Maia stared at the drip-drip-drip in the tube that fed the line that went into her arm. The doctors weren’t taking any chances and insisted on an intravenous antibiotic. She’d asked to be alone for a while, not even letting April in the room and especially not letting London in to see her. She wasn’t ready for him yet, didn’t quite know what to do with him.

In some ways, he was still the boy she fell in love with: lighthearted, big and strong, confident, and still hiding a secret.

She’d noticed Karen wasn’t wearing a ring. It didn’t surprise her, not really. London’s dad was strict and stern and could ice over a room with one look. He’d played college football but never made it to the pros. Maia had the impression, way back then, that Reed was living his dream through London.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Driiip.

They’d offered her painkillers, but if she was going to walk out of here, she needed a clear mind. Her leg was numb. Thirty-seven stitches and the docs promised little scarring. They’d brought in a plastic surgeon to close the wound, afraid of marring her perfect legs. She didn’t care about a scar. Everyone had scars, some more visible than others.

Her thoughts bounced around, changing shape and reorganizing like pieces in a kaleidoscope. The colors were dim and uninspiring. Maybe she was down because she’d gotten herself into a mess and missed her flight. Or, maybe it was being with London and Karen again that brought the not-so-great memories to the surface. She was too woozy and too tired to keep them away, so she opened the gate and let them in.

“The vertex is the …”

Maia watched London’s tongue slip between his teeth as he worked to come up with the definition. They had a test in the morning and he needed to pass. Several 1A schools were after him, and he had to keep his grades up if he was going to meet their admission requirements. Which is why they were studying in his dining room with his mom within hearing distance and not in the library where they could get lost in kisses behind the encyclopedias.

“… interception point of two sides of a plane figure.”

She giggled. “Close enough. It’s intersection point.”

He shrugged. “I like to call it interception, as in the point where I steal the ball right out of the receiver’s hands.” He tickled her sides, making her laughter bounce off the bright, cream-colored walls.

Karen came in the dining room. She had a smile on her face, but her shoulders were up like she was trying to protect her earlobes. “Can you two keep it down?” She made brief eye contact with London. “Your dad just pulled in.”

London’s eyes rimmed with panic. He glanced at Maia and then back to his mom. “We’re done here anyway.” He slammed his book shut and did the same to hers.

Maia’s mouth fell open. She still had four problems to go. But she could take a hint. She slid her book and papers into her backpack and zipped it with unnecessary force.

They made it to the front door right as Reed threw it open. “You ready to ditch the homework and throw a ball?” His eyes landed on Maia, and a primal fear scraped down her spine like a jagged pizza cutter. She tried to shake it off as meeting-the-parent jitters.

“Dad, this is Maia Esposito—she’s helping me with geometry.”

Maia held out her hand, her head spinning with the fact that London hadn’t introduced her as his girlfriend. She threw a questioning glance over her shoulder at London. He kept his eyes fixated on his dad’s tie, refusing to look at her.

She tried not to worry about it since she didn’t have a father and had no idea how to handle one. “Hi, Mr. Wilder. You have a beautiful home.”

He sneered at her outstretched hand. “Esposito?”

This wasn’t the first time she’d been judged by her mom’s jaded past, but it was the first time she wished they didn’t share a last name. The way Reed looked her over made her skin prickle, and she dropped her hand, brushing thousands of invisible spiders off her arms. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for your help. You can go now.” He opened the door and motioned for her to leave.

Shocked at his dismissal and confused by London’s sudden statue impersonation, she tripped out the door. Reed slammed it shut behind her. “What have I told you?” His voice made the windows shake, and Maia involuntarily stepped back. “Who you associate with says a lot about you, and even more about me!”

Maia strained in the silence to hear London’s response. His voice was like orange juice, sweet and tart all at the same time. But she couldn’t make out his words.

“You’re telling me that in a school that size, there is only one person who understands geometry?”

Maia clasped her hands over her heart as it divided. One side told her that London was in trouble—his dad was bad news and he was saying whatever he had to to keep Reed happy. The other side cramped with London passing her off as some second-rate math tutor. She rose up on her toes and promptly spun around, headed to the rust-bucket on the curb. Her mom needed the car to get to work anyway.

