It was a dream.

It had to have been a dream. There was no way she had actually slept with Zach Mummert. It wasn't possible.

Haley rolled over and forced her eyes open. She was on the wrong side of the bed. The covers on the other side were twisted and rumpled. She wasn't wearing any clothes.

And she could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Her worst nightmare had just come true.

And she hadn't even been drinking last night. The whiskey she'd had at the bar hardly counted so it wasn't like she could blame it on that.

No, this was all on her.

She'd slept with Zach Mummert.

She had sex with Zach Mummert.

This couldn't be happening.

But it had.

It was.

Haley groaned and crawled out of bed, nearly tripping when her foot got tangled in the sheets. She muttered then ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face as she scanned the floor for her clothes.

No, never mind. She didn't want to wear the same things she had on last night. She changed direction and headed to the dresser, absently pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The other clothes would have to be burned, no doubt about it. There was no way she could keep them, not without thinking about Mummert every time she wore them.

That wasn't going to happen.

Even if the sex had been beyond fantastic.

"I hope you like your coffee black. I couldn't find any cream or sugar or anything like that."

Haley jerked the shirt over her head then whirled around, frowning. Zach was leaning against the doorframe, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands.

And damn him. Did he have to look so delicious, standing there with no shirt on? Her gaze roamed across his chest, eyeing the tattoos, imagining the feel of hard flesh under her fingers as she traced each one in her mind. Her gaze moved even lower, heat filling her face when she realized the button and zipper of his jeans were undone. The denim hung low on his hips—dangerously low.

She turned around, praying he hadn't noticed her staring, and rummaged through the dresser drawer in search of socks. "Go put on some clothes, Mummert. I don't need to see your half-naked body first thing in the morning."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerously warm. "Good morning to you, too, Red."

"Would you please stop calling me that?"

He laughed again, the sound even closer. She whirled around then stumbled back, her ass colliding with the open drawer. Haley narrowed her eyes, her mind searching for something to say—something witty or sarcastic or flippant. But her mind was embarrassingly blank.

Probably because the scent of coffee short-circuited her brain. That had to be it. No way did it have anything to do with the way Zach was watching her, his brown eyes deep and warm.

She reached for the mug and cradled it in both hands, bringing it to her mouth and taking a cautious sip. The coffee was hot, strong, just a little too bitter without cream and sugar. That was one more thing she needed to add to her to-do list today: go to the store. Right after she did laundry.

Her day off was getting busier and busier.

She took another sip, this one larger, then winced.

"What's the face for?"

"What face?"

"That face. Your nose scrunched all up and your eyes got all squinty."

"They did not—"

"Yeah they did. It was cute."

Haley rolled her eyes then stepped around him, making a beeline for the other room. Being in the bedroom with Zach was a bad idea.

Being in the same building with Zach was a bad idea.

"Well, thanks for the coffee. I'm sure you have things to do so don't let me keep you."

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Actually, yeah." She glanced at him over her shoulder, frowned when she noticed the crooked smile on his face. "I didn't want you here to start with."

"You weren't complaining last night."

She didn't even bother replying to that. How could she, when her mind wasn't quite awake yet?

Zach chuckled again then made his way over to the sofa. Haley watched, stunned, when he sat down then stretched his legs out and propped his bare feet on the cluttered coffee table.

"What are you doing?"

He took a sip of the coffee, his eyes holding hers. Then he patted the sofa next to him. "Come here. We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"Come here."

"There's nothing to talk about."

He leaned forward and put the mug on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. "Haley. Come here." He paused, his eyes as serious as his voice. "Please."

A flash of fear paralyzed her. Zach didn't want to talk about last night, she knew that as sure as she knew she hated black coffee. She didn't want to talk to Zach. Not about last night, not about anything.

But she was helpless against the force of his gaze. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Like he was worried about her.

Like he might actually care.

Which was ridiculous. Lack of caffeine and the early hour were combining together to make her see things that weren't there. To make her read things that didn't exist. It was just her imagination, that was all.

Because God help her if it wasn't.

She moved toward the sofa and took a seat—on the edge, as far away from Zach as she could get. His dark brows shot up and the barest hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth but he didn't say anything.

Good, because she might be tempted to toss her coffee on him if he did.

She took a sip of the coffee then cradled the mug between both hands, letting the warmth seep into her. "You wanted to talk. Talk."

"Who's been fucking with you?"

She stiffened and looked away. Not because of his language, but because he had wasted no time in getting right to it. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to help her deal with this right now.

"Nobody is fucking with me, Mummert."

