“Didn’t think I’d mind being your whore?” Her eyes glisten with tears. “Didn’t think I’d mind you feeling me up while my sister wears your ring?”

“It’s not like that and you know it.” My jaw tightens. How dare she treat me like one of her as**ole ex-lovers when I’m talking about giving up everything for her?

“It’s not? Because that’s what it feels like, Will. My sister won’t f**k you so you came to me for a little something the first chance you got.”

I throw up my hands. My dick aches and she’s making me out to be trash when I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. “Krystal and I are broken,” I spit out between clenched teeth. “Broken because of how I feel about you.”

“I don’t care,” she hisses. “I don’t want you to touch me as long as your ring is on her finger.”

“That little detail never seemed to bother you with any of your other men.” The words are ugly and cruel. The second they’re out of my mouth, I regret them, and when she flinches, I hate myself for them.

“Men?” she says softly.

I wince. Jesus, I’m an asshole. “What happened when you were in high school,” I say slowly. “I know that wasn’t your fault.”

She crosses her arms and stares at me, eyes glistening as she waits for me to confess that I know more than she thought I did.

“But Maggie, you have to admit you have a pattern. The sheriff—”

“Fifteen, Will. I was fifteen.”

I nod, slowly. I’m in dangerous territory here and I know it. “You weren’t fifteen when you slept with Ethan Bauer,” I say softly, and at her sharp inhale I realize she thought it was a secret. She really believed no one knew she was f**king her married art professor, her mentor, for most of her sophomore year at Sinclair. “And now Asher.”

“What about Asher?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a no-good piece of shit that only wants one thing from you.”

“What?”

I don’t repeat myself. I can tell by the anger in her eyes that she heard me just fine.

“You don’t get to choose who I’m with, Will. You gave up that right when you shacked up with my sister.”

Anger pumps through me at that. Thick and pulsing and hot. “Don’t throw that in my face like I betrayed you. You called off our wedding, Maggie. You left town. What? Did you want me to run after you? Did you want me to beg for you to give us another chance? Because I tried, remember? I would have done whatever it took to keep you if I had thought it would work, but you shut me out. Stop making me out to be the villain. You left me.”

“I had my reasons,” she shouts.

“Yeah? Care to share those?” I wait for an answer I know she won’t give me, my heart pounding. When I speak again, I lower my voice. “You don’t have to be with me, but I’ll be f**king damned before I let you lump me in with all the other assholes you’ve been with.” I drag my hands through my hair. “Damn it, Maggie, why do you give so much to men like that?”

“Men like what?” Her arms are crossed tightly over her breasts, as if she has to protect herself from me. Me.

The notion is so absurd I almost laugh. I look her over—the thin tee, the short shorts, and for the hundredth time since she developed breasts, I wish I could mandate her wardrobe. I can’t stand the things men in this town think about her, but worse is the way she does everything in her power to perpetuate the reputation.

“Men. Like. What?” she spits.

“Men who want you as their f**k toy and nothing else.”

Chapter Eleven

Maggie

I am in hell.

Krystal and Will’s housewarming party is over the top. It features all the luxuries that most women only dream of having for their weddings, and only a very elite few enjoy for the sake of showing off their excessive wealth to anyone they can con into attending.

Everyone is dressed to impress, the silver is polished, and the conversation is delightfully polite.

Asher is the evening’s only saving grace and right now he’s off playing nice with Aunt Kathy who was, apparently, a big fan.

Lizzy and Hanna are keeping me company and not attempting to keep their greedy little eyes off my date. They both look stunning tonight, dressed in matching dark red dresses with halter necklines. They may not look like twins, but from time to time, they like to dress the part anyway.

Personally, I went for the strapless look. I like wearing dresses around Asher. I like the way he can’t keep his eyes off my legs. I can practically hear his thoughts as he talks himself out of dragging me to a dark corner to investigate what’s underneath. I wish he didn’t have such damn good self-control.

I peel the fondant icing off a piece of cake. “God, whatever happened to good, old-fashioned butter cream frosting?”

Lizzy snorts. “They got rid of it when cake stopped being about taste and started being about appearance.”

I hold a piece of yellow fondant against the flickering light of a candle. “It looks like plastic. I can’t eat anything that color.”

“Don’t talk to me about food to me,” Hanna grumbles. “I’m on a diet.”

I roll my eyes. “Why?”

“Three words,” she says. “Red. Leather. Pants.”

“The ones you wore to Melinda’s Halloween party two years ago?” I ask. “Are we talking about the ones so tight that I had to help you put them on and take it off?”

“I’m sorry. It sounds like I’m interrupting.” Asher grins at the girls as he settles into the seat next to me.

“Kinda,” I say, and at the same time Lizzy says, “Not at all.”

Asher looks at me expectantly. “Don’t let me interrupt. You were talking about peeling leather pants off each other?” He rests his chin on his hands. “Go on.”

Lizzy beams. “Asher Logan,” she says, offering her hand. “I’m Lizzy Thompson, and I hear you’re a little freaky.”

“Lizzy!” I swat her arm.

Asher quirks a brow. “I didn’t figure your sister for the type to kiss and tell.”

“I didn’t tell her about the kitchen,” I hiss.

“No, just about the night you met.” Lizzy wriggles her eyebrows. “But tell me about the kitchen.” She leans forward, leering just a little. “Please?”

Asher chuckles but my cheeks are an inferno of heat. Which is ridiculous because I’m not the type to be embarrassed about sex.

Hanna hums as she studies us, a crooked smile on her face. She tugs at Lizzy’s arm. “We’ll leave you two love birds alone for a bit.”

