If my father only knew . . .

On the other side of the dance floor, my dad catches my eye and nods toward Sabrina, who’s talking to my mom. Dad’s told me more than once that I need to dance with her tonight. “Shit,” I mutter.

“What?” Liz asks, following my gaze to the redhead across the room. “Who’s she? She looks familiar.”

“Her name’s Sabrina.”

“Fancy,” Liz says. “Let me guess, she’s not the kind of girl who has a nickname like Rowdy?”

Not at all. “She’s a friend of the family, and the governor’s daughter.”

She draws in her breath. “That’s why she looks familiar. Wow. They could be sisters. She looks so much like her mom.”

“Dad would like me to woo and wed her to make sure he gets Governor Guy’s endorsement when he runs for the position.”

“Your dad wants to be governor?”

“He’s been laying the groundwork for years. He’ll run at the end of Guy’s second term.”

“So you should probably go dance with her,” she says.

I let my hand drift to her ass, and when I squeeze, her big blue eyes get bigger. “Probably,” I admit. “But I’d rather dance with you.”

Ever since Asia surprised me at my house on Thursday night and dropped the bomb of all bombs, it’s been as if the world was trying to eat me alive. Right here, though, with Liz in my arms and her sweet perfume filling my head, I feel . . . safe. Bigger. Like I can face my demons and come out stronger. Maybe it’s because she’s petite or because she’s always been my little sister’s friend, but the way Liz looks at me makes me feel like a fucking gladiator.

“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugs. “I understand family stuff. Truly.”

I join my hands at the small of her back and pull her closer. “I’m not done with you.”

Sighing, she leans her head against my chest. “Best news I’ve heard all night.”

“You’ll be around when I’m done humoring my father and his dreams of arranged marriages?”

As she laughs, her teeth sink into her lower lip. She traces invisible patterns on my dress shirt, in no hurry to leave my arms, thank Christ.

“I used to work here when I was in high school,” she says out of nowhere. “I helped serve at wedding receptions and Christmas parties.”

“I bet you rocked the uniform.”

She grins. “You know it. Nothing as sexy as a girl in a bow tie.”

“You could pull it off. In fact, I’m picturing you in a bow tie right now.”

She pulls back to look at me. “Odd fantasy.”

“I didn’t say you were wearing anything else.”

She lowers her voice a fraction. “There’s a small conference room outside of the ballroom and to the right. Meet me there after your dance.”

Then she steps out of my arms and walks away, and I’m left watching the way her ass swings in her skirt and wondering just what she plans to do in that conference room.

Liz is sweet. I’ve had to remind myself of that fact since she was fifteen and staying over with Della. I’d come home long after everyone else went to sleep and find her lounging in the family room in a sleep shirt with no bra underneath. I’d find her watching me when she didn’t think I noticed. A couple of years later, I was at Notre Dame, and she showed up at a house party looking for trouble. She got drunk and threw herself at me, and I turned her away. Because she was seventeen and I was twenty. Because she was drunk and I was sober. Because she was a virgin and I had experiences most grown men only get to dream about.

Now the rules have changed. She’s not seventeen anymore. And she’s waiting for me in the conference room.

My imagination doesn’t get far before my father is standing in front of me with the governor’s daughter, his politician face firmly in place.

“Samuel, you remember Sabrina.”

“Of course.” Offering my hand, I go through the motions of the introduction and even dance with her, but my mind is on Liz, and I’m counting down the seconds until I can sneak out of here to meet her.

Chapter Three

Liz

Four Years Before . . .

There’s a party of epic proportions rumbling in Sam Bradshaw’s basement.

The room is packed—everyone dancing and talking at once. Everyone drunk. There’s a long wooden bar along the far wall where three girls in short shorts and heels are standing, dirty-dancing and grinding on each other. I’m so out of my depth.

I told my mom I was visiting a prospective college and drove to Notre Dame to see him at the house he rents with friends. This isn’t what I expected. I should’ve dragged Hanna or Maggie along. But I left them at home because I didn’t want them to stop me from what I’d planned—namely, seducing Sam and losing my virginity.

I’ve been searching for Sam in the crowd for half an hour, and with every minute that I don’t find him, the excitement that fueled my drive north leaks out of me. What if he’s back in New Hope for the weekend? Hell, what if he has a girlfriend?

I drain the rest of my drink—my third since I arrived, and whoever’s mixing them is making them strong.

“Hey, beautiful. Come dance.”

The request comes from a tall, dark-haired guy. Not over-the-top gorgeous but okay. Attractive on most scales, though only average to a girl who grew up with the Samuel Bradshaws of the world.