Wait. What?! My eyes flew open just as he wiped a hand covered in batter across my face. “You son of a bitch!”

Kash laughed loudly and attempted to move some of the batter so it wasn’t in my eyes.

“I will end you,” I said, making him laugh harder. “I hate you.”

“Don’t lie, Sour Patch, you love me.”

He was joking, I knew he was joking—but my heart still took off at his assumption. Kash must have noticed the change somehow, because he immediately stopped laughing and his gray eyes turned silver.

“Rachel?”

“I, uh—we should clean this up.” I attempted to slide out from under him, but he kept his weight on me and brought his hand up to my cheek again. I stopped moving beneath him and locked up my body as his gaze held mine.

His silver eyes fell over my face as his head inched down, and in the torturous seconds where his lips hovered over mine again, I told myself a dozen times I needed to push him away.

But needing and wanting are two completely different things.

Kash closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine, and in that instant, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged and my body relaxed between him and the tile floor. He parted my mouth with his own and a soft whimper left me when our tongues met and moved against each other. Kissing my bottom lip softly, he pulled back a fraction of an inch to look into my eyes again and smiled before leaning back in.

The door burst open and we jolted away from each other as much as our positions allowed as Mason ran into the apartment, a loud war cry following him into my room, where it abruptly cut off.

Kash’s chest moved roughly as we both came back to reality, and after a heavy silence he turned his head and called out, “Mase?”

I blew out the breath I’d been holding and refused to look back up at Kash as I silently berated myself for my actions over the last few minutes. That wasn’t supposed to have happened, and it couldn’t happen again. We both knew that.

My inner scolding stopped abruptly when Mason slowly walked over to the kitchen with a Nerf gun in hand. In a black wife-beater and cargo pants, with a bandanna around his forehead . . . he almost looked like Rambo.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Kash asked as he cautiously lifted himself off me.

Mase looked down at himself, then back up. “I saw you coming in here on my way back from my run with your gun. I thought we were gonna have a Nerf fight.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Even with the tension coming from Kash and me, I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter until I was crying and snorting uncontrollably.

IT WAS NIGHTS like this I wished I didn’t have a job.

The bar had been slammed for the first half of my shift. Normally, I wouldn’t have complained; it made the shift go by faster and it meant more tips for me. But one of my tables during the rush was a couple with their toddler who thought it was hilarious to throw food off the table and at me, as well as continuously knock over her parents’ drinks. You’d think maybe they’d—I don’t know—move the drinks away from the baby. Or feed the baby rather than let her have her own plate right in front of her. Or maybe, just maybe, apologize for the fact that I was now covered in sour cream and refried beans instead of sitting there arguing with each other about who was better at playing Angry Birds. Just a thought, but what did I know? I was just the food-covered waitress with a smile on her face. That, added to the fact that Kash and I hadn’t mentioned our kiss once, and that Eve had decided to remind me of original sin by bringing me my monthly gift, and I now had cramps bad enough to bring Chuck Norris down . . . equaled one incredibly grumpy me.

I then began messing up orders and spilling drinks, and, in an attempt to save a woman’s white blouse, I tipped my tray back my way so a full bowl of salsa fell on me instead of her. I’m pretty sure my shirt had been craving salsa anyway.

The after-work rush had just begun to taper off when Kash pushed me down the hall toward the bathrooms and handed me a new work shirt.

“Go change, Rach.”

“What, you don’t like what I’m wearing now?” I laughed humorlessly and grabbed the shirt from him.

He smiled wickedly at me and leaned over so his lips were at my ear. “You look so . . . very . . .” His lips brushed my ear before he leaned back.

I cleared my throat and tried not to lean toward him. “I look what? Edible?” I asked, pointing at my newest addition to my shirt.

Sucking on the metal in his lip, he gave me a once-over, and when his eyes came back up to mine they were heated. Completely not fitting his next statement. “I was going to say disgusting. But sure, edible works too.”

“You’re such an asshole.” I smacked his arm and turned toward the bathroom.

He laughed and backed up in the direction of the dining area. “Cheer up, Sour Patch.”

Until I was home, in my pajamas, and had a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in front of me, that wasn’t likely to happen.

A part of me hated that he could so easily go back to how we’d been, without so much as a hint of what had happened that morning—but I knew that’s how it needed to be and was thankful that at least it hadn’t changed the friendship I’d come to love from him. I changed shirts, tried to wipe off as much as possible on my other shirt before throwing it in a to-go bag and putting it in my purse, and planted another fake smile on my face. I could get through the rest of the shift. Three more hours was nothing. Right? My cramps made their presence known and my back started aching.

I’d lied. Three hours would feel like forever.

Over two hours later, I’d successfully avoided spilling anything else on myself. And thank God there were no more evil food-throwing babies.

I was clearing some plates off a table when I heard the familiar strum of guitar chords. My heart clenched painfully as I slowly made my way to the kitchen. Tonight was another open-mic night, and while I enjoyed having live music playing throughout the bar and dining room, I didn’t usually pay that much attention to it. But there was no way to miss this song. The deep, husky voice began crooning through the speakers as I came back out of the kitchen empty-handed. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew that voice as I made my way to a spot where I could see the stage.

I rubbed a hand over my aching chest and stopped suddenly when I saw Kash sitting on the stool in front of the mic with a guitar in his hands. What was he doing? Since when did he play guitar and sing? And why this song? His eyes searched the dining area and landed on me just as he began the first chorus of “I’ll Be.” Tears pricked the back of my eyes and my entire body warmed under his intense stare as he continued through words that meant more to me than he could have known. Not once did he take his eyes from me, and my mind and heart fought over my conflicting feelings. Part of me wanted to yell that he was the guy I’d been waiting for. That I was in love with him and was done being only his friend. The other part wanted to know why he was torturing me with this song. With everything else that had happened tonight and the fourth anniversary of my parents’ death less than two months away, I wanted to run away from there, to curl in a ball and mourn what I had lost and would never have. I couldn’t call my mom and tell her I’d met a guy whose presence alone made me dizzy. Who sang to me the same song Dad had always sung to her. I couldn’t tell my parents that no matter how hard I fought my feelings and pushed Kash away, I knew I’d met the man I wanted to marry.

The haunting words drifted to an end, and soon the chords did too. When Kash was finished, he put the guitar on the stand and began walking in my direction. Throughout all of this, his eyes still hadn’t left mine. Before he could reach me, the bitter side of me won out and I turned on my heel and rushed back to my customers. I kept myself busy for the rest of the hour and whenever I had to go over to the bar, I made sure to go to Bryce’s side so I wouldn’t have to face Kash again.