Josie crushed her mouth to his, finding purchase on his delicious bottom lip. He moaned against her mouth, only fueling the hunger that grew inside.

Unable to resist any longer, Tristan pulled her flush against his body. The way she molded to him, a perfect puzzle piece, told him this was right. They were a mess of roaming hands and lips, a dance of lust and claim-staking kisses. They were reunited after what seemed like a lifetime of purgatory, though the moment would be short-lived.

Tristan reluctantly pulled himself from her lips, willing his physical and emotional need to dissipate. Josie attempted to pull him closer, but he found the strength to resist.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, annoyed with his resistance.

“I mourned you,” he said.

“I’m not dead.”

“I didn’t believe you were dead at first. I begged my mom to take me to New York so that I could look for you. Well, until I found out there’re eight million people there.”

“You were a kid.”

Tristan shook his head.

“I was pissed at your dad. So mad that he took you away from me just for a better job. Now I wonder if that’s really why you left, if there wasn’t more to it. You broke my heart, McKenzi, and here you are. It’s just too much.”

She didn’t correct her name. Instead, Josie was silent as she tried to work out his declaration. Was she too much? She’d never been too much for anyone. She’d never even been enough.

“I loved you from the first time I saw you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss against her neck. “We were seven years old. Your hair was in braids. You were new to school and had nowhere to sit at lunch. You marched over and offered me your pudding if I’d let you sit down.”

Josie blinked, trying to visualize the scene through his words. She’d never wished for her memory to come back, scared to tap into the darkness locked away. Now that she knew there was more than pain, she wished for the ability to reminisce.

“Did you let me sit down?” she asked.

“Hell, yes. It was chocolate pudding.”

He smiled at Josie, his green eyes bright as he tried to push the images from his head into hers. She started to return his smile before she caught herself and corrected it. Was this guy for real?

“No one falls in love when they’re seven,” she stated, dropping her hands from his body and taking a step away.

“‘The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end,’” Tristan quoted. “Of all the things I’ve ever been unsure of, my feelings for you were never questioned. It wasn’t puppy love or teenage infatuation, it was real. You loved me too, Mac.”

“My name is Josie.”

She took another step back, fearing the sudden shift in direction. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Lust, greed, hurt, pain, fear—these things she knew. She knew nothing of love.

Tristan had romantically loved only two people in all of his twenty-two years, and each of them had broken him in her own way. McKenzi had provided him an innocent beginning, paving the way for many of his firsts. Their relationship had been exciting and fun, built around a solid friendship. With her gone, he’d lost so much more than just a girlfriend. Fiona had destroyed him to the very core, crippling his trust and his future. Every rational fiber screamed at him to use caution, remain distant. Still, here he was professing his faith in love, surprising even himself.

Josie thought about what a contradiction Tristan was. His exterior was industrial-strength steel, designed to keep intruders out, but beneath that lay a kind and honest soul. She squeezed her arms tighter around her body, wondering if he could save her. Did she want to be saved?

“I’m not McKenzi. She’s dead.”

Josie needed to make this clear. She felt his curiosity, his adoration, for who she used to be. McKenzi once had him. Josie would never deserve him.

Tristan stepped toward her, cautiously closing the distance between them. He felt the warning in her words. He understood the significance of her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her fingers clawing at her ribs.

“But Josie’s not dead.” He spoke softly, placing his large palm over the left side of her chest. “Every second, your heart valves push blood through here and snap shut, creating a thump, thump.” He paused. “Thump, thump. You can hear it. It’s proof that you’re still alive.”

Josie sucked in a deep breath, her brain reeling from his words. Her eyes looked everywhere but at his face. She knew his sympathetic gaze would unravel every bit of her protective housing. After a few breaths of silence, she looked anyway.

The blue neon light from the bar’s sign reflected down the alley and across his face. His embellished skin glowed sapphire every other second, the blinking rhythm casting him as a saint, then a sinner. He was a beautiful stranger, fucking up her world.

“I can’t do this,” she said firmly, stepping back so that Tristan’s hand fell away. “My past is not even mine. I don’t want it.”

“That’s not true,” he challenged. “You sought me out, Josie. You found me. You followed me and watched me. You’re drawn to me just like I am to you. That’s why you’re here.”

She winced, feeling his words cut her with truth.

“No, I’m here because I want to fuck you.”

Tristan felt the weight of her audacious statement sitting heavy on his chest. If he had been a lesser man, she would have crushed him with those words. He recognized a defensive maneuver when he saw one.

He remained silent as she left him in the alley, alone with his thoughts, a littering of cigarette butts, and the fading click of her heels.

Josie capped the marker and leaned over to blow on the drawing. She watched closely as the ink soaked into the wood wall and dried to a matte finish. These things always gave her a sense of worth. They were the opposite of her, permanent and immortal.

She finished the last of her drink, waiting for the alcohol to deliver what she needed. It had been a mistake staying sober tonight. She had wanted to do it for Tristan, and to prove to herself that she could. But now she needed the pain washed away.

“Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” a man asked from the table next to hers.

Josie smiled and looked him over. He was moderately attractive, middle-aged, and married. The distinct tan line on his left hand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t care, though. He was the lucky guy tonight, his win concreted by the absence of tattoos and all-knowing green eyes.

“Hell, yeah, you can,” Josie answered, waving him over.

“You here alone?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.

She almost rolled her eyes at his clichéd pickup lines. This guy had been out of the game a very long time.

“Not anymore.”

Josie’s drink arrived and she downed it in one long swallow. The burn of the alcohol stoked her furious need to erase Tristan for good.

“So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

“Look, this is not an interview. My name is Josie and I’m a sure thing. You want to see me naked or not?”

A few minutes later, the waitress returned, only to find two empty chairs.

“Whaddya mean you’re not gonna to see him again?” Alex yelled, his voice three octaves higher than usual.

He tossed the bag of burgers and fries to her and sat on the edge of the sofa.

“Jo, he knew you back in New Orleans. Which means he knew your family, mami. You don’t gotta be best friends, but you gotta get some info. Then kick him to the curb.”

Alex knew he’d have to approach this carefully. He just didn’t understand her willingness to let go of this person who held so many answers.

“My past is better left in the past, Alex.”

Josie pulled the greasy food from the paper bag and threw a few fries into her mouth. She wanted to avoid this conversation altogether, but Alex had this inexplicable ability to pull information from her.