I never took it any farther than that. I might have, though, if it had gone on longer. I don’t know. I was desperate. Scared. Colin came along at the right time and saved me.

I owe him everything. Yet I’m leaving him without an explanation. It’s bad enough that he watched me strip. Worse that he caught me in a car with a guy, though nothing had happened. That’s a moment we don’t talk about.

Letting my head fall back farther, I slump in the chair, thunking my skull against the wood once. Then I do it again. Maybe I can knock some sense into my stupid brain if I keep it up. Maybe I could work up the courage to actually talk to Colin again rather than avoid the real issues.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?”

Great. I close my eyes. If I can’t see him, then maybe he’s not really there, right? “Go away.”

He ignores my demand. “I’ve been looking for you.” Of course he has. He’s always looking for me. Then he never does anything once he has me. I’m the brave one all of a sudden, which blows my mind.

His voice is the stuff of dreams. Deep and melodic, full of promise even when he says something completely benign, like “Have a nice day.” Girls fall all over themselves to hear him utter those words. Any words.

“Maybe I don’t want to be found.” As in, catch a clue as to why I’m back here when no one else is.

“Fable’s worried that you’re mad at her.”

I’m so tempted to open my eyes at that remark, but I squeeze them closed. “She has reason to worry because she’s right. I’m totally mad at her.”

“Why?” He sounds shocked. After all, we’ve been great friends pretty much from the moment we met. People think we’re cute together, how in looks we are total opposites. I’m tall. She’s short. She’s blond. My hair is dark brown. We look sorta funny together and everyone eats it up, which is silly. This isn’t a sitcom. This is our life.

And right now, my life and everyone in it is irritating the crap out of me.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter. I’m sure that’s the last thing Colin wants to hear, but too bad. I’m not in the mood to share all my secrets with him. He’s always so damn close-lipped, so right back at him, you know?

“Well, I’m about to lock up.” He lets it go, which I appreciate. And it also drives me crazy. He would push, try and get more out of me, if he really cared. Right? “Everyone’s left.” He pauses and I wonder if he feels as wound up, as unsure, as I do. “You ready to go?”

I want to say no, but that’s so stupid. He’s my ride home. We live together. How else am I going to get to the house? Walk in the middle of the night? His neighborhood is pretty far from downtown and it would take forever to get there. Besides, who knows what sort of creeps I could encounter? In the middle of the night, the downtown area is crawling with them.

Not bothering with an answer, I stand and walk past Colin, going through the still open back door. He follows behind me without a word, his silence making me edgy so I decide to offer him the same treatment. Usually I’m the one who feels the need to fill the quiet. I’d rather talk about nothing than endure even a minute of uncomfortable silence.

Tonight, I’m too weary for even that.

Colin

She climbs into my BMW, the car I indulged in as my reward after I opened The District. It’s a sweet ride, but I rarely use it beyond the drive-to-work, drive-home route. How fucking boring am I?

Her scent fills the interior, sweet and sultry and so uniquely Jen, my entire body reacts the moment she’s inside. Her shoulder brushes mine as she locks in the seat belt, her hair snagging on my shirt for the briefest moment before she settles into her seat.

It’s the same ritual every day. I breathe deep when we’re on our way to work. And I breathe deep when we’re on our way home. Trying to calm my nerves, tell myself I don’t really want her.

More than anything, I’m trying to inhale her. As if I could lock in her scent and never, ever let it—or her—go.

I’m going to miss this. Miss her. For once I was brave, asking her to open up to me. There was a motive behind my request. I saw her earlier. The customer telling her he knew her from Gold Diggers, the pure panic that washed over her pretty face. I wish she’d told me about that. I should have pushed harder for the real answer when I asked what was wrong.

“Can I ask you a question?” she says out of the blue, her tone extremely neutral. Too neutral.

“Uh, go for it,” I answer, wondering where she’s going with this.

“Would you ever . . . let me borrow your car?” She’s trying her best to sound like it’s no big deal. I’m not buying it.

“Why do you ask?” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

“I don’t know. Just wondering.” She shrugs, which means there is way more motive behind it than she’s letting on.

“I seem to remember you being a shitty driver.” She’d wrecked her brother’s car when he taught her how to drive. He’d raged over that for weeks, if not months.

“If you’re talking about Danny’s stupid Bronco, then fine, yes. I suck. I’m a terrible driver.” She pauses for only a moment. “I was freaking fifteen, what do you expect?”

I chuckle, surprised I can still do it. Laugh. It’s been tense around here lately and I hate it. “He never let you live it down.”

“He probably still wouldn’t.” She clamps her lips shut, as if she doesn’t want to say anything else, and I remain quiet, not willing to talk anymore about Danny either.

It’s too damn painful.

Everything had been left hanging between my best friend and me. We’d argued about my not joining the military. I told him he was stupid to do it without me. I’d been so angry that he’d lost the chance to come with me and start a business together, I hadn’t even bothered to see him off when he left. Only after he was gone did I have the balls to email him and tell him I was sorry. We’d chatted, we’d emailed, but it had never been the same. In one of our last conversations, he made me swear to watch over his sister if anything happened to him. I promised I would.

Soon after, he was gone.

“You haven’t answered me.” Pausing, she worries her lip with her teeth. I’d really love to worry that sexy, pouty lip with my teeth. Shit. “Would you let me borrow your car?”

“Well, is it an emergency?”

“Um . . . sort of?” Now she sounds way too unsure for me to believe her.

“A planned emergency? Because there’s no such thing.” I slow and turn right onto the street that leads into my neighborhood, my gaze drifting across the rows of beautiful houses, the perfectly manicured lawns, the expensive cars sitting in the driveway or parked out front along the curb. I love this damn neighborhood. It’s one of the better ones in town and nothing like the place where I grew up.

This is the sort of neighborhood you see in commercials, on TV, in the movies. I used to live on a dirt road when I was a kid, my mom’s little house nothing more than a shack. The roof was full of leaks and the floor was all uneven, with creaky floorboards and torn linoleum, and the one bathroom was no bigger than a closet and had a shower, no tub. No real yard, freaking chickens wandering around among the dirt and the weeds, crapping wherever they wanted. The very definition of rustic. I’d hated it.

Got the hell away from it, too. Never went back, much to my mom’s irritation. Last time I talked to her, she accused me of behaving exactly like my father.

I could only silently agree. Then I immediately felt guilty and mailed her a check the next day. Put her in a new house too a few years ago, one she complains about frequently. She missed the old house, the one she grew up in, so it must have had sentimental value.

Personally, I wanted to mow it down with a giant tractor, but she wouldn’t let me. So it sits empty. Probably overrun with mice, squirrels, and raccoons by now.