"Bullshit." He dropped his feet to the floor then slid closer, his dark gaze intense and angry. "The bruises on your wrist. That little welcome present all over your door last night. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Okay? Nothing is going on. How many damn times do I have to tell you—"

"I saw them."

Haley wanted to look away but she couldn't, not when he was watching her like that, studying her. It was like he could see deep inside her, past the barriers she had carefully constructed over the years. Like he wanted to break them down to get inside, to see the real her.

No. She wouldn't let that happen. Nobody was allowed to get that close. Getting close gave people power, and that wasn't something she was willing to concede.

Not for anyone.

She forced her gaze away and raised the mug to her lips, acting like she had no idea what he was talking about. Pretending that her heart wasn't racing in her chest and that sweat wasn't breaking out on the palms of her hands. "What is it you think you saw?"

"The bruises, Haley. On your ribs."

"Those?" She shrugged and forced a smile to her face. "They're nothing. I tripped at work and—"

"Why are you lying?"

"I'm not lying."

"Haley, I saw them. You don't get a bruise like that from tripping and falling. That's the kind of bruise you get when someone punches you in the ribs. When someone deliberately tries to hurt you."

"Yeah? What would you know about it?"

"Plenty. My old man used to think it was funny to knock my mom around. And then, just to change things up, he'd knock me around some. So yeah, I know plenty."

Zach's voice was so normal, the words were so matter-of-fact, that what he was saying didn't sink in right away. When it finally did, Haley had to stop herself from throwing her arms around him and trying to comfort him. Comfort was the last thing he wanted or needed—she could see that from the way he was sitting there, just watching her. Relaxed and at ease, with no hint of sorrow or even anger or resentment. Whatever had happened when he was growing up was behind him. Part of his past, not his present or his future.

But she couldn't get the image of a younger Zach, frightened and bruised, from her mind. Sympathy welled inside her, pushing against the wall she had so carefully built. Or maybe it wasn't sympathy—maybe it was empathy, because she'd been there herself. No, none of her mother's friends had ever touched her, but she still remembered the feeling of helplessness. Of fear. Still remembered all the nights she'd held a flat, worn pillow over her head to muffle the sounds of yelling and crying, telling herself it was only a dream.

And she remembered the anger and the resentment she always felt the following morning, when her mother would make excuses and pretend everything was fine. That everything was normal. Remembered swearing to herself that she would never put up with that.

Haley glanced down at her wrists, at the circle of faded bruises, and swallowed back a grunt of disgust. Never? Yeah, right.

She looked over at Zach, realized he was still watching her, studying her. Still seeing too much.

But he wasn't judging. Or rather, if he was, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

"Who is it, Haley?"

"It's not important."

"Who is it?"

Haley hesitated. Was she actually considering telling him? But why? And why did he want to know? Zach was nothing to her, just one of the hockey players that came into the bar where she worked. He wasn't a friend, not really. He wasn't a lover, even if they had slept together last night. She didn't owe him anything.

She took a long swallow of the coffee then placed the mug on the table. She wedged herself deeper into the corner of the sofa and drew her knees into her chest, staring down at her feet. Thinking. Weighing her words. Wondering why she was even remotely considering telling him anything.

She remembered his concern the other week, when he'd shown up at her neighborhood bar. And last night, the anger on her behalf when he saw what someone had done to her door. How he'd walked her back to her shitty apartment and taken care of cleaning up the mess.

He already knew what happened, even without her telling him. What would it hurt to give him the rest of the story? Certainly not her pride, not when he had already figured it out.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "His name is Jimmy. He, uh, he's an artist. You know, painting and that kind of thing. Very free-spirited and artsy and passionate."

And God, she sounded pathetic to her own ears. Free-spirited? Passionate? More like temperamental and immature. But she couldn't tell Zach that, not without sounding like she was making excuses for him.

"He sounds like an ass." Zach shifted on the sofa, his brows lowering into a frown as he watched her. "Are you still seeing him?"

There was something in his voice, just below the surface. It was more than a casual question, more than just curiosity. A flash of anger shot through her again and she twisted her hands together so hard her knuckles cracked.

"I'm not like you, Mummert. I don't sleep with more than one person at a time."

His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw jumped. "Is that what you think I do?"

"I'm not stupid, you know. You're forgetting I've seen the way you operate. How the girls flock around you at the bar. Don't even think of denying it."

"I'm glad you think so highly of me. If that's how you feel, why'd you sleep me with me last night?"

"Temporary insanity. A moment of weakness." She looked away, unable to bear the expression in his eyes. Anger, yes. But she thought she saw hurt there as well. No, she must have imagined that. Zach Mummert, hurt? Not hardly.

