Hannah wasn’t the one. I am.

He stepped backward.

“I don’t want to hear it, Riley. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it. When you cool off, you’ll see that I’m right. In the morning, you’ll be relieved that we didn’t do this.”

“I bet,” she snapped. “You know, on the plus side, I’ll get a great story idea out of this. Female blue balls: a real thing!”

“Riley—it’s just sex. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to scratch the itch.”

Oh God.

She’d been wrong. Female blue balls were the least of her problems.

Being rejected by this man hurt.

She inhaled a deep breath through her nose to keep from responding. She knew he didn’t mean to be cruel, but his flippant dismissal of what had almost happened between them was the ultimate reminder that this was so much less to him than it was to her.

For him it was a failed attempt to defuse the simmering sexual tension between them. For her, it mattered. And not just because it would bump her sexual encounters out of the once-a-long-time-ago category.

It mattered because it was Sam.

And Sam mattered to her.

And his rejection was so much worse than she could have imagined.

A lump formed in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from begging him to stay. Or worse, from begging him to feel about her the way she did about him.

She wanted to be everything to him.

But the expression on his face fell somewhere between guilty and indifferent.

She took a long breath to steel herself. The physical rejection was bad enough. No way would she set herself up for emotional rejection too.

Riley lifted both hands up in surrender, giving a casual little shrug. “You know, you’re probably right. I am feeling a little, um … unfulfilled, but I guess that’s nothing another guy can’t take care of, right?”

His eyes turned stormy, and he took a step toward her before catching himself. Sam gave a curt nod. “Right. Well … good luck with your other options.”

“You too!” she said brightly. “Blue balls don’t become you.”

He glared at her before stomping toward the hotel room door. His hand paused on the doorknob, and he gave her one last look over his shoulder. “It was good though, wasn’t it? While it lasted.”

The lump in her throat doubled in size. “Yeah,” she whispered.

His eyes searched hers and for a heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to come back to her. To finish what he’d started.

Instead he turned away.

And then he was gone.

Chapter Ten

“Wait, so he just left? And you were naked?”

Riley snatched the wine bottle out of Emma’s hand and topped off her glass, even as she tried to ignore the pang at hearing the words out loud. “Not entirely naked,” she muttered. “I was still wearing my panties.”

“So you were basically naked,” Grace said, holding out her own wineglass.

“Were they ugly underwear? Maybe that was the problem,” Julie said, bringing over a salad bowl and sitting cross-legged on the floor on the other side of Grace’s coffee table.

“Yes, I’m sure granny panties were the problem,” Emma drawled. “It had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to hump one of her oldest friends, and that his mom almost had a heart attack.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Let’s get a few things straight,” Riley said, setting her glass on the table. “First of all, these were not granny panties. We’re talking itsy-bitsy black lace. Second, his mom is fine. Liam talked to him this morning, and she’s out of the hospital and back to normal, which as far as I can figure is still mean as sin. And third, I’m not really sure that friendship is what Sam and I have had going on all these years. It’s more like …”

“Sexual combustion?” Julie supplied.

“Yes, that,” Riley said, jabbing her finger at Julie. “And last … when I called an emergency girls’ night, whose idea was it to serve salad? How am I supposed to derive any comfort out of snow peas?”

“Calm down, Gigino’s delivery is on the way. The salad was meant to tide you over, because everyone knows how you get when you’re hungry,” Emma said, fishing a carrot out of the bowl and holding it expectantly in front of Riley’s face.

Dutifully Riley leaned forward and nipped the carrot out of her friend’s fingers. “Did you get the bolognese?”

“No, we wanted to watch you sulk all night,” Grace said, helping herself to a huge bowl of the salad. “Of course we got your calorie-bomb meaty pasta.”

Riley reclaimed her glass off the table and settled back into the couch. It wasn’t that she didn’t like vegetables. She just liked other stuff better. Like carbs. And fat. And stuff that didn’t taste like, well … healthy.

