She stopped at the door, bending to pick up the sandals she kicked off. Her cotton shorts rode up her thigh, revealing the skin just below her hip. I gasped, but the sound must’ve been lost in whatever Erik was saying to her.

Bruises in an array of yellow and blue marred her skin. Some old. Some so fresh, so vibrantly purple, that I knew they had to have been created within the last twenty-four hours.

Debbie straightened, sandals dangling from the tips of her fingers. “I’m coming over now. I just need to get gas—I know you told me to get gas last night, but it was late . . .” She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Pressure clamped down on my chest as I watched her close the door behind her. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t erase what I saw or what it meant. All the bruises, a large cluster of blotches, were inflicted where they could not be normally seen.

They’d been hidden.

My shirt was already starting to cling to the middle of my back, and my right knee ached. The walk from history class in Whitehall all the way to music appreciation on west campus was truly a bitch in this heat. Even worse was the fact that if I wanted to eat anything, I would have to walk my happy ass back to east campus.

“You should’ve taken the bus,” Calla Fritz said, shifting her messenger-style book bag to the other shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to walk this far.”

“I’m okay.”

“My bullshit radar just went off.” Calla tugged her long, golden ponytail out from underneath the strap of her bag. I’d only met her last week when I started class. We shared history and music together, but in the short period of time, I discovered she was pretty blunt when she wanted to be.

Besides Debbie, she was probably my only friend. I didn’t count Avery because she was my brother’s girlfriend and had to like me. Mom had said right before I left for school that some of her longest-lasting friendships started her first year in college.

I didn’t think that was going to happen for me.

Even my friendship with Sadi, and we’d been dancing together since we were five, hadn’t lasted.

“You started limping by the time we reached the football field,” she added.

Sweat caused my sunglasses to slip on the bridge of my nose. Pushing them up, I smiled at her. Short and curvy, Calla Fritz reminded me of one of those ’50s pinup girls. The kind of girls who’d dance burlesque and make a lot of money doing it.

But, like me, Calla was far from perfect.

A raised scar covered her left cheek, from the corner of her lips to her ear. With makeup, it was a faint mark. I didn’t know how she got it and I didn’t ask. I figured it would be something she’d volunteer.

“I always limp,” I told her. Hiding my gimp leg was impossible with the nice bright pink cut decorating my kneecap. I would’ve preferred to hide it, but I couldn’t stand the heat of late August. “And I need the exercise.”

She snorted. “What the hell ever, my thighs need the exercise. You need a hamburger.”

“Have you seen my ass? It’s known a lot of hamburgers up close and personal. And it’s on speaking terms with french fries.”

“That’s okay. My thighs make out with milkshakes.”

I laughed and then sighed as we entered the tunnel that connected the two sides of the campus. Since it was underground and lit by track lighting, it was a good twenty degrees cooler.

“I wonder if anyone would notice if I just lay down in the middle of this?” Calla asked.

“Probably, but I’d be right there with you.”

Calla spent the rest of our trip bitching about the fact that she—a nursing major—had to take music appreciation. I didn’t blame her. It was an easy enough class, but not the most interesting. Our professor really didn’t apply himself. After all, almost everyone in the classroom was there because they had to be.

College was so strange. It was like high school with little to no parental influence. We still had to take classes we didn’t want to take, except we actually had to pay for them, which really kind of sucked ass.

The auditorium was half full, and we took our seats in the back. Sitting halfway down the aisle, I swallowed the groan of relief when I sat. My knee immediately thanked me. I popped my sunglasses up, cringing at the fine sheen of sweat dotting my forehead. Nothing like being a sweaty mess for class. I was so ready for fall.

“Wake me up about ten minutes till,” Calla said, sliding down in her seat. She kept her sunglasses on. “Because then I’ll feel like I attempted to pay attention.”

I grinned. “Will do.”

As the class filed in, I started thumbing through my notebook, searching for the section I’d been taking notes in last week. I didn’t realize anyone was heading for the unoccupied seat to my left until I heard the chair creak. I glanced over and my jaw dropped.

Jase Winstead was sprawled arrogantly in the seat beside me, long legs bent and both arms draped lazily over the back of the seats. Dressed in faded jeans and a shirt, he looked like he had every right to be there, especially with his backpack resting against one of his legs.

Except I couldn’t figure out why he was here.

A funny little half smile hitched up one corner of his lips. “Hi.”

I glanced around, making sure I was in the right class. Beside me, Calla stared at Jase as she removed her sunglasses. I was in the right place. “Hi.”

The smile spread about an inch. “You look surprised.”

“I am,” I said, snapping out of my stupor. “What are you doing here?”

He tapped a long finger off his notebook. “Had a meeting with my adviser last week to make sure I had all my credits. Turned out I still needed music appreciation, and this was the only class that wasn’t full. So I did a late add.”

Jase paused as his gaze slowly drifted over my face. His body was the epitome of relaxed, but there was an unnerving level of quiet intensity in his stare. “I was actually sitting in front of you. You didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

There was no way that Jase knew my schedule, and him being here had absolutely nothing to do with me or his late-night visit on Saturday. I totally knew that, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the bubbling of hope and excitement. “Well, that’s . . . um, that’s cool.”

The other side of Jase’s lips tipped up.

My cheeks heated as I hastily looked away. Okay. I could handle this. Jase and I had talked things over. We were cool. Everything was cool. We were friends. And the things he’d said and how he’d felt on top of me Saturday night didn’t matter. He had been drunk. Another mistake. I clung to that, because considering anything else was sure to bring on a world of hurting.

I peeked at him, stealing a sideways glance. His gaze was still fixed on my face, but slowly moved down to my lap. My right leg was stretched out, and the way I held my notebook did nothing to hide the length of the scar covering my knee. I felt the burn in my face deepen as I shifted my notebook to my right leg.

“The class is really boring,” Calla announced, shoving her hand over and drawing his attention away. “I’m Calla, by the way.”

He reached over with his left arm, shaking her hand as his gaze flickered across her face. His stare did not linger on her scar, and for that, he got bonus points when it came to compassion. “I’m—”

“Jase Winstead,” she said, sitting back. “I know you. Well, I don’t know you. I’ve heard of you.”

A faint pink stained the tops of his broad cheeks. Was he blushing? “You have?” he asked.

She nodded and a private, almost knowing smile formed on her lips. “I think every female on this campus has heard of you.”

I rolled my eyes.

He chuckled. “Ah, I see . . .”

“You do?” I arched a brow.

Focusing on the front of the auditorium as the professor strode in, Jase bit down on his lower lip. There was something boyish about the action, but in a strange way, also sensual. The muscles in my stomach tightened at the sudden image of him nipping down on my lower lip like he had on my neck. The skin there tingled as a reminder. An electric-like sensation shot through my veins at the memory of how he’d rocked his hips.