“You need my permission to come, LeBlanc. Beg for it.”

Somewhere inside me, I knew that the whole thing was insane. Drunk or not, I could distinguish right from wrong. Still, I complied, because I kind of liked the fact that for a moment in time, I wasn’t the bitch who hated him and he wasn’t the guy I could never have.

“Please let me come.”

“Come all over my cock, baby.”

I collapsed deeper onto his seat and moaned as another tsunami swept through my body. And I saw stars. Stars he hung there—stars that twinkled so much brighter than the ones in the sky.

Dean flipped me again, but this time my eyes were half-opened. He pumped into me a few more times—his face scarily blank—pulled out, took off the condom, and came all over my stomach and bra.

I stared at him, not sure if I was mesmerized, disgusted, or too content to differentiate between the two.

He grabbed my torn shirt—the Podiatrists Association shirt that was compliments of Darren—from the seat beside us and clutched it into a ball, cleaning his cum from my body with it.

“Say goodbye to this shirt, and anything else another man who isn’t your dad ever gave you. Am I clear?”

“You’re awfully possessive,” I complained, glaring at him through sleepy eyes like he was my sun, the moon, and everything worth seeing in the constellation.

“That’s because you’re awfully mine.”

“And what on Earth would make you think that? The fact that we slept together?” I pretended to laugh, but there was nothing funny about his statement. Or what we just did.

“Nah,” he said, his hand moving to the left side of my chest. He placed it over my heart, and squeezed one time. “This thing right here? It fucking beats for me. You know it. I know it. Keep lying, Rosie. I’ll milk the truth out of you. One way or the other.”

EVERYTHING THROBBED AS WE DROVE back to Vicious’s mansion. Baby LeBlanc fell asleep and I was still able to smell her sex on my fingers and her coconut shampoo on my shirt, and I guess it fucked with my mind, because I found myself driving around the neighborhood four times at three in the morning, not ready to say goodbye.

You’re in deep trouble, asshole, logic scolded me. You don’t need this shit. Getting involved is a risk. You need to take care of your Nina business and stop drinking.

But logic had no room or space in my mind. I was fully occupied with everything Rose LeBlanc, and I didn’t even give a damn that she was sick and had her own baggage to deal with. She was wearing my varsity jacket over her bra, the one I had found in the bed of my truck from ten years ago. Dr. Dickface’s torn shirt was where it was supposed to be—in a trashcan in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I parked in front of the main entrance of the mansion and contemplated what to do next. She was snoring, producing a sound that was more appropriate for a grizzly bear than a tiny chick—and I didn’t have it in me to wake her up.

Finally, I picked her small body up and carried her into the house. Her flip-flops were clasped between her fingers as I moved past doors, peeking into the ones that were ajar until I found hers, The Strokes poster-covered room.

Tucking her inside her bed, I wrapped blankets snug around her body like you would a baby and kissed her nose.

“By the way,” I whispered to my Sleeping Beauty. “I find flip-flops personally offensive, and I still want to tap you again.”

“Dean,” she yawned, slurring as she stretched, “I find you personally offensive, because everyone tapped you.”

“Welcome to the club, sweetheart. We have T-shirts.”

“Good, because you ripped mine off my body.”

My cock saluted that fine comeback, but it had to wait.

“That’s right. I don’t want to see that fucker’s stuff on you ever again,” I croaked, refraining from uttering his goddamn name. What was it, anyway? Declan? Darren? Didn’t matter. It’s not like she was ever going to use it.

“Ugh.” She turned her back to me, burrowing into the blanket with her eyes closed. “I’m so happy I don’t have to see you until the rehearsal dinner.”

“Don’t be so happy just yet.” I brushed some hair from her face, causing her skin to break out in goosebumps.

“And why is that?” she asked, and apparently, Rosie LeBlanc had the ability to have long-ass conversations during her slumber.

I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers, my tongue darting out and swiping along her bottom lip before sucking it, long and hard. It was the kind of leisured, teasing kiss that left you thinking about the next one for a week after.

“Because I’ve just decided that I’m moving to the mansion to spend time with you,” I whispered, then ambled to the door, turned off the lights, and smirked to the dark blue of the night. “Sur-fucking-prise, Baby LeBlanc. Now we’re not only neighbors, we’re practically roomies.”

I drove home that night, grabbed the suitcase I didn’t have time to unpack, and moved my shit to Vicious’s. I’d tell him my parents were remodeling parts of the house if he asked. Good thing he never gave a shit about anything.

It was better this way. My parents were big on bugging me about meeting Nina in recent months, and I didn’t care for the same old conversation. I also didn’t care why they were so hot on getting me to meet him.