When they’re gone, I turn to Asher. He looks so damn sexy tonight. “You’re coming home with me to attempt to redeem this night, aren’t you?”

He grins at me. “I thought maybe we could make some coffee. You know, really talk and get to know each other.” He winks and I melt a little inside.

“Asher Logan, if you think I’m going to walk around in these heels all night and not get anything out of it, you are mistaken.”

He chuckles and kisses me on top of my head. “Maybe we can compromise.”

“If your idea of compromise involves a lot of na**d flesh, I’ll consider it.”

I don’t get to hear his reply because Will has made his way to us. “Thank you for coming tonight. I told Maggie she didn’t have to bring a date, but I suppose someone needs to keep her out of trouble.”

Asher nods but murmurs so only I can hear, “I was more interested in getting you into it.”

“Love the house,” I manage. “Congratulations.”

Will’s eyes soften as he looks at me, and something tugs in my chest. Regret? Longing? Anger?

Next to me, Asher stiffens. He’s too perceptive. As much as everyone else seems blind to it, he sees the way Will looks at me. Asher’s seen it from that first night, and now tension rolls off him in tangible waves.

“I hope you’re taking good care of Maggie,” Will tells him.

“Maggie’s not a child,” Asher says stiffly. “She doesn’t need to be taken care of.”

“Everyone needs someone to take care of them,” Will counters, eyes hard.

Asher folds his arms, refusing to take the bait.

After a couple of beats of awkward silence, Will says, “Let me know if I can get you anything.”

Asher’s jaw ticks, and we sit in silence for a minute after Will leaves us.

“I guess it’s still a little awkward,” I say.

“Because he still wants you.”

***

William

Asher’s hands are all over Maggie. In my house. He touches her at all times. A hand at the small of her back as they tour the house, his fingers laced through hers as they chat with guests by the bar, a finger along her jaw as he whispers something into her ear. And when they are pulled apart, it’s worse. The looks she casts him across the room are charged with sexual tension. Want, need, and something tender.

I need a drink.

A soft smile curves Lizzy’s lips. “I’ve never seen her so happy. They’re adorable together.”

I lean against the wall and watch the couple in question. I want that.

But even as I think it, I’m not sure which part I want. Do I want that easy chemistry between them? Do I wish that base attraction was part of my relationship with Krystal? Or do I want Maggie?

“Twenty says they sneak to the bathroom to do the dirty before the night’s through,” Lizzy says with a grin.

I force myself to return her smile. “That’s a sucker bet.”

“Maybe.” She studies them, sipping at her glass of wine. “But Maggie’s turning over a new leaf. I don’t think fast and furious bathroom f**king is part of the New Maggie plan.”

My silent questions are answered by the image that flashes fast and vivid through my mind. Maggie in the bathroom, her h*ps propped on the porcelain sink, her skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back as she bites back a moan, her lover’s fingers curling into her hips. But in my vision, they’re not Asher’s fingers. They’re mine. And it’s my name that slips from her lips as I press her up against the door and slide into her.

Fuck. What am I even doing?

Krystal comes into my line of vision and I feel like the piece of shit I am.

She’s been avoiding me. We don’t touch. We hardly talk.

If things hadn’t already been finished between us, the receipt I found in her drawer tonight would have been enough to end things.

When I meet her eyes, I realize for the first time that she already knows it’s over.

***

Maggie

I need some air, so I slip out the oversized French doors to the back of the house.

Just off the patio, lanterns line the cobblestone path to a lush garden. The thick air of Indiana summer weighs hot and heavy in my lungs.

I follow the path to a burbling fountain and find Will tucked in a corner, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Aren’t you going to go inside and mingle with your fiancée?” I ask softly, sinking into the wrought iron chair beside him.

“I needed a break from”—he waves a hand—“you know, everything.”

I nod because I do know, and the silence stretches between us, comfortable for the first time since I came back.

He takes a breath. “Have you ever told anyone about the baby?”

Oh, Will. And it hurts so much—the words, the memory. The hurt never goes away, but this moment wrenches it to the surface like someone tore off the bandage and dug dirty nails into my wound.

I blink at him, but I can only think of the morning after my miscarriage scare. The ER doctor had done an ultrasound and shown me the baby’s steadily beating heart. Sometimes this happens. A blood clot. Baby’s fine. No miscarriage. Just a clot in my uterus and enough blood to keep me terrified for weeks.

The next morning, I woke up and stared at my wedding dress, as if it could make everything okay. As if it could make the lie I told Will true. As if it could make the decision I had in front of me any easier.

“No, I haven’t.” I meet his eyes—blue, soft, a little haunted. “Have you?”

“I think about him,” he whispers.

Her, I think, and my heart breaks, shatters right there on the dregs of my own misery. He deserves to know the truth, but it would only hurt him more. “Me, too,” and it’s true. I think about her every day. “Asher…he also knows.”

Will’s brow wrinkles. “He does?”

“Yeah. He found me the day I went to the hospital.”

“Oh.” Hurt flashes in his eyes. “And you two have kept in touch?”

“No. I met him again at Krystal’s wedding. We just put two and two together last week.” Or Asher did. I didn’t remember him. That morning at the river, he’d been inconsequential. I’d been too focused on my own fear.

“Oh. Right.” He stares at the fountain. Thinking? Avoiding my gaze? I’m not sure. But then he says, “You know that I wasn’t just marrying you for the baby, right?”

I swallow back that thickness in my throat. We’d been together for barely three weeks when I told him I was pregnant. I never would have accepted his ring so young if I hadn’t been pregnant.

“I always wonder about that. If you understood how much I cared for you. If you just thought that you were saving me by ending it, leaving town.”

“It was for the best.”