By the time I get back to the room, Tessa is asleep on her side. Her hands are resting under her cheek, and her knees are tucked up against her body.

I flick the light off and set her water bottle on the nightstand before climbing into bed behind her. Her naked body is warm to my touch, and I can’t help but shiver as the tracing of my fingertips causes small goose bumps to rise on her skin. They comfort me, reminding me that my touch, even in her sleep, awakens something in her.

“Hey,” she whispers sleepily.

I jump slightly at her voice and nuzzle my head in her neck, pulling her closer to me. “We’re going to England next weekend,” I tell her.

She quickly turns her head to look behind her. The room is pretty dark, but there’s enough moonlight for me to see the shock on her face. “What?”

“England. Next weekend. You and me.”

“But—”

“No. You’re going. And I know you want to go, so don’t try to argue about it.”

“You don’t have—”

“Theresa. Let it go.” I press my hand over her mouth, and she uses her teeth to softly nip at the skin of my palm. “Are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet if I move my hand?” I tease her, thinking back to her earlier accusation that I was parenting her.

She nods her head, and I let her go. She lifts herself up onto her elbow and turns to face me. I can’t possibly hold a conversation with her when she’s naked and feisty.

“But I don’t have a passport!” she cries out, and I hide my smile. I knew she wasn’t done.

“It’s already in the works. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Theresa . . .”

“Two times in one minute? Uh-oh.” She grins.

“You’re never drinking champagne again.” I push her messy hair away from her eyes and trace the shape of her bottom lip with my thumb.

“You certainly weren’t complaining earlier when I was—”

I silence her drunken mouth by pressing my lips against hers. I love her so much, so fucking much that it frightens me to think about losing her.

Do I really want to mix her—my potential future, the only shot I have at a decent one—with my wicked past?

chapter

one hundred and eighteen

TESSA

When I wake up, Hardin isn’t draped over me, and the room is too bright even when I close my eyes again. Keeping them closed, I groan, “What time is it?”

My head is throbbing, and even though I know I’m lying down, my body feels like it’s swaying back and forth.

“Noon,” Hardin’s deep voice says from across the room.

“Noon! I missed my first two classes!” I try to sit up, but my head spins. I fall back onto the mattress with a whimper.

“You’re fine; go back to sleep.”

“No! I can’t miss any more classes, Hardin. I just started classes at this campus, and I can’t begin this way.” I begin to panic. “I’m going to be so behind.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Hardin says with a shrug, crossing the room to sit on the bed. “You probably already have the assignments completed anyway.”

He knows me too well. “That’s not the point. The point is that I missed the lecture, and it makes me look bad.”

“To whom?” Hardin asks. I know he is mocking me.

“To my professors, my classmates.”

“Tessa, I love you, but come on. Your classmates couldn’t give less of a fuck if you’re there or not. They probably didn’t even notice. Your professors, yeah, because you’re a suck-up and they like the ego boosts your fawning gives them. But your classmates don’t care, and if they do, then so what? Their opinion doesn’t fucking matter.”

“I guess.” I close my eyes and try to see his point. I hate being late, missing classes, sleeping until noon. “I’m not a suck-up,” I add.

“How are you feeling?” I feel the mattress shift, and when I open my eyes he’s lying next to me.

“Like I had too much to drink last night.” My skull is ready to explode.

“You certainly did.” He nods several times, very seriously. “How’s your ass feeling?” His hand grips my behind, and I wince.

“We didn’t . . .” I wasn’t that intoxicated . . . was I?

“No.” He chuckles, kneading the skin with his hand. His eyes meet mine. “Not yet.”

I gulp.

“Only if you want to. You’ve turned into a fucking vixen, so I assumed that would be next on your list.”

Me, a vixen?

“Don’t look so frightened, it was only a suggestion.” He smiles at me.

I can’t decide how I feel about doing that . . . and I certainly can’t keep up or process this type of conversation right now.

But my curiosity gets the best of me.

“Have you . . .” I don’t know how to ask the question—this is one of the few things we’ve never discussed; him saying dirty things about doing it to me in the heat of the moment doesn’t count. “Have you done that before?”

I search his face for the answer.

“No, actually, I haven’t.”

“Oh.” I’m too aware of his fingers tapping along the bare skin where the line of my panties would be, were I wearing any. The fact that Hardin has never experienced that before makes me want to do it, sort of.

“What are you thinking? I see those wheels turning.” He nudges my nose with his, and I smile under his stare.

“I like that you haven’t done . . . it before . . .”

“Why?” His brow raises, and I hide my face.

“I don’t know.” I’m suddenly shy. I don’t want to sound insecure or start a fight. I already have a hangover.

“Tell me,” he demands softly.

“I don’t know. It would just be nice to be your first for something.”

He lifts himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that you’ve done a lot of stuff . . . you know, sexually . . .” I quietly explain. “And I haven’t given you any new experiences.”

He eyes me carefully, as if he’s afraid to reply. “That’s not true.”

“It is, though.” I’m pouting again.

“Like hell it is. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” His voice is practically a growl, and he’s scowling deeply.

“Don’t snap at me—how do you think I feel that you haven’t been with only me?” I say. The reminder doesn’t come as often as it once did, but when it does, it stings terribly.

He winces and gently tugs at both of my arms to pull me to sit up next to him. “Come here.” I feel myself being lifted onto his lap; his half-naked body is warm and welcoming underneath my completely bare skin.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he says into my shoulder, making me shudder. “If you had been with anyone else, I wouldn’t be with you now.”

My head snaps back to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He kisses the curve of my shoulder.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.” I’m used to Hardin’s unfiltered mouth, but these words surprise me. He can’t mean them.

“I never claimed to be nice.”

I shift my body on his lap and ignore the groan deep in his throat. “You’re being serious?”

“Very.” He nods.

“So you’re telling me if I hadn’t been a virgin, you wouldn’t have dated me?” This topic isn’t one we typically discuss, and I’m nervous to find out where it will lead.

His eyes narrow as he regards my expression before muttering, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you recall, I didn’t really want to date you anyway.” He grins, but I scowl.

I press my feet to the floor to lift myself off of his lap, but he holds me in place. “Don’t pout,” he coaxes and attempts to press his lips against mine, but I quickly turn my head.

I glare at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have dated me, then.” I feel overly sensitive, and my feelings are hurt.

I add gasoline to the fire and wait for the explosion: “Maybe you should have just ended it after you won the bet.”

I stare into his green eyes, waiting for a reaction. Still, it doesn’t come. He throws his back in laughter, and my favorite sound fills the room.