiful as always.

And as irresistible. Her black dress hugs her curves like it was made for them.

Her silver nails dig into her black bag. “Someone had to do it.”

I arch a brow.

“Wear all black.”

My shoulders relax. I need her smile. I need her teasing me. I need this awkwardness gone. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” She moves down the walkway. “You look great too.”

“Thanks.”

“Really. It’s weird though, seeing you in a suit.”

It’s bizarre, being in a suit.

But it can’t compare to the distance between us.

To the memory of her lips on mine.

Of that groan bouncing around the dressing room.

We still haven’t talked about the kiss.

That’s a million times weirder than dressing like someone else.

I tap the key fob to unlock the door for her. She moves around the car, slides into the passenger’s seat before I get the chance to open the door for her.

I get into the driver’s seat, click my seatbelt, turn the car on.

Melancholy music fills the car. I’ve been listening to this shit all week.

I’ve been a mess all week.

I can’t stand it.

She clicks her seatbelt. Sets her purse in her lap. “It’s in Beverly Hills?”

“Yeah.” I pull onto the street. “Shouldn’t be much traffic at this time.”

She nods sure.

The singer croons about the agony of lost love.

I try to focus on the street and the wall between us. By the time I cross the freeway, it’s helpless.

It’s a perfect summer night—seventy and breezy—but the car is freezing cold.

“It’s making me sick.” I stop at a red light. “That you aren’t talking to me.”

“I’m just busy.”

My eyes find hers. “Bullshit.”

“No.” She refuses to hold my gaze. “I did that first design.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m just working really hard to make it perfect. And then I got my second client. And my third one. And I, uh… I’m busy.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Leigh—”

She presses her lips together.

“You asked me not to lock you out.”

“I know.”

“Don’t lock me out either.”

She turns to me. For a second, her eyes meet mine. Then they go to my chest. She reaches over the dash to undo my tie. “You didn’t quite—” She pulls the knot tight. “There.”

“Leigh.”

“The light’s green.”

It is. I turn to the road. Tap the gas. Glide down Santa Monica Boulevard.

Her voice is soft. Frustrated. “I don’t know what to say.”

“The truth.”

“I will. later.”

“Later?”

She nods. “Soon. I promise.”

What the hell? “Let’s go somewhere. Talk. I have all night.”

She motions to the road. “We’re almost there.”

“I can blow this off. You’re more important.”

“Than your closure?” She crosses her legs. Smooths her dress. “I don’t think so.”

She’s more important than closure.

Than anything.

That hole in my gut isn’t as deep. I can think of Penny without my throat closing. I can picture her and Frank without going numb.

But thinking of losing Leighton—

My fingers curl into the steering wheel.

I breeze through a green light. Stare at the clear road. Suck a shallow breath between my teeth.

Things were good last month.

Sex always fucks shit up.

And this was just from a kiss.

I need to make sure it doesn’t get worse. I need to draw that line between real and pretend.

To make sure none of it goes below the waist.

Hell, below the neck.

She breaks the silence. “I… I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry.”

Is she apologizing to me or to this guy who’s her first choice?

I guess it doesn’t matter.

She wants him.

I’m not gonna be the other man.

And I’m not gonna lose her.

“Me too.” The words feel like a lie.

“Anything I should know about this crowd?”

“I’m not sure I know shit about this crowd.”

“Oh?” She lowers the mirror on the visor. Checks her lipstick—still perfect. “You don’t know her friends?”

“The old ones, yeah. But I can’t imagine anyone who liked me is showing up.”

She presses the visor to the roof. Presses her back against the fabric of her seat. “Yeah. You’re the innocent one.”

“I’m not innocent.”

“But you didn’t fuck someone who wears boat shoes.”

“I’d never do that. I’d never be the other man.”

“I know.” Her lip corners turn down.

Is that regret or something else?

I don’t know.

But I want to.

I want every thought in her fucking head.

It’s different than it normally is.

Deeper.

More impossible to ignore.

I turn my attention to the road for the rest of the drive. Leighton taps something into her phone. Work or play or Mr. Powers, I don’t know.

I park.

She slides her cell into her purse. Turns every ounce of her attention to me. “You ready for this?”

No.

But I’m tired of waiting for shit.

I’m tired of watching the world slip by my fingers.

* * *

Stepping through the Winters’s oak door feels like stepping into the past. The living room is the same spacious paradise. White walls. Plush carpet. Sleek red couch. Cherry table.

Penny’s life—from her birth to some vacation a few years ago—is on the wall, right above her younger sister’s.

The room is packed. A dozen of Penny’s friends. A dozen of Frank’s—I assume the guys in khakis are his friends. And a dozen of her parents’ business partners.

She must hate that she needs Daddy’s money. That it comes with strings.

It doesn’t satisfy me.

I’m not smirking over how far she’s fallen.

I know her well enough to get how much it sucks.

Leighton’s fingers intertwine with mine. Her heels tap the tile as she crosses the foyer. They sink into the carpet of the living room.

Her eyes narrow on something.

Penny and Frank in the corner of the room, clinking champagne glasses with her dad and some guy his age. A friend. Or Frank’s dad.

Whoever it is, he’s happy for them.

He’s beaming.

She is too.

Her honey eyes light up as she laughs. She tilts her head back, downing the champagne in one go. Shakes her head damn, that was a lot. Looks up at Frank the way she used to look at me.

Asking for his approval.

His praise.

His love.

He gives it to her. He brings his glass to her lips. Smiles as she takes a long swig.

She rises to her tiptoes.

He wraps his hands around her waist.

They kiss like no one is watching.

Like they’ll never get enough of each other.

“Ryan.” Leighton’s nails dig into my wrist.

She’s trying to take the hit for me.

But she doesn’t need to.

It still hurts, seeing them together. It’s quick, like taking a hit during sparring.

It stings.

But it’s already fading.

They’re happy.

They’re good together.

He’s giving her something I couldn’t. Something I don’t want to give her.

Someone steps in front of them, blocking the scene.

Leighton pulls me closer. She raises a brow you okay?

I am. But I don’t know how to put it into words. I don’t know how to do anything but stare into her blue-green eyes.

They’re beautiful.

They’ve always been beautiful, but they’ve never hit me this deep.

“Oh babe, I’m so glad you took my advice.” Dean’s voice booms through the room. It turns a dozen heads.

Casts attention on us.

It feels like time fucking stops.

Like everyone is staring.

No, everyone is staring. Did the jilted ex really show?

“Take your advice?” Leighton makes a show of shuddering. “How disturbing.”

He hands a short, clear glass to her. “That’s all vodka.”

“Shit.” Her fingers curl around the glass. “Thank you.”

That must be three shots worth. I stare at my brother. Try to figure out his intentions.

Leighton says there’s nothing between them.

I want to believe her.

But she’s only close with a few people. Dean and I are the only guys.

One of us must be Mr. Powers.

It’s not me.

That leaves him.

“About your tits.” He slurps his Jack and coke. “They look fantastic.”

She adjusts her straps. “Thanks. I think.”

“Your ass too.” He winks at her.

She rolls her eyes, but she still smiles. Until her eyes catch mine, and her lips curl into a frown. “What do you want?”

“Why do you keep assuming I have complex motivations?” He takes another sip. “I have a drink. I have tits to ogle. I have a train wreck to anticipate.”

“Fuck off,” I say.

“Shit, it’s gonna be good.” Dean’s voice gets bouncy. “You want to bet on yourself? I’m giving five to one odds on you not causing a scene.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Leighton says.

“He can’t help himself.” I pull my wallet from my back pocket, grab two twenties, hand them to Dean. “You’re on.”

He chuckles as he slides the money into the pocket of his slacks—he’s wearing a suit. Navy. Like the one Leighton was pushing. “What do you say, Leigh—”

“Don’t call me that.” She slides her arm around my waist. “Wasn’t it bad enough betting on Kaylee’s virginity?”

