“Ads?” Tate asks, coming up behind me.

I shake my head, dropping down to a crouch, once again diving my hands into my hair.

“It’s all right to admit she’s more than what Marc wants her to be, you know,” he says, ignoring me. “He likes to think he controls everything down to the hour we can jack off, but he’s wrong. Fuck, he’s so wrong.”

“Leave it, Tate. Jessie is Jessie and that’s all there is to it.”

“Sure she is, man. But the thing you gotta ask yourself is who is Jessie to you? ’Cause we all see her differently. To me she’s just this red-haired chick you pissed off once upon a time and who Kye wanted to fuck before he knew what his cock was for. To Sofie she’s a lifelong friend. To Ella she’s a new friend who makes her laugh. To Mila she’s the girl with the pretty flowers on her arm. But to you, Ads? Who the fuck knows, eh?”

“I said leave it!”

“You gonna square up to me, too, huh?” He lifts his eyebrows as I stand and look at him. “Try it, little guy. But fuck, listen to me, yeah? Figure out who she is to you. Figure out who Jessie Law is in your eyes before you flick your asshole switch and take your shit out on all of us.”

“Noted,” I reply, wishing, fuck, I’m wishing that this anger would go. That the frustration would be swamped out by my anger at my brother, for the punch I never got to throw, for Tate and Dad stepping in. I wish like hell this green-tinged, jealous frustration would get the heck outta my body before I explode with its power.

“Ads.”

“I said, noted.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jessie

“Please, Jessie.”

“Nope.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“Jessie, please.”

“No!” I slam my pencil down on the desk and turn to my sister. “I am not inviting Aidan for dinner just so you can perv on him all night.”

“Pleeeeease,” Sas begs, drawing the word out. Her voice gets higher and higher until it resembles something only next-door’s bulldog could hear.

“No,” I repeat, standing up and grabbing her shoulders. I turn her toward the door before shoving her through it. Then I slam it shut before she can say a word and I lean back against it. She bangs against it a few times, whining my name, but I ignore her until she gives up.

Inviting Aidan for dinner is my worst nightmare right now. It’s right up there with him inviting me to his house for dinner, and look how well that turned out.

Oh, that’s right. It didn’t turn out well at all.

I groan, bending my knees so my back slides down the door. My butt hits the soft carpet with a thump befitting a bag full of rocks. That’s how I feel. Like a bag of rocks. Like I’m made of granite, heavy and dull.

Ever since Aidan Burke bumped into me at the bar, my life has taken a crazy turn. It’s veered so far off course it doesn’t even make sense to me anymore. Which is why I’m sitting in my work uniform, my back to my bedroom door, with my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them.

It’s not the threatening messages. It’s not even the barrage of abuse that could tear down a steel-reinforced barricade. It’s not even the onslaught of tweets and emails and private messages, every one harsh and just one step too far.

It’s Aidan.

Pure and simple.

Aidan Burke is sneaking his way under my skin, and I don’t like it one bit.

It’s cliché as hell, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. I want to look at him as the arrogant, hot drummer who disrespects girls as quickly and easily as he fucks them, without a second thought. I want to see him as a woman-using prick who shoots his load then runs out with his pants still down. I want to see him as the cocky son of a bitch who thinks he can smile and wink and get his way no matter what.

But I just . . . can’t.

It’s the most annoying thing, because then it would be easy. That’s the problem. It’s hard now. Every part of me is begging me to hold my hands up, tell him it’s done, and walk away. And mean it this time. My heart, my head, they’re in full agreement. They both think this charade is a waste of time and that it’s gone on long enough. They think I’m a dumb bitch for agreeing in the first place.

Because he was right.

Aidan is dangerous.

He’s the guy you hate and love simultaneously. It’s not even a hate to love him, love to hate him kinda thing. It’s just hate and love and desire and anger and lust and frustration and impulse all mixed into one murky thump of adrenaline that’s a low, gentle hum. Like a heartbeat, each emotion picks up, and the adrenaline pounds faster.

And if this is what it feels like to toe the line of love, then I want to step back. I want to step and turn and run and never look back.

I don’t even want to like him.

I do though. God, I do. He makes me laugh, and there isn’t a time that I look at him when my stomach doesn’t flip or my heart doesn’t stutter or my lips don’t twitch. There isn’t a time that I meet his eyes and don’t feel something awaken inside me. Granted, sometimes it’s me just being pissed off, but hell, I even like that.

He challenges me. He doesn’t take my shit and he knows I won’t take his. It’s so fucking endearing that I want to gouge out my eyeballs and hold on to him at the same time. I want to push him into the middle of a highway and let him play in the traffic at the same time that I want to curl myself into his side and let him run his finger across my tattoos the way he does. Even the one that’s still a little red and sore.

I want to pull off his shirt and strangle him with it. I want to pull off his shirt and gently trace every line of ink on his arms, back, and chest.

I want to feel him, beneath my fingertips, warm and hard and comforting.

I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I’m conflicted, that my whole existence has been reduced to me playing ping-pong with my emotions.

And I wish, more than anything, that this would end. That it could be over, good-bye, finito, ciao.

I wish I didn’t have to sit here, hugging my legs, with my eyes closed, remembering the look he gave me when I left his garage with Kye yesterday.

I wish I couldn’t remember that glint—the one that was nothing then but everything now. The angry, jealous, hurt glint.

Worse than that, I wish he hadn’t let me go.

I hate that he sat there. That he did nothing. That he just let me walk out of there with his twin brother like it didn’t matter at all.

In fact, I’m so pissed off about that, and I shouldn’t be.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes as there’s a knock at the front door.

God, what is wrong with me? Why am I letting this get to me? Me and Aidan, we’re like noncaloric bacon. A ridiculously stupid idea that no one in their right mind would allow to ever happen.

Maybe my right mind took a left and got lost.

I think my right mind was male in another life. Noncaloric bacon is actually a wonderful idea.

So does that mean we are?

Oh my god. I needed to stop thinking sometime last week.

Another knock echoes through the house, and I get up and open my door. “Can someone get that?”

Silence answers me.

“Mom? Sas?” Still nothing. “I guess I’ll do it,” I mutter, glancing in the bathroom mirror and wiping away the gray mascara smudges beneath my eyes. I lick my thumb and wipe again, going downstairs. A note is attached to the hallway mirror and I grab it.

Taken sas to nana’s for dinner. Tuna mac in the fridge if you want it. Mom x

“Nice to be invited,” I say under my breath, dropping it on the side table and opening the door. I freeze when my eyes collide with Aidan’s. “Oh. Um. Hi.”

He leans forward, grasping both sides of the doorframe, his wide shoulders and toned, muscular arms filling the small space easily. Shadows fall over his face as it moves closer to mine, and it’s almost as if his eyes darken. “You alone?”