“You’re insane, woman.”

She grunted some form of agreement. “But you’re finished. You’re fully moved in.”

“I’m gonna kill Mason for not helping.”

“Yeah, well . . . I’m used to this by now.”

I rolled over so I could look at her. God, this girl was all long, tan legs. Thank God she’d still been in her pajamas when they locked her out. I’d had the best view all day. “Used to helping random guys pick out everything for their apartment?”

She laughed softly and rolled her head like she was trying to relieve the tension in her neck. I wanted to help with that, but I was pretty sure friends didn’t do that. Or if they did they didn’t think about following it by tracing the curve of her neck with their mouth. “No, I mean I’m used to being kicked out. I thought it would be different once we got our apartment, since I could just go into my room. But she still fully kicks me out whenever she’s hooking up with someone.”

My brow wrinkled. “You’re serious?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you get kicked out a lot?” She didn’t answer; she just turned to look at me with raised eyebrows. I’ll take that as a yes. “Where do you go?”

“I’ve become really close with the baristas at one of the twenty-four-hour Starbucks.”

What in the actual fuck? And Candice was supposed to be her best friend? She and Mason had been locked in the apartment for almost twelve hours. “And do you do the same?”

Judging by her wide blue eyes, my gruff tone surprised both of us. I hadn’t meant to ask. I didn’t really want to know if Rachel was like Candice, but something in me needed to know. From Candice’s drunk rambling the night before, I knew Rachel was single, but that didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.

“I’m sorry . . . what?”

I tried to smirk at her, but I’m positive it came off as more of a scowl. “Do you kick Candice out too?”

She fidgeted and broke eye contact with me. “There’s never a need to.”

Never as in she’s never? Or never as in—not in a while? Before I could say anything else, she sat up and cleared her throat.

“Tell me, Kash. What is it you and Mason do?”

And so it begins. I got comfortable and flashed her a lazy smile. “We just got here yesterday. You gonna give us some time to try and find something?”

“How old are you?”

“Are we playing twenty questions now, sweetheart?”

Her eyes narrowed and she continued to stare at me.

“I’m twenty-five. You?”

“Twenty-one.” She shook her head dismissively. “But that’s beside the point. You’re twenty-five, and I’m guessing Mason is around the same age?” When I nodded she continued. “And sorry for being nosy, but since I happened to be with you all day, I also saw how much you spent on setting up your new apartment. I know you didn’t move here for a job, but I figured if you have that much just to blow on furniture and such, you must’ve had a pretty cushy job in Bullshit, Texas.”

“Cushy is about the exact opposite of what we had. As for the money? We have rich parents.” Well, technically that was true. But still, I hadn’t lived off my parents’ money since I was seventeen. “And you really have an issue with where I’m from, don’t you?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“So now I’m lying? Why is it so hard to believe I’m from East Texas? Maybe I just don’t want you to know which town because I like to keep my life private.”

“Maybe because you don’t sound like you’re from Texas.” She shrugged, but her stare was still full of a challenge. “Like, at all. Neither does Mason.”

“So, you’re saying . . .” I rolled off the couch and took the few steps toward her. If she wanted me to sound like I was from Texas, then I was about to sound like I was from motherfucking Texas. “. . . if I had a drawl, you’d believe me?” Her breath hitched when I leaned over her body and put my hands on the couch on either side of her head. Our faces were just inches apart and I swear I almost groaned when she quickly licked her lips. Leaning in so my lips brushed her ear, I spoke soft and low. And yeah, with a fucking drawl. “Just say the word, darlin’. I’ll talk however you want me to.”

Rachel shivered beneath me and I’m almost positive I stopped breathing for a few seconds. Her cheek brushed against mine as she turned into me, and I moved so our lips were centimeters apart. Her blue eyes were hooded as they searched mine, and I took the rapid rise and fall of her chest as a sign that she wanted this just as much as I did. My nose brushed hers and as I leaned closer to press my lips to hers, the door burst open and Rachel’s hands shot out to push against my chest.

“Oh, well if I wasn’t gone long enough, I can come back.” Mason laughed loudly and Rachel slipped out from under my arm and took off for the door. Without a glance at either of us, she rushed out and over to her own apartment. “Jesus, Kash. You kiss that bad?”

I was still leaning against the couch. My eyes had been wide with confusion but were now narrowed at Mason’s words. “Shut up, man. I didn’t even touch her.”

“Well you did something. She took off like she couldn’t get away from you fast enough.”

“I said shut the fuck up,” I growled, and sank back onto the couch I’d originally been on. What the hell had just happened? She had turned her head toward me, she’d wanted something; the look in her eyes had said it all.

Even with the friends-only talk we’d had that morning, something had changed between us as the day had gone on. Yeah, the shopping had been exhausting, but doing it with Rachel had made it entertaining. Her shield had been gone, and the girl underneath it was nothing less than incredible. She was still a smart-ass, but she was funny and sweet. And sexy—God, she was so damn sexy, and I was positive she didn’t have a clue. More than anything, Rachel didn’t try to impress me. She was who she was and didn’t care how that came across to others.

I’d been thinking there was no way I could go day in and day out with this girl and not have her be mine. But after what had just happened, I was pretty sure I’d caused her shield to go back up.

“Wow, you guys did a great job today.” Mason’s words broke through my thoughts and I looked around the living room.

“Yeah, no thanks to you.”

“I trusted you to get good shit. And this TV . . . mmm. Sixty-inch? I’m so proud. I’ve taught you well.”

I rolled my eyes. “You really thought I’d get a shitty TV? Do you not know me at all?”

He shrugged and clapped his hands together once. “Well, since there’s nothing for me to do here”—I narrowed my eyes at him—“we’re gonna have pizza with the girls. So let’s go.”

“Rach and I went and got food today, we can make something for all of us.”

“Aww, you guys went grocery shopping too? So cute.”

I threw a pillow at him; he caught it easily and launched it back at me.

“I already ordered the pizza. Let’s go.”

“I’ll meet you over there. I need a shower.” A very cold shower.

5

Rachel

DRAINING THE REST of my lukewarm tea, I rinsed out the mug and was about to put it in the dishwasher when there was a knock on the door. I quickly thought about the day and looked over at the clock on the microwave. Was it sad that this was only the third Thursday since we’d moved in, and I already knew it would be Mrs. Adams? I set the mug down and made my way over to the door. When I opened it I saw a frazzled-looking Mrs. Adams standing there worrying her hands.

“Oh, Rachel dear! Thank heavens you’re here! All my babies, they’re gone. I need your help finding them, please come help me!” Without another word directed toward me, she began calling for Snickers and searching for her cats.

Mrs. Adams was the definition of a crazy cat lady. She was in her seventies, her husband had died ten years ago—as I’d come to find out from the son who brought her groceries three times a week and had seen me helping her the previous week—and she had absolutely no cats. She just thought she had them. When in reality, all of her cats were a bunch of stuffed animals, or pillows and blankets with pictures of cute little fur-balls on them. I never saw her unless it was a Thursday, and the first time she’d told me all her cats had escaped, I’d felt bad for the poor woman. That is, until I finally got an emotional Mrs. Adams back into her apartment and she began clinging to her stuffed animals, begging them never to leave her again. I’d left quickly after that, and when she’d shown up crying at half past eight again last week, claiming all her cats had run away again, I’d decided she needed someone to believe her for her five minutes of weekly crazy.