I slip on my flip-flops and grab my hoodie from the hook by the door, then lead him outside. We walk for a bit without talking, just breathing in the cool, late-autumn air and trying to figure out where we fit with each other now. Or at least, that’s what I’m doing.

“I know we said it was just one night,” he begins.

I can’t handle hearing more, so I butt in before he can speak again. “No strings, no attachments, no expectations. You’re not here because you’ve changed your mind on me, are you?”

He stops walking and blinks at me. “I . . .” He shakes his head then swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “A friend gave me some news this morning, and I wondered if I could take you out. Talk to you about it.”

His tongue down her throat sure made it seem like she was more than a friend. “I’m kind of busy.” My heart trips on the tangle of emotions in my chest, but I’m determined to get through this with my pride intact. I’ve been rejected by Sam before. I can’t handle being rejected again. “No expectations, Sam. But that has to go both ways. I don’t want this to be all awkward now.”

He cocks his head, studying me. “You’re special, Rowdy. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t actually know that.”

Don’t do this. Don’t say nice things that make me want to love you. “I’m just a girl who needed a good lay. Thanks for that.”

He flinches. Sam Bradshaw actually flinches at my rough words. Inside, I’m flinching too. “I don’t even know what to make of you.”

I shrug. “Do you really need to know?” Oh, fuck. Tears burn the back of my throat and I can’t let them out. Not here while he can see. “Can you do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone about our little . . . indiscretion? I’d like to keep it our secret. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me.”

“Who would I tell?”

One more time with the plastic smile. This is it, I promise myself. Just one more minute smiling, and you’re out of here. “It was sweet of you to come by, but you don’t need to worry about me.”

I give a little wave, turn, and walk away, and I feel his eyes on me with every step.

“Rowdy,” he calls when I’m nearly to the door. I turn to face him but don’t trust myself to talk. He jogs to the porch and a takes a deep breath. “Her name’s Asia. I thought it was over, but things might get . . . serious.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I . . .” He shrugs. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“Good night, Sam.”

When I get back into the house, Hanna’s on the couch, her legs curled under her, her laptop perched on the coffee table. “Is Sam okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He just wanted to talk to me about Max.” Hanna’s whole body flinches at the mention of her unrequited love, and I hate myself a little more than usual for bringing up his name. “Nothing like that,” I say. “Just trying to get me to join the gym to support Max. As if, right?”

Hanna’s eyes go a little hazy, and I know I’ve thrown her off the trail of my troubles for a couple of minutes.

“I’m going to go finish painting.”

Back in my room, a four-by-four patch of pink wall stares at me. Suddenly, I regret everything—pretending I was okay with Sam, painting my room, going to his house last night . . . the whole damn weekend.

I rush to the bathroom and turn on the shower, wiping the tears from my face as fast as they fall. I’m not sure what makes me grab my phone, but I text Connor.

Her name’s Asia. That’s all I know.

Then I climb into the shower, lean against the wall, and let the hot spray wash away my foolish hopes and all my naïve beliefs that I might be something special to him.

Epilogue

Sam

Two Years Later…

Her date is at least fifteen years older than her and could probably find steady work as a stunt double for Smokey the Bear.

Not that I care. I definitely don’t care who Liz Thompson is sleeping with.

She laughs at something Smokey says and then excuses herself and heads to the restroom, her tight ass swinging with every step.

“You’re staring,” Max says.

I bring my attention back to my table and find William and Max both studying me. Max is smirking. Asshole. “I’m not staring at anything.”

“You were definitely staring,” Will says. “And before you were staring at her, you were giving her date the I’m-going-to-hang-you-by-your-balls-over-a-pit-of-vipers look.”

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Max says. “That’s a completely normal reaction to have when you catch someone out with your wife . . . but wait. She’s not your wife, is she? Or your girlfriend even? Huh.”

Will smirks. “Can’t tell by the way he’s looking at her.”

I lean back in the booth. “You’re both assholes.”

“You could just ask her out,” Max suggests.

“I’ll pass,” I say, but the words come out as a growl, revealing too much. I clear my throat. “Excuse me.”

I head back toward the bathrooms with a half-cocked plan to corner her and make her talk to me. But about what? We haven’t talked since last summer—out of respect for my sister Della, I’ve kept my distance. The last thing my pregnant sister needs is to see her big brother making nice with the woman who nearly tore her world apart.