And a period of her life where her heart was halfway to broken was not the time to go all kale and quinoa.

“So talk us through what happened,” Julie said.

“I thought I did that on the phone.”

“No,” Julie said patiently. “What you said on the phone was, ‘Sam saw me na*ed and then I ate three servings of room service mac and cheese.’ ”

“And then you called me and told me you got cock-blocked by his mom, which I think we all agree is a phrase that should be banned,” Grace added.

Emma shook her head. “No, I win. She called me and asked how Alex Cassidy felt about Brazilian waxes, because she had recently gotten one and didn’t want all the pain to go to waste and thought he might be a viable candidate.”

Riley held up a finger. “Okay, on that last one, I didn’t mean it. I may have been more than halfway through a mediocre bottle of merlot by then. Even I know that the exes are off-limits.”

“So what did you tell her?” Julie asked, looking at Emma.

Emma looked a little discomfited to have the attention turned her way. “I told her to put either the phone or the bottle away before she made a drunk dial she’d come to regret.”

“No, I mean about Alex’s thoughts on lady grooming.”

Emma’s perfectly shaped eyebrows crept up. “You know, it’s been a few years since I’ve cared about Cassidy’s preferences for female pubic-hair arrangements.”

Grace winced. “When you put it that way, it sounds a bit like landscaping.”

“Hurts a hell of a lot more than landscaping,” Riley said as she began fishing the buttery croutons out of the salad bowl. “And I just want to point out that none of you were any help in any of those phone calls.”

Grace reached across the couch and patted Riley’s knee. “But we’re here now. Talk to us.”

Riley swirled her wine and stared into her glass as she contemplated exactly how much of her guts to spill. She knew they’d support her no matter what. That’s what girlfriends were for. And as much as she adored her sisters, it had always been Grace and Julie who knew exactly the right thing to say over the years, and Emma’s level head was the perfect complement to their little group.

But telling them about her sexual inexperience was tantamount to confessing that she’d been lying to them for years.

And yet the thought of continuing the lie was almost unbearably heavy.

“So you know the fiftieth-anniversary issue?” she began slowly. “The women behind the stories and all that.”

“We do,” Julie said patiently. “Being your colleagues and all.”

“Right, right. It’s just … I don’t have a story.”

“So? We have some time before we even need to turn in a draft.”

“No, it’s worse than that. I mean I don’t have a story. At all. No long-term relationships, no recent relationships, no interesting relationships … and considering that our section is relationships, I’m a little bit at a loss.”

The three other women exchanged a glance. “Well, sweetie,” Julie said, “I really hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t have to write about any sort of deep love relationship. You could stick with what you know, which is—”

“Sex?” Riley provided.

“Yes,” Julie said with a little sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to spell it out. “And there’s no shame in that. Just write what you always write, but give it a little personal spin. I mean, don’t sell out any of the guys by name or anything, but what if you did, like, the ten best sex tips you’ve learned over the years at Stiletto? Like personal favorites, or whatever.”

“Or you could write about which of your stories had the worst impact on your sex life—maybe like a failed research attempt or something. You could keep it funny instead of soul-baring.”

Riley pursed her lips. “All good ideas, except …”

They were hollow.

She was all for flippant and fun, but lately it hadn’t been enough. On quiet Thursday nights when you had a sore throat, fun didn’t bring you hot tea and tuck you in. Fun didn’t pet your hair after a bad dream.

Fun wouldn’t move Sam Compton out of his carefully constructed “friend zone.”

“Hold on a sec,” Emma said, raising a hand. “Can we do the work brainstorm later? I want to hear the good parts. Like how it came to be that yummy Sam Compton came to see you naked?”

“Almost naked.”

“But one doesn’t wear tiny black panties unless they’re meant to be seen.”

“Not entirely true,” Riley said, her hand going to her jeans. “See, I always—”

Grace grabbed her wrist. “I’m sure whatever’s covering your nether regions right now is stunning, but stay on topic. How was it that it was Sam who came to see your black panties?”

