Lizzy waves her hands excitedly, urging me to share more. “So you met at the wedding. And then?”

“We talked, danced. We ran into each other after the reception was over.”

“Where? Did Maggie go out carousing?” Lizzy presses her palms into the table. “It’s finally happened. Hell froze over.”

I roll my eyes. “I hardly went out carousing. He caught me swimming in his pool and…things happened.”

Hanna wilts. “If you tell me you got to have hot pool sex with Asher ‘Sexier Than God’ Logan, I may never forgive you.”

“Right, but that’s just it. We didn’t have sex. We messed around, and then I took him back to my place for breakfast and took off my clothes.”

“And this is a problem because…?” Lizzy quirks a brow. “You’re not thinking of changing your naughty girl ways on us are you? Has Mom’s constant harassment finally broken you? Because, seriously, Maggie—if Asher Logan is in the picture, now is not the time.”

“No. He rejected me. Told me he wanted to get to know me.”

“Oh,” the girls chorus. Judging by the disappointment on their faces, you’d think they were the ones left high and dry.

“Yeah. What the hell?”

Lizzy throws back her head and laughs, a full-stomach laugh that has everyone in the bar looking at us.

I scowl. “It’s not funny.”

She’s doesn’t even attempt to stifle her damn giggles of delight. “Yes, yes it is.”

Hanna nods. “It kind of is, Mags.”

“It’s not like I go after one-night stands often, but the few times I have I’ve never been denied. Now I know how guys must feel.”

“Maybe he’s gay,” Lizzy says.

“That would be a tragedy,” Hanna whimpers.

Lizzy nudges her. “Don’t be so narrow-minded. Gay boys deserve hot men too.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not gay. Trust me. His attraction was physically evident.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lizzy props her chin on her hands. “How’s he measure up?”

I groan. “Why the hell do you think I took him back to my place and stripped down to my skivvies while he was trying to get out the door?” If I wanted Asher to distract me, I was successful because I can’t stop thinking about him.

I smile into my chocolate martini, wondering if the girls would be offended if I tainted “Martini Night” with a beer.

I am nothing like my sisters. They do things like have makeover parties and martini nights. They ooze femininity from every pore, from their hair to their designer jeans and Gucci heels. Me? I’m all about comfort and practicality. My favorite outfit consists of worn Levi’s and a ribbed tank top, and I’m convinced that heels are medieval torture devices. The girls primp and fuss, and make semi-annual shopping trips to the Big Apple, whereas I have discovered I can make a twenty-dollar dress from Target look damn good.

“You still got more action than I did,” Lizzy says. “I was trying to hook up with that groomsman. You know, Will’s friend from college?”

Hanna snorts. “He’s not into girls.”

Lizzy frowns. “A tragedy.”

“Gay boys deserve hot men too,” Hanna says, parroting Lizzy’s words right back at her.

“I guess,” Lizzy pouts. “Did you see Krystal’s eyes today? I think she cried a lot last night.”

“Poor thing,” Hanna says. “Who do you think did it?”

Probably by some bored kid with nothing better to do with his Saturday. “I don’t know. I figure it’ll remain a mystery.”

“Hmm,” Lizzy says, “like the mystery of who stole those fraternity boys’ clothes the night they went skinny dipping in Lake Lemon?”

I can’t help but smile at the memory from my first semester at Sinclair. All those beautiful men searching for their clothes in the moonlight.

“Or the mystery of how the Sigmas all came down with stomach cramps after outing your friend Ed?”

Her implication clicks into place in my mind and I lift my hands, palms up. “You think I did this?”

The girls shake their heads, saying “Oh, no! Not us” in unison.

“Why would I want to ruin Krystal’s wedding with a stink bomb?”

“We don’t think you would,” Lizzy says. “It’s just…”

“There’s been some talk,” Hanna finishes.

“And your name’s been mentioned,” Lizzy says.

Hanna pats my arm. “It’s no mystery how much you hate weddings.”

Translation: Everyone knows how much I must hate seeing Will marry Krystal.

“We’d hate weddings too if—” Lizzy cuts herself off.

Hanna finishes for her. “You know.”

“I do”—I soften the truth—“dislike weddings, but not because—”

“Of course not,” the girls chorus.

“I would never—”

Lizzy holds up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything else. I guess it just occurred to Hanna and me…”

Hanna nods. “…With the talk and all…”

“…How insensitive it was for Krystal to ask you to be in her wedding after…”

“You know,” they say together.

“It’s fine. I’m the one who canceled the wedding. I don’t have any hold on Will.”

“Was it weird?” Lizzy asks in a whisper. “Being a bridesmaid in Will’s wedding?”

