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Mike hosts an end-of-summer party, and some girl from high school is in my lap when Erin shows. Ponytail, work T-shirt, and no makeup, but she’s tan, and her hair looks like spun gold, and I wish the world would freeze so I could stare at her prissy, annoying face.

She flushes as our eyes meet, as she takes a quick glance at the girl in my lap and turns the other direction. I watch her walk away. And then I watch every single person she talks to while the girl in my lap drones on about some Real Housewives bullshit I can’t begin to be interested in.

When Erin heads inside, out of view, Kirk gets this big, shit-eating grin on his face and cocks a brow at me. “You know who else is inside?” he asks.

“Who?”

“Taz,” he says.

We hate Taz. The guy thinks he’s a fucking celebrity because he was on the pro cycling circuit for a few years and ostensibly is friends with Lance Armstrong. He’s also the kind of guy who will be all over Erin like a rash.

“Who the fuck invited him anyway?” I ask. “He’s not on staff.”

Kirk laughs. “Dude, Erin’s a big girl. She can walk away if she wants to.”

Less gracefully than I should, I remove the girl from my lap and march inside. Sure enough, Taz has Erin cornered in the kitchen. She appears to be fascinated by what he’s saying, which annoys me even further. The last thing that guy needs is encouragement.

I go over to them. “Can I speak to you for a minute?” I ask her.

Taz looks at me. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

“Go tell someone else about the time you met Lance Armstrong, douchebag,” I say, walking her away with my hand at the small of her back. I’ve got four inches on the guy—he knows better than to complain.

“What do you want?” Erin asks with a weary sigh. “Were you worried I might be experiencing a moment of happiness?”

“That guy’s a jackass. Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be out doing whatever people in marketing do? Which I guess is sleep.”

She taps her lips with her index finger, and for a moment I’m unable to look away from her mouth.

“Hmmm,” she says. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here. Because it sounds like you’re jealous, and I don’t know if you’re jealous of that guy because you never got to hang with Lance Armstrong, or if you’re jealous of me because I’ve acquired this mystical thing known as full-time employment—which, by the way, I realize is a foreign concept, but one you should investigate at some point in your life.”

I take a step closer, drawn to that flash of anger in her eyes, and then I take another one, until I can feel the heat of her skin.

“One day,” I tell her, “I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank that smirk off your face.”

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to get your hand on my ass,” she replies, meeting my gaze. She isn’t being snide. She’s calling my bluff.

“I don’t hear you arguing against it.” We’re so close now. I can feel the uneven huff of her breath against my chest as I speak. “I’d spank you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day.”

“Promises, promises,” she says as if bored. “We both know you don’t have it in you.”

I press her to the wall. Something inside of me, something taut and tense that I’ve barely controlled has finally snapped, and I’m not sure if I want to kill her or fuck her—I’ll figure it out later on. I capture her mouth—that sweet, willing mouth that’s driven me crazy all summer long. She tastes like sugar and vanilla, the way I knew she would, and to my surprise I am not in this alone. She meets me move for move, her tongue sliding against mine as my hands wrap tight in her hair.

I want so many things from her in this moment that it feels impossible to pick just one. It will take me all night, possibly all year, before I’m sated. I move farther into the darkness, slide my hand into her shirt, teasing her through the lace of her bra with my fingers, and when she groans in my mouth, I’m done for. I lift her up and wrap her legs around me, pressing against her, but it’s not enough. I need all of her, spread out in front of me. I need time.

I pull back just enough to tell her we’re going to my apartment. Her eyes are closed, her mouth swollen. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be inside someone so badly in my entire life.

But then her eyes open. And I see lust there, but I also see hope—and hope is the exact fucking thing I never want to see on any girl’s face. That’s when I become furious with myself. What did I think was going to happen here? She’s not a one-night-stand girl, and I’ve known this all along. Maybe I could talk her into it, but I don’t want to be the guy who does that. Not to her.

I set her down abruptly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

She looks hurt, which I hate, but also tells me I’ve absolutely made the right decision.

“You started it,” she whispers, her voice raspy.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have.”

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