“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to insult anyone.”

“No worries, I understand. Just wanted to clarify,” I said, wondering what she’d look like naked and covered in paint. Pretty fuckin’ good, probably. “So I took a bunch of art classes when I was in juvie. They were pretty basic, but the teachers always seemed to reach out to me—I learned a lot from them. Then I took some more classes when I got out. I mostly just sketched down in Cali. They didn’t have art classes or anything.”

“Well I really like them,” she said, and I felt my pride swell. Okay, something was swollen—no need to get into specifics.

“Thanks,” I told her, heading toward the stairs. “My place is up here. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet.”

I hadn’t had the apartment long enough to get it truly dirty, thank fuck. Not that I worried too much about impressing anyone, but for some reason I didn’t want her thinking I was a total pig.

“So, this is it,” I said, flipping on the light. Mel looked around, and I wondered what she thought. It wasn’t big—just a small living room and kitchenette under the eaves. There was a separate bedroom and bathroom behind us, too, but considering I’d been living in an eight-by-ten cell for the last year with two other guys, it felt like a palace to me. “The studio space below is what really sold me . . .”

“It’s great,” she said, turning back toward me with that shy smile that went straight to my cock. “I mean, it’s a dump, but it’s yours and I like it.”

I burst out laughing and she joined me, wandering over to sit down on the couch.

“Nice,” she said, running her hands across the faded, dirt-brown upholstery. “Vintage. I’m pretty sure I saw this at the Idaho Youth Ranch thrift shop last week.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that. You want something to drink? I have water and beer.”

“How about a beer?” she said. I grabbed a couple cold ones and came back to sit next to her on the couch. It felt good to have her here. Good and weird and wrong, all at the same time.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. I had a decent one, too. Giant-ass flat-screen—homecoming present from the club.

“Sure,” I said, reaching for the remote. I didn’t have cable, but Ruger had set up some kind of box thingie for me so I could stream stuff. “Whatcha in the mood for?”

“Not horror,” she said quickly, and I laughed again, remembering that first evening I’d spent with her at Pic’s house. She’d been so young and scared and vulnerable . . . I’d wanted to eat her up.

I still wanted to eat her.

“I can’t believe that you and Puck were supposed to be watching over me, and then you put in a slasher movie. That’s not how you make a girl feel safe.”

“No horror,” I agreed, although the thought of holding her for a couple hours while she was scared shitless appealed way more than it should. Watch it, asshole. “How about Star Wars?”

“You like Star Wars?”

I shrugged. “Everyone likes Star Wars. You know, I’m pretty damned sure Han Solo was a biker.”

She giggled. “A space biker?”

“See, when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“I wanted to be Princess Leia. She’s badass,” Mel said, taking a deep drink of her beer. I watched as her lips wrapped around the neck, her throat swallowing. That was a little too sexy for my comfort. She set the beer down on the coffee table with a clink, then let loose with the biggest burp I’d ever heard.

“Fucking hell,” I said, stunned. “I didn’t think girls could burp like that. Shit. Impressive, Mel. Very impressive.”

She grinned.

“We’re friends,” she told me. “And friends don’t need to worry about this stuff. Let me guess—you’ve never had a female friend before?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “I think I’m a little scared.”

Scared and turned on, which was unfortunate.

“You should be. I can do the whole alphabet.”

Damn. I kinda wanted to see that.

“So, we watching that movie or not?” she asked.

“Um, watching it,” I said, flipping through the search options to find Star Wars. I hit play, leaning back against the couch as words started scrolling across the screen. Mel was less than six inches from me. Close enough to reach over, shove my hands into her hair, and kiss the hell out of her.

Instead I just sat there, horny as hell, watching Luke Skywalker whine about power converters.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked.

“Fuckin’ great.”

MELANIE

The sunlight hurt my eyes.

I blinked, trying to remember where I was, because I definitely wasn’t home in my room. The bed felt weird, and the water-stained ceiling above me wasn’t familiar, either. I turned my head to find Painter sleeping next to me, his face just inches from mine, and it all came back.

He looked softer asleep.

I mean, he was still the same big bad biker, but there was nothing mocking or calculating on his face right now. Not only that, he looked young. He was older than me, but not by much, and right now he could almost pass for a high school student.

My eyes trailed down, and sadly I discovered he was still fully clothed. So was I, apparently, because my underwire was poking me something fierce. Also needed to pee in a major way. This was a problem, because if I moved, Painter would wake up and turn back into a scary biker on me.

I wanted to reach out and trace his face with my finger, feel the little bristles of his morning beard. But we were friend-zoned, and despite what we’d pretended last night, in the friend zone people don’t touch like that.

His eyes opened.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, staying quiet.

“You sleep okay?” he asked. “I carried you in here, figured you’d be uncomfortable on the couch. Then I crashed here, too, because that couch is shit. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s all good,” I said, willing myself to make the best of things. So maybe we weren’t meant to be a couple. Didn’t mean I’d stopped liking him as a person—he was still the same guy who’d sent me cartoons and jokes and pep talks when I was frustrated with one of my classes. “As a friend, I’d hate for you to have shitty sleep.”

He grinned. “Appreciate the thought. You wanna go get some breakfast?”

I looked around, wondering what time it was. Where was my phone? Something chimed, and he reached over, picking his up off the floor—the bed was really just a mattress, I realized.

“I gotta go,” he told me, frowning. “Something’s come up.”

“No worries,” I said, thinking wistfully of breakfast. I’d decided one benefit of the friend zone was you could pig out all you want, and I was hungry for biscuits and gravy. All I had at home was cereal.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he said, rolling off the bed.

“I can just walk,” I told him. “It’s only a few blocks.”

He shook his head, offering me a hand up.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he insisted. “Just give me ten for a quick shower.”

“All right—you want coffee or something? I can fix it while you’re in there.”

“No, I gotta get going.”

•   •   •

It was a long ten minutes, mostly because I’d forgotten to pee before he started his shower. The apartment looked even smaller in the daylight, and the sound of running water filling it didn’t help. One silver lining? Hard to feel horny while you’re doing the pee-pee dance, even though I knew he was naked right on the other side of a narrow, flimsy door. Took all my energy not to have an accident in my pants.

I found my phone out next to the couch, so I grabbed it, looking for a distraction. It was nearly ten in the morning. Wow. Jess had texted me about an hour earlier.

JESS: You alive? Looks like someone didnt come home last night. Painter? We should talk.