Any hope her amnesia story gave me deflates just like that. “Fuck.”

I hold her gaze for a minute, wishing her memories back. I need Hanna, my Hanna, whole, complete, and with her memories—if not for forever, then for the goodbye her injury stole from me.

I’m the one who looks away. “I’ve gotta get out of here, Han.”

“Please, tell me what happened. What did I do?” she whispers. “I don’t understand.”

I shrug, but I don’t look at her again. I can’t. It’s already too hard to breathe. “What’s there to understand? You’re wearing his ring.”

When I rejoin the party in the basement, Asher narrows his eyes at me then looks at the stairs and back to me. He must have seen Hanna follow me out. I just shrug and head to the bar.

I’ve been seeing Hanna for three months, and the only people who know about it are Hanna, my sister Janelle, and Jamaal. I was just the rebound guy, and she didn’t want anyone to know. I had no idea how much I could regret such a secret. Would she be engaged to Max now if he knew she spent her summer naked in hotel rooms with me?

I turn to the bar and reach for the tequila. I stop because it reminds me of Hanna. Of the first night we met and the day we made love. I snag a beer instead and lean against the wall to drink.

A clean-cut guy in a navy dress shirt sidles up to me. “I’m Sam, a friend of Asher’s,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers his hand. I shake it reluctantly. I’m really not in the mood. “Nate Crane.”

“See that blonde over there?” Sam says, nodding his head to the side.

Liz, Hanna’s twin, stands beside Maggie, sneaking glances at me and giggling. From the way she’s looking at me, it’s fair to say Hanna never told her about what is—was—between us. Never told her twin and best friend in the world. This should tell me something about just how much I meant to her.

“She’s got her eye on you,” Sam says. “But she’s mine. I just want that to be clear.”

I raise a brow. “Isn’t that hers to decide?”

Sam just grins. “Oh yeah, and she will. Don’t worry.”

I shrug. “No problem, man.” Not that I’d go near her anyway. Maybe some guys like that kind of revenge, and God knows that, if Hanna had her memories, nothing would hurt her more than my sleeping with her twin. But no matter how battered my heart, I’d sooner shoot off a testicle than hurt her like that.

Asher waves me back over to the stage, and I go reluctantly. Better if I don’t let on about my broken heart.

“How about this,” he says as I sit down.

I take the paper from his hands and study the lyrics. Then I grab the pencil and make some modifications. “I love it. Wanna try—” The words get lost because Hanna’s on the stairs again, her eyes locked with mine.

She turns around and jogs back up the stairs as if she can’t bear to be this close to me. When I look back to Asher, he’s watching me. He saw the way we were looking at each other. He knows me.

Pretending the silent exchange between Hanna and me didn’t just happen, I jot down the last line of the chorus and hand the paper to Asher.

He sighs. “Your lyrics suck today.”

“Thanks.”

His eyes go back to the stairs as if asking if Hanna’s the reason, but I play dumb.

I have to get away from this f**king party, from Asher’s knowing eyes asking questions I don’t have the right to answer. I head upstairs to call Janelle, but my phone isn’t in the basket where I left it. Before I can think where it might have gone, I spot Hanna on the patio, my phone in her hands, and I’m instantly moving in her direction. She’s staring at the screen, scrolling through something, and I hope to God it’s our text messages. I want her to see. I want her to remember.

Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are parted, and when she lifts her head, she pulls in this little gasp. It sounds so much like the noise she makes when I put my mouth between her legs that my f**king c**k goes hard.

“See anything good?” I ask.

Her pink cheeks turn crimson. “Why would I risk everything?”

Right. Losing Max is the risk. Fuck. Nothing changes. “You’d have to ask your fiancé.”

“You know why I can’t do that.” Standing, she pushes her chair back and lifts her chin. “I want to understand. I need you to talk to me.”

“No, I don’t.” Because she’s made her choice. What would come of rehashing our mistakes?

“You don’t understand what this is like. Not remembering? I’m planning a wedding to this man I’ve wanted most of my life. Don’t I owe it to him—don’t I owe it to myself—to have the truth out there before we promise until death do us part?”

Planning a wedding. The words are like red-hot ice picks in my chest.

“I just need answers,” she says. She steps closer, tempting me without knowing it. “I need the truth,” she whispers.

“The truth? Is that what you really want, angel?” Suddenly, I want to give it to her. I want to put my mouth against her ear and describe in outrageous detail all the things I did to her body. I want to slide my hand between her legs and prove she still wants me—even if she can’t remember.

I take another step closer, and when she turns away, I close the distance between us, trapping her between the house and my body as I lower my mouth to her ear.