“Are you?” I asked him.

“What?”

“Drunk?”

He shook his head slowly, sinking down to sit next to me. He leaned over, scenting my neck. We weren’t touching at all, but just the warmth of his breath on my skin almost killed me. I took another drink of my beer, slow and deliberate.

His eyes burned a hole right through me.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m not drunk.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” I asked softly. “Mine’s alcohol. Whatever I do tonight, I can blame the beer. What excuse should we use for you?”

Ruger reached over and took the bottle from my hand, setting it on the deck.

“No more tonight,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re done. We’re done. We’re not doing this. Got me?”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing myself to think past the buzz. I knew he was right. Noah needed us both, and we had enough trouble getting along already. I was going to be living in his basement, for God’s sake, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been clear—he wanted to fuck me. No heart, no flowers, no dates, and definitely no commitments. At least I wasn’t just a piece of furniture anymore.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?” he replied. I swallowed.

“Is this a new thing for you?”

“I don’t follow,” he said, glancing at me. His eyes pierced mine, the warm night air hanging heavy between us.

“Wanting me,” I said softly. “Is it a new thing for you? I mean, aside from … back then … I always assumed that was just a moment, you know? You always looked right through me.”

“It’s not a new thing.”

We sat together, neither moving, frogs chirping all around us. After a while he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, like he had in the car.

“You still sore?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I kinked it somehow last night while I was driving. Stupid.”

“Want me to rub it for you?” I asked him.

“No fuckin’ way you’re touching me,” he said. “We covered that already. I’m not drunk, Soph. I won’t fuck things up for Noah.”

“We’re not going to fuck up anything,” I told him. “I’m getting sober now, it’s okay. I took a massage class, though. I’m actually pretty good at it. Let me help you. You’ve done so much to help me, I feel like I owe you something.”

“Not a good idea.”

I rolled my eyes, and bumped his shoulder with mine.

“Chicken?” I asked, smiling at him.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” he muttered, but he didn’t protest when I crawled behind him. I ignored the screaming need between my legs as I knelt up and put my fingers on his shoulders. They were hard and strong, soft skin stretched over sleek muscles more than capable of supporting him while he pounded into my body.

Unfortunately, it was too dark for me to see much of his tattoos, which was a damned shame. Ruger wasn’t shy about taking off his shirt, but I never got close enough to really scope them out.

I dug my fingers in and he groaned, head dropping forward. He wasn’t kidding about being tight, either. Big knots snarled his neck and shoulders. After a few minutes of going at them with my fingers, I started using my elbows. Slowly I got his neck to relax and started moving down his back.

“Lay down on your stomach,” I told him, sliding off the side of the lounger behind him. I flattened it. He didn’t move.

“You really are chicken,” I murmured. “I’m just going to give you a back rub, Ruger. Enjoy it for what it is, okay?”

He grunted and rolled onto his stomach. I leaned over him and went to work. Some of the knots just wouldn’t give, so I decided to climb on top of him to get good leverage.

Was this stupid?

Of course. Did I care?

Not one drunken bit.

I straddled his butt, enjoying the feel of his hard body between my legs and his skin under my fingers. He smelled fresh and clean, but still utterly male. Drove me crazy. With every stroke of my hands I rode him, not getting quite enough stimulation to satisfy me, but enough that when I felt a light beading of sweat break out, it definitely wasn’t from the effort of giving the massage.

At first he tensed, but slowly he gave in to it, each muscle group relaxing in turn. Finally my hands were tired and we were both limp. I lay down across his back, taking in his scent, the warm summer breeze just enough to keep me from overheating.

“Soph …” he said, his voice a warning.

“Don’t, Ruger,” I whispered. “It doesn’t mean anything. Just let it be, all right?”

He sighed, and silence fell between us.

I was still frustrated, no question. But it was a strange, relaxed kind of sexual desire washing through me now. Night sounds surrounded us and I let myself enjoy the feel of Ruger’s body under mine, wishing I really could have a man like this—strong, steady, and capable of protecting me from anything.

If Ruger were mine, I’d be safe. Always.

“It’ll be okay, Sophie,” he murmured softly, sounding half asleep. “I promise.”

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t believe him. Instead I dozed off. The next thing I remembered was him lifting me and carrying me down to my bed.

Ruger was wrong. It wasn’t okay.

Things got weird.

So weird that he took off on me for nearly five days, leaving Sunday afternoon and not showing up again until Thursday. I had no idea where he went and didn’t ask him about it when he came back. But it had to get less uncomfortable, right? Because you can only be all tense and strange around each other for so long …

At least Noah started school without any problems, which didn’t really surprise me. He’d always been good at making new friends and tended to roll with whatever changes came along. Before Ruger left on his club run (I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what “runs” were, but apparently this one involved being gone for five days), he’d handed me some money and suggested I wait until the next week to start job hunting. He wanted to explore work options with the club, and also thought I should focus on helping Noah adjust to his new situation.

I’d love to say I’m such a strong, independent woman that I told him to butt out, but it was actually a huge relief. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a week off, and I loved it. I unpacked everything, sucked up the sun and got reacquainted with the area.

I also spent an afternoon with my old friend Kimber.

She invited me over for lunch on Tuesday. We’d stayed in touch through the years, and last summer I’d stayed with her and her new husband when we came to visit. Kimber had gone a little wild for a while after graduation. Then she met Ryan and settled down. He was some kind of software engineer and apparently did pretty well for himself, because she had one of those big houses popping up like mushrooms out on the Rathdrum Prairie. It was part of a development, not custom like Ruger’s, but twice the size and pretty impressive.

She also had a pool.

“You want a margarita?” she asked, opening the door in a bikini, a brightly colored wrap, and sunglasses that would’ve made Paris Hilton jealous. I smirked, because some things never change.

“This early?”

“It’s always happy hour when you have kids,” she replied, shrugging. “Either that or it’s sad hour, and that’s not half as much fun.”

We grinned at each other like total dorks.

“So, you want one or not?” she asked, dragging me through her grand entryway and down the hall to her kitchen. “Because I’m definitely having one. Ava was up all night teething. She finally fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. If I’m lucky, I have two hours before she’s up again. I need to make the most of it and pack in six weeks’ worth of social life before you go.”

“Okay,” I told her. “But just one. I have to drive and pick up Noah later. I take it you’re enjoying mommyhood?”

“Loving it,” she replied, pouring me a drink in a brightly colored martini glass with a flamingo-shaped stem. “I can’t believe how amazing Ava is. But it’s crazy, too. I had no idea how much work they could be—I still can’t believe you did this when you were seventeen. I couldn’t even find my keys half the time back then, let alone keep track of a baby.”