His friends, neither of whom looked as though they had bothered with a shower that day, grabbed stools from the island and brought them into the living room. Each guy pulled out a bottle of beer and popped the top, tossing the discarded caps onto the table.

Renee looked flustered and not in the least bit happy to see her boyfriend. But of course she didn’t say anything. She let him take over her space, dictate her time, and decide what she would be doing with her Saturday evening.

I stood there, my mouth slightly agape, hardly able to believe the size of the balls this dude had—balls I’d be more than happy to remove with a butter knife.

“Get your feet off the table,” I told him, my voice low. Devon barely looked in my direction. At one time I may have understood why Renee turned herself inside out over him. He was good looking in an I-try-really-hard-to-look-this-badass way. But I knew that his attitude, his entire persona, was about as fake as the leather of his jacket.

And despite the image he seemed to try to project, I was becoming all too aware of the person he really was beneath the surface.

Devon Keeton was the type of guy who needed to treat his girlfriend like shit because his dick was ten sizes too small. He was the guy who’d wet his pants if confronted by someone bigger than him but would then turn around and kick a dog, just because he could.

I watched as Devon continued to take over the apartment, his friends opening bags of chips and dumping crumbs on the floor. Renee seemed to shrink in on herself, her eyes becoming hollow.

Maybe it was the sight of my friend losing a part of herself that had me ready to explode. Or maybe it was watching Devon and his friends disrespect our home. Or perhaps it was the increasing amount of food debris collecting on my spotless floors.

Whatever it was, it flipped a switch inside me, and I knew if I stayed there a moment longer, I wouldn’t be able to stay silent. I wouldn’t be able to mutely watch my best friend be bulldozed by her jerk of a boyfriend.

I looked over at Renee, her eyes staring straight ahead. I felt angry and sad and a deep, gut-wrenching disappointment at her inability to stand up for herself.

I couldn’t stomach being there anymore. I grabbed my coat and purse and slammed out of the apartment, the sound of Devon’s and his friends’ laughter ringing in my ears.

I walked out into the cold winter air and wished I’d remembered to bring my gloves, which I’d left behind in my haste to leave. I shoved my hands into my pockets and hunched my shoulders up to try to shield myself from the wind.

It was already dark, and I wished I were back home, snuggled up in bed instead of outside in the freezing cold, pissed off. This was hibernation weather, and right now that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Between my less-than-professional feelings for Maxx and the fucked-up dynamic between myself and my best friend, the thought of sleeping for a few months sounded extremely appealing.

I found myself walking back toward campus, having no other destination in mind and no other friends to call.

I suppose I could blame Jayme’s death for my reluctance to reach out and make new friends, except for Renee and Brooks. Losing her had been traumatic in the worst way possible. But the honest truth was I had never been the sort of person to seek friends. I had a few people I hung out with in high school, but they were the type of friends it had been easy to lose touch with after I had moved away.

Sheesh, this amount of personal reflection was giving me a headache.

“Whoever pissed in your cornflakes had better watch out,” a voice called from behind me. I hadn’t realized I was already on campus. I was on the sidewalk just behind the library.

As the figure came out of the shadows, I was hit by a déjà vu so strong it had me taking a step back. The wide shoulders, the unrecognizable face. My mind immediately jumped to the guy from Compulsion.

But this wasn’t a stranger.

Maxx’s swagger was as confident as ever, his smirk firmly in place. He wore an old gray hoodie splattered with paint. His movements were sluggish, and I wondered if he was on something. I hoped not, for his sake. That would land him in the violating-his-probation kind of trouble.

“Did you take a dip in a bucket of paint?” I asked sharply, unable to alter the nasty tone in my voice.

Maxx looked down at his hoodie and shrugged. “Community-service stuff,” he explained, and I felt like a bit of an asshole.

“Why so angry, Aubrey? You look ready to kill someone,” Maxx observed, leaning against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, looking blasé.

“If you’re just going to vomit up more crappy come-ons, please find another girl who’s more receptive to your witty personality. I’m honestly not in the mood to fend off your pickup lines,” I responded peevishly.

Maxx looked taken aback. He blinked a few times, opening and closing his mouth as though he were trying to think of something to say. I tried to suppress the grin that threatened to give me away.

“What? Nothing to say?” I asked, lobbing my own sarcastic teasing.

Maxx chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. His smirk transformed into a genuine smile. It lit up his face and took my breath away.

“You wanna hang out?” he asked. It was obvious he hadn’t planned on asking me that, and somehow the spontaneity of the offer made it extremely appealing.

“I don’t know if that would be appropriate,” I stated, trying to regain some common sense, something I was sorely lacking when it came to Maxx Demelo.

Maxx snorted. “What’s inappropriate about it? We’re not in group right now. You’re a student. I’m a student. We’re just two students wanting to hang out. What’s the harm?” he asked innocently.

Innocent, my ass.

I cocked my eyebrow at him and leveled him with my best who-the-hell-are-you-kidding look. Maxx bit on his bottom lip to keep from laughing. His blue eyes, while red-rimmed and tired, sparkled with excitement.

I couldn’t deny that I wanted to spend time with him, that I was intrigued by him. And for some crazy reason, my internal warning bells weren’t screaming as loudly as they normally did.

“Come on.” Maxx inclined his head in the direction of the sidewalk, lighting up a cigarette as he went.

Fresh out of arguments and more than a little tired of creating them, I fell into step beside him, waving smoke out of my face.

“Do you have to smoke? Some of us have a good relationship with our lungs,” I snipped.

Maxx took a last drag and dropped it on the ground. “No smoking. Got it,” he said, surprisingly seriously.

“So you’re not going to tell me why you’re in such a shitty mood?” Maxx asked as we walked.

“Roommate drama,” I said.

“Did she steal your Crimson Splash nail polish again?” he joked, and I snorted.

“Do I look like the sort of girl to wage war over makeup?” I scoffed, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what sort of girl he considered me to be.

“You look like the kind of girl who doesn’t take a whole lot of bullshit,” Maxx said, bestowing an unexpected compliment. I arched my eyebrow.

“You see right through me, huh?” I replied blandly. Maxx chuckled.

“Never an inch,” he said under his breath, though just loud enough for me to hear him. I couldn’t help but smile. There was something about being with him that was both comfortable and unexpected. He kept me on my toes, but there were times when our conversation was as easy and natural as breathing.

The dynamic we fell into seemed to pit anger and distrust against lust and longing. Frustration warred with contentment. Irritation and wariness were at odds with vulnerability and sincerity.

It made being around him exhausting, yet exhilarating at the same time. It was easy to see why people were drawn to him.