Because all I cared about was my next conquest. Her.

I picked up Trent at San Diego airport the following day, this time taking Dad’s Volvo XC90. The red truck stayed in the garage. I hardly ever used it, but Rosie asked to keep our little date a secret, and for the time being, I was all about pacifying her.

If Vicious saw me picking her up, he’d start asking questions just to piss me off.

And once he heard my answers, we were going to brawl again. Not that I particularly minded. Throwing a few punches into his face was my idea for meditation. Though I preferred to go around it without the excess drama. Vicious, on the other hand, was an over-the-top Sweet Valley type of asshole. He loved making a huge production out of shit.

I double-parked directly in front of the arrival gate and tipped my Ray-Bans down, checking out the herd of flight attendants in blue uniform that crossed the road in front of me. As if sensing my gaze, two of them turned their heads in my direction and smiled. I smiled back, then flicked my eyes down to check my phone.

Jaime

Me and the girls are landing in SD in four hours. C U on the other end, fucker.

Vicious

Hello, Captain STD. Hope you’re sober enough to read this. Make sure you pick up Trent today. Seating arrangement is waiting in your email. Call when you’re done.

Trent

Get your eyes up from your lap. It looks like you’re jerking off.

Laughing, I looked up and spotted my best friend breezing through the gliding doors with a business trolley. To say Trent Rexroth was a good-looking guy was like saying that cyanide was slightly unhealthy. The guy turned heads. Women’s and men’s alike. Sure, we were all easy on the eyes, but there was only one motherfucker who always stole the show. He was striding directly toward my vehicle, in all of his six-foot-four, aristocratic face, ripped-to-fucking-shreds, ex-quarterback glory. Every chick in our radius did a double take, then a triple one to make sure this guy was really human, and when he climbed into my SUV, two even took pictures on their phones. Probably mistook him for that dude from the mug shot—you know, the mixed one with the blue Calvin Klein bedroom eyes.

Trent slapped my back, the international ‘Good to See You, Bro’ signal and buckled up.

“Am I getting older, or are they getting less attractive?” He motioned with his chin toward another harem of flight attendants, this time clad in burgundy uniforms.

“Definitely getting older.” I stuck to my script as the manwhore, even though I wasn’t feeling it either. “Maybe it’s time for Viagra.”

“Maybe it’s time you shoved your foot into your mouth.” Trent shot me a dry look, flipping the glove compartment open and taking out a rolled blunt he knew would be waiting for him.

“Wait until we leave the airport.” I kicked the vehicle into drive. He obeyed, glancing at his phone for emails in the meantime.

“How’s Luna doing?” I asked, checking the side mirrors. His daughter was almost a year old now. Babies were never my jam—I didn’t want to make them, but I loved practicing while using protection—but Luna had chunky thighs like Pillsbury rolls, a big-ass smile, and she clapped and did a weird dance every time I saw her on Skype. There wasn’t really anything not to like about her. Other than her mother.

“She’s good,” Trent said after a long pause, looking out the window with a frown. Dude was an old soul. Wasn’t cut out for the kind of lifestyle we lived. The women. The money. The weed. He didn’t enjoy any of that shit, not really. The only two things I ever saw him fully appreciate were his football—that ship had sailed a long time ago after multiple injuries our senior year—and his daughter.

“Bull. Shit. I’m not buying it. What the fuck is up?” I punched his arm. We were pulling out of the airport and onto a deserted highway. It was noon on a Saturday, and no one drove into Todos Santos unless they were headed to rob a fucking mansion. The blunt was lit, but Trent’s gray eyes remained turned off.

“Luna is amazing,” he said, leaving out a huge ‘but’.

“And?” I prompted.

“And Val is not,” he deadpanned.

Quick recap: Val was the Brazilian stripper who got knocked up with Trent’s baby after a one-night stand. She was a recovering coke addict, but Trent swore she got back on track after he shelled out the money for rehab. They weren’t together, but they were doing the whole co-parenting thing.

“Using again?” I quirked a brow. He threw his head back, scrubbing his eyes.

“Clean as far as I’m aware. She just seems…off.”

“Was she ever on?” I pushed the gas pedal, my mind wandering elsewhere. Rosie seemed downright miserable when I picked her up yesterday. I wasn’t sure if it was about Vicious or the rest of her family, but my bet was on the latter. She was the only person I knew other than myself who didn’t give two shits about Vicious’s power trips and general assholeness. Seeing her hurt stirred something in me. Yesterday was mind-blowing. Best sex I’ve had in…fuck, ever? That couldn’t be right. Two things I was certain of, though: