“Fine.” She huffs out a sigh, full of irritation. “I need a ride to Sacramento. Not that I can ask you for one because that would be beyond tacky. So I was hoping I could borrow your car for the day.”

She’s insane. Like I’d let her drive my car in an unfamiliar area. And her asking to borrow my car is tacky. I know where she’s coming from, but I want to hear her explain it. “Why can’t you ask me to drive you there?”

“Um, because I’m essentially ditching the home and the job you’ve so generously offered me for the great, wild unknown?” She laughs, sounding almost . . . manic.

Clearly, she’s stressed the fuck out. I’m ready to join her club.

“I’m still your friend, Jen. You’ve done so much for me. It’s the least I could do for you,” I say quietly as I turn onto my street.

More laughter comes from her, though there’s not much humor in the sound. “I’ve done so much for you? Who are you kidding? You sacrifice everything for me. Always. You’re my knight in shining armor, running to my rescue. What do I ever do for you?”

You’re just . . . there. Holding me in my bed when I wake up shaking and crying from my shitty nightmares. Never judging me, never asking too many questions. I wish I could tell you this. I wish I were brave enough to tell you how I really feel. More than anything, I wish I could tell you all my secrets.

I shake the words from my head. I can’t say them now. I can’t say them . . . ever.

“I’ll take you to Sacramento.” I hit the garage door opener as I pull into my driveway, easing into the garage and shutting off the engine like I do every other night.

But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, Jen’s looking at me as though I’ve lost my damn mind, those pretty dark eyes of hers eating me up. Probably wondering what the hell’s wrong with me.

I wonder what the hell’s wrong with me too.

“You shouldn’t.”

I turn to face her straight on, my gaze clashing with hers. “Why? What’s the big deal?”

She licks her lips, making them shiny and drawing my attention to them. Fuck it all, I want to kiss her. Forget the past, forget the present, forget the scary-as-hell future—I just want to lean over the center console and press my lips to hers. Steal her breath, steal her thoughts, steal her heart.

Like she’s done to me.

I don’t do any of that. I sit there calmly, my car keys in the palm of my hand, my body tense and ready for flight. She says the wrong thing and I’m outta there. She says the right thing and I’m jumping her in my car, in the garage, like a teenager trying to score before curfew’s up.

“The big deal is that the only reason I’m moving to Sacramento is because I want to escape you,” she admits softly. “This place, everything that’s happened here . . . the memories aren’t good, Colin. I can’t stay. It hurts too much.”

Her words slice my heart in two, not that they’re unexpected. After seeing the way she looked when the man asked her if she’d worked at Gold Diggers, I think I know why she wants out of here. Away from this town, away from me.

So I do what I predicted. I get the hell outta there, leaving her alone in the car, in the garage.

While I barricade myself in my room.

Colin

I can hear the music playing from within the large, nondescript building. It’s loud, with a throbbing beat. As I draw closer to the entrance, the enthusiastic yells coming from the men inside are hard to ignore.

Whoever’s on the stage must be putting on quite the show.

Entering the building, I pay the cover fee and walk inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The music has stopped and the stage is dark, the men quiet as they wait anxiously at their tables.

I sit at one, ordering a beer when the cocktail waitress approaches. She flashes me a sultry smile, her blond hair cascading down her front, though not disguising her ample breasts on display.

She doesn’t interest me. I’m too caught up looking for the girl I lost track of. The girl I disappointed.

A single spotlight suddenly shines on the stage and the curtains part, revealing a woman straddling the back of a chair, long, bare legs spread, feet clad in stiletto sandals. Her head is bent forward, her dark hair falling over her face, concealing her identity.

Recognition rises within me, making my spine tingle. I know who she is.

The music starts, slow and sensual, and she grips the chair back, tossing her head around, her long, dark hair flying. She stands, kicking the chair away with a thrust of one sexy leg, and the men start to cheer as she struts out onto the catwalk, a saucy smile curving her ruby-red lips.

Jealousy flares and I rest my clenched fists on top of the table, overcome with a wave of possessiveness. That’s my Jenny up on that stage, wearing a fucking G-string and a bikini top that barely covers her breasts. I’ve never seen her like this. Moving to the beat as if she was born to dance, her hips shimmying, her arms above her head, fingers running through her hair. She’s pure seduction and I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched in the gut.

The men around me yell and whistle, chanting her name. They call her Janey, and relief fills me that at least she withheld her true identity from the crowds of strange men who come to watch her dance on a nightly basis.

I know who she is. I know the real Jennifer. Or at least . . . I thought I did.

The music ends quickly and I stand, making my way to the door that leads backstage. A bouncer stops me. The guy is huge and broad, with arms as big as my goddamn head, and I try to push past him. Tell him that I’m Janey/Jenny’s brother.

He doesn’t believe me and sends me packing.

I linger. I search. I ask questions. But I don’t see her. No one knows her. They’re all lying, protecting her, from what I don’t understand. Frustrated, I leave the parking lot. I notice a lone car parked away from the others, the windows steamed, the vehicle rocking slightly from whoever’s moving around inside it.

Like a man possessed I run toward it, yanking open the driver’s-side door to find Jenny inside with a man. A strange man who has his hand on her breast and her hand is on his crotch. I don’t fucking know what’s happening, but next thing I know I reach inside and yank her out. Toss her over my shoulder and carry her to my car, ignoring her protests, wincing against the punches her hands are pounding against my back.

“Put me down! Go away, Colin! I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you!”

She’s angry, but I don’t care. I’m angrier. Disappointed. In both her and myself. What is she doing? It’s bad enough she strips on a stage every night. Why the hell was she in that man’s car, letting him touch her like that?

I don’t want to know. I’m in fucking denial.

It’s easier that way.

I sit straight up in bed, my body covered in sweat, my head roaring, the blood rushing in my ears, drowning out all other sounds and thoughts. Thrusting my hand through my hair, I grab my cell phone and check the time, see that it’s just past three in the morning.

A shudder runs through me and I flop back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. For once, there’s no Jen in my bed to offer me comfort, holding me in her arms after my nightmare.

Fuck. That one had been a doozy.

Rarely do I dream about Jen, and I figure that’s because she’s such a part of my day-to-day life, I don’t need to see her in my dreams. Well, I have the occasional sweaty sex dream, where I imagine her naked and me thrusting deep inside her welcoming body. Unfortunately, that particularly fantasy is all too rare.

This last nightmare scared the hell out of me. Finding her in the car, her hand on the guy, him groping her . . .