I dropped my head and slowly stepped back, too ashamed to look at her. Why would she love me? I would never hold her above myself. I would never put her first. She deserved a man, not a scared kid in disguise.

I stared at the floor, anguish boiling under the surface of my skin as I blindly fastened my shorts and backed far away from her.

She straightened her back and turned around, her arms hanging limp at her side, but her shoulders squared and her stance strong. She was looking at me, but my eyes shifted, unable to reach her face.

Her pleated white skirt fell to her knees, and her white flats were planted on the floor, everything as still as a statue. Her sleeveless blue blouse hung off her arms in a mess, but her white bra sat against beautiful tanned skin that glistened with sweat.

That was my girl. Mine. And she was waiting for me to do something or say something, to be a man, and I couldn’t fucking find the balls to take her back.

I heard her swallow, the room was so silent, and I just stood there as she quietly buttoned up her blouse, tucked it in, and walked out of the room.

I ran my hand through my hair and for the first time in my life, I actually wanted to get drunk. I’d never sought escape like that.

I headed for the door, bending over to swipe up my T-shirt and throw it on as I made my way out of the building.

Home. I’d go home, get obliterated, and check out, because I had no fucking clue what I was going to do without her or what my next move was.

Climbing into the car, I twisted my fist around the steering wheel and slammed the door, thankful that the parking lot was still empty. Very few people ever saw me mad, and I liked it that way. It’s hard to anticipate what you don’t understand, and I liked to keep myself in check. Most of the time.

I turned the ignition and blasted the stereo, the car vibrating under me. I shifted into reverse and checked the rearview mirror.

And stopped.

I narrowed my eyes, seeing her marks on my neck—her bite marks.

I reached up, running my fingers over the deep abrasions, feeling the dips where her teeth and mouth had been. She hadn’t broken the skin, but it was bruised red and purple.

And I wanted to smile.

She’d bitten me.

My gutless, helpless wallflower was wild, after all.

Someday when she’d moved on, and she’d found another guy, I would be able to look at her and remember that she was almost mine.

I would be able to remember that while he slept with her every night, I had had her soft body—sweating and needy—in my arms, looking at me as if I were her angel.

I would remember that she loved me once.

I drove to the Black Debs shop and walked in the door, pulling off my shirt immediately. Sitting down in Aura’s empty chair, I waited for her to come over from her desk with her hands on her hips as Jay Gordon’s “Slept So Long” played in the background.

“Do you know what an appointment is?” she snarled. “Jared makes appointments.”

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees as I cocked my head, indicating the bite mark. “Tattoo it,” I said.

She pushed my head to the left and inspected the mark up close. Standing up, she looked at me as if I were crazy.

“You sure?” she asked, her lip arching up.

I nodded. “I want to remember.”

CHAPTER 27

JULIET

I jerked awake, yelping as my body vaulted up and down.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Madoc jumped on the bottom of the bed, sending me flopping. “I hope you’re naked!”

I scurried for the covers, bringing them up to my chin. “Madoc!” I screamed, covering my face with the sheet. I was in my pajama shorts and tank top, but still!

“Come on, Tiger,” Madoc taunted, still pouncing like a seven-year-old. “Time to stop snoring. Although it was supersexy.”

He was joking. I didn’t snore. Oh, God. Did I snore?

“Madoc, stop it!” I screamed, freaked-out by the half-naked man—someone else’s half-naked man—jumping on my bed.

He wore some Polo lounge pants—I could tell, because there were little polo players all over them. And no shirt. And he shouldn’t be in my room. His room. Fallon’s old room. My room!

“Fallon!” I called for his wife.

“Madoc!” I heard her shout, probably from their room across the hall. “Leave her alone!”

“What?” He acted innocent but kept jumping. “Two hot chicks under my roof. I have a big bed, and Freud says everyone is bisexual. I say you two take a shower. I watch. Win-win.”

I popped my head off the bed, fury burning my face. “Get. Off. The bed!” I bellowed from my gut.

“Whoa!” His eyes went wide, and he laughed as he dropped his whole body to lie beside me. “Is Satan your father or did he just raise you?”

I growled and threw the sheet over my face again. “I hate to complain, what with the free room and all, but …”

“Then don’t,” he said, brushing me off, pulling the sheet down. “Seriously, though. You have to get up. We’re having a party.”

“Huh?”

“Tate’s dad flew in this morning,” he started explaining. “His assignment is on break for a couple of weeks. And my dad and Jared’s mom will be in town for the weekend. Everyone’s kicking back,” he sighed, lying back and fixing his hands underneath his head. “We’re barbecueing and having a shitload of people over. We need someone to clear away the trash.”