“You’re so bad ass.”

“And sometimes, when I’m feeling really naughty, I watch Friends whileeating ice cream. Hashtag BOOM.”

“Ok, that’s reallyscary. And not in the way you think.”

We both break into an easy, unfiltered laugh that causes me to pull her closer, siphoning her warmth and goodness like a fiend. I know I should stop. I know that no matter how innocent I may try to make my actions appear, they are anything but. Yet I can’t stop. I can’t lose this now. I may never touch an angel ever again.

“So Justice, what’s your vice?” she asks, reaching for a handful of Sour Patch Kids. “And don’t you dare say something stupid and healthy like swimming or running, or I may have to reevaluate this friendship.”

“I don’t have one.”

She sits up and turns to face me, disbelief etched in her face. “I call bullshit! Everyone has a vice. Come on, what’s that one thing you gotta have? That one addiction that makes you psychotically happy? I promise I won’t judge. Unless it’s something weird like goat porn. Or Crocs.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, stifling a laugh.

“Oh my God, is it something weird? It’s goat porn, isn’t it? Or worse—Crocs! I bet you have a whole collection in different colors! Oh my-”

“I’m not into Crocs.”

“—and here I thought you were a normal-”

“Or any weird porn involving farm animals,” I say over her sugar-induced rambling.

“Then what? Spill it, Drake.”

I exhale and rub the back of my neck, trying to pacify her with an answer that doesn’t make me look like a total jackass.

Sex.

Money.

You.

Even thinking of her in the same conscious stream seems wrong, though it was both sex and money that brought her to me.

“Work,” I resolve.

“ Work?You’re addicted to work?”She throws a Sour Patch Kid at me, pegging me in my shoulder. “What kind of vice is that? Lame, dude. Lame.”

“Hey, not my fault I haven’t been corrupted by junk food and bad TV. And I like my work. It’s important to me.”

Ally twists her lips to one side, and her eyes narrow to small slits. “Ummm... You know what you do, right? You’re not curing cancer or creating calorie-free cookies.”

I lift a single brow. “But it’s still important. It brought you here, didn’t it?”

Her gaze falls, and I instantly feel like a tactless bastard for throwing her presence at Oasis in her face. I’m like a fish out of water…caring about people’s feelings, thinking about what passes my lips before I just blurt it out. This isn’t me. This isn’t the Justice Drake that people know and loathe. Yet, I don’t want to be any other way with Ally. I like who I am when she’s around. For once, I can just…breathe. I can just be.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you’re right,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re right. I am here. And I’m glad I came.”

“Why?” The question is out before I can stop it. It’s been eating away at me since the day she set fire to my deserted paradise.

She shakes her head again, casting her eyes down to the few sugary remains of candy. “I came because…because I thought it was what Evan wanted. I thought it would fix what was broken. But I soon realized that you can’t fix what’s beyond repair. What was never really meant to be in the first place.”

I don’t want to read too much into her words, but I can’t help that tiny inkling of hope that blooms in the space between my ribcage and my chest. That small space that beats in overtime whenever she smiles at me, all white teeth and soft, pink lips, like I’m the only one that can make her do that. Like I’m the only man in the world she’s reserved those smiles for.

It’s corny and sweet, and so unlike me in every way possible, but it’s the truth. And after years of lying to myself and everyone else, it’s a welcomed dilemma.

“And now?” I ask, causing her gaze to touch mine.

“Now?

“You said you were glad you came. Why? Why now?”

Scarlet kisses her cheeks and she grins, looking back down at her hands bashfully. “I’ve learned a lot. About myself and…sex. About what I like and what I want.” She sweeps her eyes back to mine and gives me a naughty smile. I don’t even think she knows it’s naughty. But the way I can feel it, right down to the tip of my dick … oh yeah, naughty as fuck. “I’ve never been outwardly sexual. Hell, usually I just use humor to mask my discomfort whenever the subject comes up. But now, I just feel more confident and free to explore this new side of me. And it’s pretty damn exciting. So even if this is all for nothing, and Evan and I can’t fix this… I’ll know better for next time.”

“Next time?”

“I’ll know how to be a better lover. I can be what men want.”

It takes every ounce of self-control and common sense not to grab her by her shoulders and shake the shit out of her, telling her that she iswhat men want. That she was perfectly designed to be a goddess to every man that she graces with her presence. There’s nothing wrong with her– not a damn thing. But how do I get her to see that– to believe that – without looking like a fraud? Or worse: showing her that I actually am one?

“You know that no matter how amazing you are in bed, Evan will always be Evan, right?” He’ll always be a spineless, cheating bastard.

She frowns, yet nods in agreement. “I know. I knew it the day I married him. Still…I thought marriage would change him. I thought I could change him.”

“Common misconception,” I remark, grabbing a Twizzler. I tap her nose with the tip of it in an attempt to lighten the mood. She takes the bait, snapping at it like a hungry piranha.

“I know, I know,” she says, chomping a mouthful of red licorice.

“And honestly, you shouldn’t have to. He should want to change…for you. Because you’re worth it.”

My eyes still pinned on hers, I slide the candy between my lips, touching my tongue to the same place that she just bit seconds ago. Her eyes watch the movement, studying my lips as they wrap around the thin, red vine. It’s like kissing her, tasting her. Feeding my addiction to her. It’s not nearly enough, yet so much more than I should have.

Cue the 1980s porn music and dim the lights, because under normal circumstances, this would be the point at which I’d tell a woman to lose the clothes and bury her face in my lap. But Ally is no ordinary woman. And married or not, I could never treat her like I’ve treated so many before her.

Ally’s face blooms red, and she turns back towards the television, nestling into the space– herspace – against my side.

“I take that back,” she says with a small yawn. “This one is my favorite.”

The episode has changed, but the gang is still in Bermuda. Monica gets Bo Derek braids and Ross hooks up with Joey’s girl, Charlie. Joey can’t even be truly upset because it makes sense. Ross is a better fit; he deserves her. He could never give Charlie what she wants. He could never truly fulfill her. He’s Joey… womanizing, simple-minded, irresponsible Joey. He’ll never change. They never do.

I PACE THE stage, waiting, watching the entrance like a hawk. I can feel my anxiety multiplying with every second, the remembrance of Ally’s warmth searing the side of my torso. I haven’t been able to feel anything else since she left my arms just as dawn lit the early Sunday morning sky, transforming it into a cotton candy canvas.

We fell asleep sometime after Rachel and Joey finally hooked up. Ally was curled against my side like a small, wild cat, her knees drawn up on the sofa. With her hand fisting my t-shirt, that fiery mane falling into her closed eyes, she snored softly against my chest, using my body as her personal, heated pillow. I woke up just as the sun peeked over the horizon, just in time to watch quiet, lazy sunlight dance across her face. Even with my eyes hazed in sleep, she was glorious. Pure and reborn into a new day with new possibilities. New opportunities to be beside her and let her warmth smother the consequences that rest just beyond those jagged hills at the edge of my oasis.