Riley took a big gulp of wine. “I propositioned him.”

She waited for the gasps of surprise and the ohmygodyoudidn’ts, but none were forthcoming. Riley glanced at her friends. “Nobody looks surprised.”

“Oh, we’re surprised. Surprised that it took this long.”

Riley slumped back against the couch. “It was that obvious?”

“The pure, undiluted sex vibes that always buzz around you two? Um, yeah,” Grace said. “And the longing?” she added more quietly. “We’ve seen that too.”

Riley glanced down quickly at her wineglass so her friends couldn’t see the dismay in her eyes. Were her feelings for Sam that noticeable?

And if so, was his lack of feelings for her obvious too?

“The only thing I don’t get is why now?” Julie asked, tapping a finger against her lip. “Why was this article the one that finally had you getting the courage to go after your guy?”

“Easy there, tiger,” Riley said, shooting a finger at Julie. “He’s not my guy.” Yet.

“Okay, still, why now? Why not put one of the more meaningless flings up for study in your article and figure this thing out with Sam off the record.”

“Says the woman who publicly announced to the world that she was in love with a boy.”

“You’re in love with Sam?” Emma asked.

Riley’s heart flipped.

“No! That’s not what I meant. It’s just … there isn’t any other guy I can write about.”

“Oh boy, she’s got it bad,” Grace said, topping off their wineglasses.

Riley took a deep breath. “No, I mean there literally isn’t any other guy. At all. Not now, not before …”

All three women froze.

“Explain,” Emma said slowly.

Riley swallowed. “Is the food here yet? Hasn’t it been a while?”

“It’s Saturday night. Be patient. Also, don’t change the subject. What do you mean there aren’t any other guys. What about previous partners?”

Riley stared at her wine.

Here we go.

“There are previous partners,” Julie said slowly.

“Sure!” Riley said brightly. “Only, you know … not plural.”

That last part came out in a mutter, but she knew from the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces that they’d heard her.

“You’ve only been with one guy?” Grace asked softly.

Riley’s head dipped forward until her chin rested on her chest. Guilty.

“Oh my God, Riley … Was it bad? Did he—”

“It wasn’t bad. I mean it was, but it wasn’t forced. It was just awkward and a little painful, and totally unsexy.”

“When?”

“College.”

“You haven’t had sex since college?” Julie exploded.

Grace sent her a warning look. “Which is fine, isn’t it, girls?”

“Definitely,” Emma said.

“Sure,” Julie said. “It’s just wow. Who was he?”

Riley shrugged. “Dan Bacher. We’d been dating for several months and were sort of serious, although it’s not like I was dropping hints on engagement rings or anything. We broke up shortly after the incident.”

Julie put a hand over her mouth to cover a horrified laugh. “That’s what you call it? The incident?”

Riley was given a brief reprieve by the doorbell, and the process of getting the food containers situated and plates passed around gave her a chance to catch her breath. And collect her thoughts.

But by the time they’d all resumed their spots around the coffee table, she was ready to tell them all of it. The whole sad, awkward story.

“Jake’s not, like, hiding in the bedroom, is he?” she asked Grace. “I don’t think I can quite handle a male audience for this.”

“Nope, he’s off at guys’ night. Whatever you want to tell us will end with the three of us.”

“And all of the Stiletto readers,” Emma said, deadpan.

Riley slowly chewed her pasta before speaking. “So you’re probably wondering why I never tried it again. After Dan, I mean.”

“A little,” Julie said, understating. “I mean it’s pretty common for the first time to be awkward, and hurt a little and all that. I mean … haven’t all of us written an article on that at some point?”

“It’s true,” Emma said. “My first was with a guy who was way older, and that should have made it less awkward, but he was all saggy in all the wrong spots—”

“Eew,” Grace said, cutting her off. “But yeah, mine was bad too. It was with Greg—”