“I’ll play, but I get to go first.”

“I figured that,” he says, resting his feet on the coffee table. “Let’s hear it.”

“How old are you?”

“I see you’re starting with the good stuff.” He smirks, tilting his head to get a better look at me. “Twenty-seven. My turn.”

“Great,” I mumble.

“Oh, come on, Lemon Drop, this is going to be good.” He licks his lower lip. “Where’s the riskiest place you’ve ever had sex?”

This one I actually have to contemplate. I’ve only been with Derek, and I wouldn’t necessarily say our sex life was exciting. I mean, he’s all I’ve ever known, but we didn’t join the mile high club or sneak off into a closet or bathroom stall. No elevator or balcony sex. It was all extremely vanilla with an occasional drip of chocolate syrup—as in Derek literally licking it from my breasts. Maybe I should just throw the shot back, but it’s a stupid question to waste a drink on.

“Umm, I’d probably have to say in a tent.” Undoubtedly, my cheeks have a cherry red tint to them. One look at him, and I can tell he wants to laugh. He’s good at holding it in. “My turn.”

I give it a little thought—trying to decide what it is I want to know most—in case he decides this game isn’t so fun after another question or two.

“Where do you disappear to . . . when you don’t come home all night?”

The expression on his face hardens. I know when he does leave, he’s never in the best of moods, but he comes back acting like everything’s okay. I’m curious. “I’ll take a shot.”

He pulls a half slice of lime between his teeth, bites, and then throws the tequila back. He winces—the aftershock of his first drink.

“My turn,” he says, eyes narrowing in on me. “What are you running from?”

I swallow hard, unable to free the lump in my throat. “Who said I was running?

“There’s a reason you’re here. Answer the question or drink.”

“Well, I actually like tequila so I’ll drink.”

I squeeze the lime between my teeth and throw the liquid back, feeling the burn in my throat. With the wine I already had, I’ll be a goner after a couple of these.

Blake reaches up, swiping the lime juice from my mouth. I focus back on him, watching as he sucks the pad of his thumb to get a taste of his own. I swallow, trying to get a grip on myself. I want to know more, but I don’t want to tell him more. “Looks like we’re back to you. What do you do for a living?”

He shrugs. “I’m taking a break right now, but before that, I painted murals, mostly in large commercial buildings, hotels . . . that sort of thing.”

“What do you live off of?” The question just rolls from my tongue. It’s none of my business, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.

“That’s more than one question. I’ll answer it, but you have to take a shot if you’re going to break the rules,” he remarks, pointing to the bottle of tequila.

When he first proposed this game, I didn’t consider it a game at all, but now I see the whole point is deciding which question is worth a shot. It’s teetering between opening myself up and getting flat ass drunk. In the end, I want to know more so I throw the shot back.

He continues, “It’s something called a savings account. I have enough of it to last me a while.”

I nod, deciding that probably wasn’t worth a drink.

“My turn.” His eyes brighten, and he licks his lower lip. It’s hard to keep my eyes up, away from his perfect mouth.

“I’m waiting,” I say, feeling breathless.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Very few people know the answer to that; sex isn’t something I talk about with just anyone. “That’s a lame question, don’t you think?” I ask, curling my legs up under my body.

He shrugs. “You either need to answer or drink.”

It’s none of his business whatsoever, but my head is already starting to swim from the alcohol . . . this isn’t a big deal. “Eighteen,” I mutter, focusing my attention on the wood grain of the coffee table. Talking about it makes me think of Derek. He was the first and only person who has ever been inside of me like that. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and undo it all. I could have saved myself so much heartache.

Needing to forget, I fill my shot glass again and pour it down my throat, skipping the lime all together.

“Bad experience?” Blake asks.

“Just makes me think of someone I’d rather not think about.”

Blake’s gaze falls to the floor, his thumb brushing over his lower lip. He either wants to say something or avoid the subject. I can’t always tell with him.

I clear my throat, wrapping my arms around my folded knees. “Since I already know you have a sex life, let’s talk about love. Have you ever been in love?”

He inhales a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling. I recognize the emotional pain—deep-seeded, damaging pain. Without saying a word, he pours himself another shot and brings the glass to his lips, tipping it back until it’s empty. He barely looks at me.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks, probably wanting to catch me the way he’d been caught.

I nod, feeling the effect of the alcohol in my blood. If I stood right now, I wouldn’t get far without someone holding me up. “My turn,” I say. “Before I started working at Charlie’s, did you hang out there?”

He laughs. “Not near as much as I have been lately.” He stops, giving me a second to roll my eyes. “Did you move here to try to put together a broken heart?”

He’s not going to let this go, and I’m not going to talk. I fill my glass yet again and down the liquid. My head spins to the point where it’s hard to even form questions.

Nothing comes besides the one thing I’ve wondered since I met him a few days ago. “How can you and Mallory be so different?”

“I’m male. She’s female.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He shrugs. “We grew up in the same house with the same rules, but once we turned eighteen, our lives took different paths.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” I ask. My eyes feel heavy, the mix of wine, pizza and tequila weighing me down.

“I answered your question,” he says tiredly, laying his head back against the sofa.

The room is quiet again as I wait for him to ask me another question. It doesn’t come. At least I don’t remember it.

MY HEAD THROBS.

My stomach turns.

I’m not in my bed. There’s no pillow for my head, no soft mattress under my body. I rub the sleep from my eyes, focusing my attention on the light coming from the window—the living room window. The sun isn’t shining, which is a good thing because it would do nothing for my pounding head.

Warm skin brushes against my stomach, a muscular arm wraps itself around my waist. Turning my head, I see Blake sleeping behind me—our bodies perfectly aligned on the couch.

I don’t remember how we got this way, but if the ache in my head is any indication, there’s a good reason for that. I haven’t been like this with anyone in a long time. Even when I was with Derek.

I shift, trying to get out from under his hold before he wakes up. I slowly work myself free, and just when I think I am, his arm tightens around me, tucking me back against his warm body. There’s no way to tell if he’s actually awake without looking.

I’m not going to look.

In many ways, I’m starting to feel like Blake and I are similar. Not so much in personality, but how deep we bury ourselves in our secrets.

And the feeling of being wrapped up in him is different than I ever could have imagined. It’s something I want, but I don’t. Having someone hold me again fills a hole I didn’t even realize I had. I understand the idea of a rebound guy, and I’m not going to let myself go there, but this is just as good.

“Aly,” he mumbles behind me, ripping me from my thoughts.