“Only to be reappear looking like a damn angel of sin,” I softly add, remembering how good Dixon looked in his faded blue jeans and how he filled out his white V-neck tee perfectly.

“Stop that!” Mary throws a pillow at me. “That’s your hormones talking. The sensible Maddy would not be allowing this man into her home and heart.”

Her accurate comment has me quickly jumping to my own defense. “Lamb, stop being so melodramatic. He’s helping me study because he’s a doctor. And for the record, he’s going nowhere near my heart.” I fail to mention he’s already wedging his way in there.

“And besides, there’s David,” I add, taking off my sparkly sweater. “I would never do that to him. I really like him.”

We hit it off the first night we met, and before I knew it, we were casually seeing one another a few weeks later.

In the beginning, I knew I was sort of using David to fill the Dixon void, but soon after, I actually enjoyed his company. He’s the perfect gentleman and really is wonderful boyfriend material. But that’s the problem—he’s too perfect, which I know is crazy.

If I were to really evaluate what the issue is here, the reason I can’t one hundred percent commit to David is because he’s not Dixon.

I met David so soon after Dixon bailed on me, and I guess I was a little hurt he never made good on his raincheck. However, I now know the reason why he just vanished was because he was seeing someone. Although, it’s funny, because he never mentioned her, or hinted he was in a relationship.

But now that he’s back in my life, I don’t know what to think, or feel. Maybe Mary is right and it’s just my hormones overtaking my good sense.

“Maddy, I love you to death. You’re my best friend, but you’re living in denial. When that man is involved, you lose all sense of reason, which makes no sense. You’ve spoken to him like five times.”

“I know,” I say, turning around to face her. “But the times we have spoken, they’ve been, I dunno…” I shrug. “Kind of amazing.”

“And they’re not with David?” she asks, popping her gum.

“Of course they are. But it’s different with Dixon.”

“How so?” she questions, crossing her legs and sitting on the edge of my bed.

“I just…you know I have skeletons in the closet,” I confess, biting my lip.

“Yes, and I wish you’d tell me what. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. I would never judge you,” she says, her voice betraying her hurt.

Mary and I have been inseparable since I was five years old, as we were next-door neighbors. Even when my mom got remarried and we moved, Mary and I remained BFFs, and we promised to never allow anything to come between us. So far, we’ve both stuck to our word.

But my secret isn’t just “anything,” it’s life changing, and I will do anything to spare Mary that pain.

“I know, Lamb.” I sigh, lowering my eyes. “But it’s something I just want to forget.”

“I wish you’d at least talk to someone. Maybe Dr. Dixon can help,” she jokes, while I almost choke on my tongue.

“No!” I cry, shaking my head as I meet her warm eyes. “This is something I can never tell him.” I hate how vulnerable I sound.

“Whatever it is, I know it’s not your fault,” she says sympathetically. “But I just know your wicked stepsister is totally to blame.”

I swallow down my nausea and reach for my slinky tank. “Ugh, can you not ruin my day by mentioning her? I haven’t seen her for two glorious months, and I hope I can push it out to six.”

“I don’t understand how she can be a product of Sebastian. I mean, he’s so nice, and she’s…”

“Such a bitch,” I mumble, filling in the blanks. “And that’s a compliment,” I add, reaching for an elastic, as my long hair is suddenly pissing me off.

Mary nods and makes a grossed-out face. “I still can’t believe she’s marrying your brother.”

The hair tie goes flying across the room and I gulp. “Yeah, well, neither can I,” I lie, because I can so believe it.

“Isn’t that like incest or something?” Mary asks, and I shake my head.

“No, they’re not related by blood. My mom married Sebastian; we’re only related by marriage,” I explain, really hoping she drops this, like now.

“So kinda like if Greg married Marcia? God knows it’s all about her, so the Marcia analogy suits her perfectly.”

“Yes, kinda,” I reply, trying my best to remain calm as I hunt through my garments on the floor.

“It’s still gross. I mean, Dylan is hot, but he’s your brother,” Mary says, screwing up her nose.

This conversation is making me so uncomfortable, but I nod anyway. “I know. It really is.”

“When are they getting married?” she asks, casually reaching for her bottled water.

“I’m not sure. Their engagement party is a couple of months away. They only just got engaged, so I don’t think they’ll get married right away. But who knows, it is Beth we’re talking about. You know she’ll do anything for her five minutes of fame,” I spit, glaring at the wall, too angry to face Mary in case my emotions betray me.

“Yeah, and poor Sebastian has to foot the bill,” Mary says, and I nod. “Do you think—”

But I hold up my finger to stop Mary’s questioning, as I don’t want to talk about this any longer.

“What about this?” I ask, holding a knee-length, blue babydoll dress out in front of me, subtly hinting this conversation has ended.

Mary rests her cheek in her palm as she examines me. “Hmm, it kind of screams ‘date.’ I mean, it’s pretty, but what’s wrong with what you have on now?”

Looking down at my ripped blue jeans and black tee, I scrunch up my nose and pinch the hem of my top. “This? Really? It’s a little casual, isn’t it?”

“Why would that matter? It’s not a date, right?” she says, raising an inquisitive brow.

“Right,” I confirm with a half-assed nod. “You’re totally right.”

However, as I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror, I cringe because my face and hair are one hot mess.

“Yeah, you’ll definitely need to redo your hair and make-up,” Mary says when she sees my reaction to my hobo appearance.

Turning over my shoulder, I chuckle. “You said it doesn’t matter what I wear.”

“Yeah I know, but you don’t want to totally scare him off. I mean, he might be useful to have around,” she explains.

I raise my eyebrow, confused.

“He might have cute friends,” she says with a wink.

After washing, straightening and curling my hair, and hating all options, I’ve thrown it up into a messy bun, as that’s the only thing I’m semi-happy with. My make-up is minimal, and the only thing that’s “flashy” is my favorite vanilla lip gloss, which plumps up my lips. Mary was right. This most certainly is not a date. I mean, I’m going out with David, for Christ’s sake. But it troubles me that I occasionally need to remind myself of that fact.

When the doorbell chimes right at 7 p.m., butterflies suddenly take flight in my belly, but I tell them to cool it, because this is not a date. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans and taking a deep breath, I open the door and am greeted by the hottest man on earth.

The first breath I took was in vain, as it hasn’t helped calm my nerves whatsoever, so I take another before I pass out from lack of oxygen to the brain.

“Madison,” Dixon says in a deep, husky voice that has me loving my own name.

“H-Hi,” I stutter, shyly brushing a stray bit of hair behind my ear. “Please come in,” I add, opening the door wider and stepping out of the way.

Dixon nods, his lips tipping up into a mischievous, dimpled smile as he takes his first step into my home. I can’t help but note how much younger he looks in casual clothing. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a tight, black Yankees T-shirt, and even though he looks informal, he still looks damn fine.

When I quickly shut the door behind me, he turns to look at me over his shoulder and smirks as he points to my framed From Dusk till Dawn movie poster. “I love Quentin Tarantino.”