She flipped the hair off her shoulder and smiled, going for her most flippant, carefree look. "It was just sex, Mummert. Now you can go home and put another notch on your hockey stick and move on."

There it was, that flash of hurt again. And why the hell was she pushing him? Why was she deliberately being a bitch about it? Because it was easier than admitting the truth, easier than admitting last night hadn't been just about sex. She had wanted Zach, had wondered what sleeping with him would be like.

And now that she knew, she wanted more. It was just like she had told him: momentary weakness. Only she was afraid this weakness wasn't so momentary. And if she expected him to get angry at her words, to storm off after arguing with her, she was going to be disappointed. Zach didn't look like he was going to do either of those things. In fact, he settled back against the cushions, his dark eyes still studying her, acting like he had nothing better to do than sit there and talk.

"So you aren't seeing him anymore?"

Haley clenched her jaw, wondering why he cared, wondering why he was still sitting there. "No. I told you that."

"You broke up with him?"

"Yeah. That's what not seeing each other means, you know."

"Does he know that?"

"Know what?"

"That you broke up. That you're not seeing him?"

"For God's sake, Mummert. Yes. He knows. Okay? Leave it alone."

"You sure about that? Because pissing on your door—"

"I doubt that was him. It was probably just some stupid kids or something." She cursed the lack of conviction in her voice. How could she convince Zach that it was nothing to worry about when she was certain it had been Jimmy? Especially after the texts he'd sent her last night.

I know you're not alone.

Who is he?

That's why she'd turned her phone off last night and threw it across the kitchen. The texts had spooked her.

Which was stupid. They were just texts. Not a big deal. It was Jimmy being Jimmy, trying to act all big and important. It wasn't like he'd actually try anything. He was too weak, too cowardly, to do anything like that. Scaring her by acting all big was more his style.

Too bad it had worked last night.

But now, in the light of the morning, she could tell herself she overreacted. She could tell herself it was no big deal.

"I don't believe that any more than you do."

"Believe what?"

"That it wasn't your ex."

"It wasn't."

Zach watched her for a few long seconds, the doubt clear in the depth of his dark eyes. He leaned forward with a sigh, reached for his coffee, and drained it in one long swallow. Then he stood and walked into the kitchen, the light coming through the partially opened blinds playing on the broad muscles of his back.

Haley pulled her gaze away, cursing herself for reacting to the sight of his bare back, for noticing the way the low-slung jeans clung to his narrow hips and muscled thighs. Didn't she have enough problems to deal with as it was? She didn't need to be drooling over Zach Mummert. Or his muscles. Or his tattoos. Or his ass or—yeah, she just needed to stop.

He came back into the living room, wearing his shirt and holding her phone in his hand. She watched, not quite understanding why he was turning it on. "What's your password?"

"Password for what?"

"To unlock your phone."

"I don't have one. What are—"

"Christ. You're as bad as Travis. You should always keep your phone locked. Don't you know that?"

The phone came to life in his hand, beeping with a series of alerts. One, two, three...she lost count after six. Haley jumped off the sofa and lunged toward Zach, snatching the phone from his hand before he could see the text messages. His eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything, didn't question who had been trying to reach her.

"What do you want with my phone?"

"Dial this number."

"I'm not—"

"Christ, Red. Stop giving me a hard time and just dial it." He recited a number then repeated it as she entered it into her phone and hit send. A few seconds later, his own phone rang.

She ended the call then frowned, doing her best to ignore his boyish grin. "Really, Mummert? You couldn't have just asked? I don't need your number—"

"Sure you do." He disappeared down the hallway then came back a few minutes later carrying his shoes. He stepped into them then moved toward the sofa, leaning over her and pinning her in place before she could move. His mouth closed over hers with a slow, deep kiss hot enough to curl her toes and leave her wanting more. But he pulled away too soon, the heat simmering in his eyes at odds with the crooked grin on his mouth.

"I have to get ready for practice. Call me if you need anything."

"I don't—"

"Just call me." He moved toward the door, watching her over his shoulder. "I mean it, Red. Just call. And lock the door behind me."

She watched him leave, too stunned to move, too stunned to question what had just happened.

Call if she needed anything? Really? What did he even mean by that?

Haley pushed off the sofa and moved to the door, locking it behind him. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard the downstairs door creak as he opened it then closed it.

She stayed there for several long minutes, long after the sound of his steps faded, wondering again what he had meant.

Telling herself she was a fool if she read anything into it.