The stench of stale cigarette smoke and perfume greeted her as she slid into the driver’s seat. She choked on the hate she carried for her mom and vowed to lose her last name.

Drip. Driiiip.

Looking back, his dad’s tirade was the first crack in her and London’s fairy tale, the first time she questioned them. And she’d blamed herself for the entire episode, brushing it aside the next day as if it had never happened. London followed her lead, treating her with extra tenderness for a while. He seemed scared to lose her, and his vulnerability was enough of a reassurance at the time.

“Miss Maia, are you awake?” asked a nurse in pink scrubs. She had beautifully highlighted blonde hair, which she’d pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were rimmed in black liner and she had false eyelashes that made her look like a pixie.

Maia hadn’t heard her come in. She pushed herself into a sitting position. “I’m up.” She might as well get on with getting out of this place.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I need to check your vitals.” She noted the liquid left in the IV bag and typed on the keypad for a moment. “There’s a man sitting outside your door. I encouraged him to move to the waiting room, but he refuses to go.” She lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to let him in here? He’s kind of a mess.”

Maia’s heart pounded at the thought of London sitting outside her door, making the monitors flash. His hands had wrapped all the way around her bare leg and he’d lifted her as if she weighed no more than a daffodil and was equally as fragile. The paradox of strength and tenderness London carried had her remembering the way his hands could work study knots out of her neck while his lips burned fire on her shoulder. Being in his arms was familiar and yet new. He might remind her of the boy she’d fallen for, but he had grown into a man. A powerful, sensual man. The kind who would slow dance her into a kiss and would lead her heart into dangerous waters. She and London had their chance, and it blew up in their faces.

She rubbed her hand against the back of her neck. She’d have to face him sooner or later. Better here, in the privacy of the hospital room, than in public, where cameras and wagging tongues abound. “He can come in,” she said like a petulant child.

The ugly hospital gown didn’t exactly flatter her figure, and her olive skin took on a green hue from the florescent lights. She ran her fingers under her lower lashes in an effort to clean up the mascara that was sure to have accumulated.

She blew her hair off her forehead. There was no need to fret over her appearance for London’s sake.

The nurse had no sooner stepped out of the room than London bounded in. He leaned right over the side of the bed and pulled her in for a hug. “Hey, honey.”

It was a good thing Maia was sitting down, because her knees went weak at the deep undertones surging through her veins when London called her honey. Even though she knew they’d had their shot at love—and missed horribly—her heart still beat to his rhythm. But that was normal, right? Once you loved someone, they became a part of you no matter how many years or how many miles stood between you.

He sat right on the side of her bed so they were hip to hip, as if he couldn’t stand not to touch her. Maia’s traitorous body let out a contented sigh—like it had been holding out for this moment for ten years.

“Thank you for everything you did for me today.” She folded the crumpled sheet over her lap, accordion-style.

London hooked his finger under her chin and brought her gaze up to meet his. The intensity burning in his black molasses eyes stole her breath away. Somewhere in the room, a beep tripled in frequency.

“Maia.” He spoke her name with reverence. “I was scared for you—in a way I’ve never been scared before.” His huge hand covered her shoulder, his warm fingers draping down her back.

“London?”

“I was so stupid to ever let you go.”

You shoved me away, Maia’s heart cried. She told her heart to hush so she could think.

London moved his hands so he could brush his thumbs down her cheeks. “I think of all the years I wasted, and I want to dismantle myself.”

Maia pulled back slightly at his graphic terms. “That’s not necessary.”

“I hope not.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve been praying nonstop since I laid you on that bed. Please tell me it’s not too late for us; I want to try again.”

Maia stared into his eyes, felt the sincerity of his words in his soft caresses. Her chest expanded, taking in all the promises he silently offered like a dehydrated sponge. Barely stopping herself from falling into him, she leaned back into the pillow. “I need to think,” she muttered.

Hadn’t she just been thinking about the cracks in their previous relationship? Hindsight was 20/20, and she could point out all the warning signs she’d blown right past as a teenager. Only now they were older and the signs had changed. “But you live in Texas and I live in California.”

He lifted a shoulder. “There are these big things with wings called airplanes.”

“Shut up.” She smacked his shoulder. “Your career is demanding.”

“So’s yours.”

“You’re making my point.”

“No. I’m saying we are leaps and bounds ahead of other couples because we understand the challenges of two demanding careers. We’re not going into this blindly.”

“What exactly are we getting into?”

London smiled wide. “I can think of all sorts of things I’d like to get into with you.”

She smacked his shoulder again—though not as hard this time because her hands trembled.

“Come on—halftime is over. Let’s start the second half already.” He brushed his thumb over her lips.

She laughed. “You’re so cute, London.”

“Why do I feel a big but coming on?”

“But …” She braced herself to say the words that would tear off a corner of her heart. “Life isn’t a game and we don’t get a second half. We played our season and came out zero-zero.”

His eyes roamed over her face. “You don’t believe that.”

She pressed two fingers to her lips to keep the words longing to burst forth from driving a wedge between them.

His eyes dipped to her mouth. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

“What?!” His words hit the panic button inside her brain. Alarms and sirens and beeps and screams went off.

“Kiss me.”

“Why?”

“If you kiss me and feel nothing, then I’ll believe you. I’ll walk right out the door and maybe only fan-stalk you once in a while.” His palms cupped her cheeks. “But if even part of you still has the hots for me, then we go on one date.”

“Why does it have to be a kiss?” She barely breathed the words past a fierce desire to grab the front of his shirt and show him exactly how much she’d grown up in the last ten years.

“Because your words say one thing and your eyes say another, but your kisses are always honest.”

The alarms got louder. Not only was her leg numb; her whole body hit Novocain status. There was no denying that one of her go-to daydreams over the last ten years had been a final kiss goodbye with London. They could have bumped into one another at the grocery store, a concert, or he’d come backstage after a performance, or she’d wait outside the locker room after a game. There’d been dozens of scenarios. Sitting in a hospital bed waiting for antibiotics to flood her system wasn’t one of them. “Fine,” she grunted.

His face lit up and then he grew super serious—so intense she felt the weight of his gaze holding her to the bed and pressing her head into the pillow. She closed her eyes, silently screaming, I’m not ready! I’m not ready! The alarms jumped to DEFCON 3. She wasn’t ready to kiss London, and her daydreams and the past they shared and his tenderness, goodbye.

London brushed his cheek against hers and murmured her name. Her pulse pounded in her lips and her mouth went dry. He smelled of soil and a manly body spray and sawdust and him. Oh heavens! She’d forgotten that smell. How on earth could she ever forget a scent that drove her to distraction?

Her name was like a wish on his lips and his breath like a warm summer breeze across her sensitive skin. She turned ever so slightly, giving him permission to take her mouth, to consume it if he wanted to.

He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, tugging it slightly down before finally, irreversibly, and completely kissing her.

The initial touch was like jumping off a cliff, her stomach lifted higher and higher, elevating her into a fever pitch of pent-up, passionate love. She laced her fingers together behind his neck and pulled him into the crinkly pillows with her. Each time their lips parted, she moaned and crushed her eyes closed, wordlessly begging him to continue.

When neither of them could grasp a full breath, they ripped apart, their chests heaving and eyes dilated.

“I should have—” Gulp. “—taken that a little slower,” London apologized.

“I don’t think slower was an option.” It wasn’t for her. She’d needed to purge her desire for London, and apparently, there was a lot of yearning bottled up in there. She tentatively moistened her swollen lips, noting she’d given as good as she got. London’s lips were red and full and entirely too kissable—again.

“So.” London looked at her expectantly. She opened her mouth to argue and he placed a finger over her lips, silencing her with his touch. He could have brushed his hand over her foot and it would have stolen her breath away. Her body and her memory of him overpowered reason.

He took her phone off the rolling table. “This is my number.” A moment later, his back pocket rang. “And now I have yours. I know you’re busy right now, so I’ll call you about that date.”

She nodded numbly. London Wilder was going to call her. London Wilder had kissed her arguments for staying away from him right out of her head. London Wilder was sitting on her hospital bed. This had to be the greatest and the weirdest day of her entire life. “Okay,” she agreed, and her heart did a little dance.

They were headed into the second half, and she had no idea what that meant, but she was looking forward to finding out.