“That was nothing compared to some of his shit,” I say.

Her fingers dig into my sides, pressing the fabric of my shirt into my skin. “You jealous she’s having better sex than you?”

“Those are fighting words, babe.” He tugs at his belt. “Don’t make me prove how good—”

“How would that prove you enjoy it?” She rolls her eyes.

“You’ll know by the way I groan.” He winks.

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or deck him. “He is loud.”

She scrunches her nose in disgust. “Too vivid of a mental picture.”

“That’s sound,” he says. “Not image.”

“It’s an expression.” Leighton shakes her head. “I’m gonna take that whole thing as a yes.”

He shrugs. “Nobody’s having better sex than Kay.”

“What about Iris?” she asks.

He laughs. “Yeah. She was really fucking loud at Walker’s birthday.” He turns to me. “Who’s your money on?”

“You,” I say.

“Me?” He raises a brow. “Shit. Blood is thicker than water—”

“You’re that in love with fucking yourself,” I say.

Leighton pulls her arm over her stomach, doubles over with laughter. Vodka sloshes over the sides of her glass. Lands on the carpet.

Dean chuckles. “That was good.” He raises his drink to toast “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

He leaves with a smug grin. But it’s his usual smug grin. It’s his default expression.

Slowly, she straightens herself. “Oh my God.” She licks her glass clean. “That was so good.”

“Thanks.” I unpeel her fingers from her glass. Take a long sip.

“You hate vodka.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna hold your hair back while you unload a bottle of Belvedere.”

“My hair is too short to get in the toilet.” She laughs. “But point taken.”

I take another sip. I don’t know the subtlety of vodka the way she does, but I can tell this is good shit.

Her fingers brush mine as she steals her glass back. “He deserved that.”

“Just speaking the truth.”

She locks her arm with mine. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah.” We move to the bar.

She wipes her glass. Refills it. Finds my favorite brand of bourbon—did Penny really buy this for me?—and pours.

I take my glass.

Leighton holds up hers. “To—”

“Masturbation?”

Her cheeks flush. “Sure.”

We clink glasses.

Drink.

Her cheeks flush. Her lips curl into a smile.

The rest of the room fades away. I forget about Dean’s flirting. About the possibility of another man. About the reason why we’re here.

I forget until I hear her voice. “Ryan, hey.” Penny’s fingers brush my wrist. “You look great.”

Leighton fights a glare.

I nod it’s okay.

She rests her head on my shoulder. “Oh, Penny—”

“Penelope.”

“Sorry, Penelope. Great party. You look nice.” Leighton forces her frown into a smile. “Not as nice as Ryan though.” She turns to me. Runs her fingers along my cheek. “You look amazing in that suit.”

My eyelids flutter closed. I lean into her touch.

This is for Penny’s benefit.

But it feels so fucking real.

Penny’s laugh is soft. “It is something, seeing you in a suit, Ryan.”

“Thanks.” My fingers curl around Leighton’s wrist. If she keeps touching me, I’m gonna have my lips on hers in two minutes flat. Then I’m gonna have that dress at her waist, and her panties at her knees and—

“Would you mind if we had a moment?” Penny asks.

Leighton shoots Penny a serene smile. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave Ryan alone. Not when he looks this good.”

“I can imagine.” Penny’s voice is impossible to read.

I nod to Leighton it’s fine.

She bites her tongue. “I’m gonna find a snack.”

“There’s a tray in the kitchen.” Penny’s smile is soft. Sincere. She watches Leighton walk away with that same friendly expression.

Then it’s the two of us.

Her in a short ivory dress that screams bride.

Me in the kind of suit I swore I’d never wear.

She looks like the woman I fell in love with.

Like she’s prepping for our wedding.

But I don’t want that.

Not anymore.

I’m not sure what the fuck I want, but I know it’s not that.