Hanna bites her lip and watches me.

“So, Asher’s some sort of rock star?” I ask to change the subject.

Lizzy huffs, unimpressed by my non-sequitur, but Hanna’s drawn in by more talk of the sexy rocker and gapes at me in dismay. “The lead singer of Infinite Gray?”

“Infinite Gray?” I frown. “Isn’t that the band that put out the song ‘Unbroken?’” I listened to that song on repeat during my sophomore year of high school, but then…I don’t remember anything else. One-hit wonders? “A rock star,” I mutter, trying to fit it all into place. There was something familiar about Asher—those eyes. This must be why.

“Former rock star,” Lizzy corrects. “The band dissolved after their first tour. Same old story—hit the big time too young and got caught up in booze and drugs.”

“I heard,” Hanna says, “that he beat the shit out of some dude in a bar last year and got tried for aggravated battery.”

My jaw goes slack. Now I really do want that beer. Aggravated battery. “Really?”

Hanna bites her lip. “No one but Asher knows what really happened that night. I’m sure he’s a nice guy.”

Right. Because nice guys get charged with aggravated battery all the time.

“Doesn’t matter anyway, right?” I shake my head and force a smile. “He’s had that house for, what, five years? And this is the first time we’ve seen him around? It’s not like I think I’m going to see him again.”

Chapter Four

William

The best part of living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone. This is also the shittiest part of living in a small town, a fact I’m reminded of every time I take my grandmother to her bi-weekly salon visits.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Cecilia says as Grandma gets situated in her chair. “It’s just terrible what they did to your wedding, Willy.”

I cringe but don’t bother to correct her on my name. Cecilia has been calling me Willy since I was a toddler. If my red-cheeked embarrassment didn’t stop her when I was a teenager, a polite objection isn’t going to stop her now.

“I think it was that Maggie,” Grandma says with a knowing nod. “She didn’t want to see you marrying her sister.”

“Grandma.” My voice is hard, making Grandma’s shoulders drop, her face go sad. “Maggie wouldn’t do that,” I say, softer now, because as much as I hate the way she talks about Maggie, I know it’s all out of love for me.

Grandma shakes her head. “That’s what you said when I told you about the rumors back in high school. Then the truth came out. It always does. Poor Ann Quimby’s whole life was torn apart by the girl.”

“Mom, she’s the county prosecutor now and has a new husband and children. I think she survived.”

Gran turns to Cecilia and whispers, “Boy’s got no sense when it comes to that little girl.”

Cecilia shakes her head and combs her fingers through Grandma’s hair.

I let out a slow breath. “Grandma, I have my cell. Just give me a call when you’re done.” I head to the door before they have a chance to say anything else about the wedding or Maggie or gossip that should have died years ago.

When I hit the sidewalk, I’m swarmed by the greetings of the bookstore patrons next door. They’re sitting out on the patio, sipping coffee and sharing “local news,” more easily recognizable as gossip.

“So sorry to hear about your wedding, Willy,” Mrs. White calls.

I close my eyes. God damn do I hate when people call me that. “It’s okay,” I assure her, forcing a smile. “What matters is that we have each other. No stink bomb can change that.”

“Of course it can’t, and Krystal’s mother tells us you’re opening an art gallery in the old Beatlemeyer building.”

“He is?” the woman across from her croons. “Well, that’s what we need around here. More young people investing in this town. Putting roots down. Good for you, young man. Not like all those snotty college kids running away as soon as they get their degree.”

“Thank you,” I say. “We’re lucky to be in a position to do it.”

I excuse myself, but I don’t turn to my car. The Curl Up and Dye sits just three blocks off campus and I need the walk to clear my head.

New Hope is simultaneously a young and aging community. The largest population is our community of seniors who lived and worked in this little town their whole life. Our second largest population comes from Sinclair, a small liberal arts college that families all over the country spend a small fortune to send their spoiled, privileged children to. In between, there are a few of us staying for jobs at the college or family ties or, in my case, both.

I can’t leave Grandma. The woman raised me and she doesn’t have anyone else. So I’m here with Krystal, and we are going to make the most of it.

My steps slow as I approach the county library and my breath catches in my throat.

At a seat by the window, Maggie sits with her laptop open, headphones on, and a soft smile on her lips. My feet stall under me as she leans toward her screen and her smile grows.

Suddenly, she turns to the window, and our gazes lock through the glass. Her smile falls away.

My chest is heavy with regret and longing and…fuck, I’m angry. She’s the one who left. She’s the one who called it off.

So why does she look at me like I’ve broken her heart?

***

Maggie

I might as well be sixteen again, I’m so obsessed with Infinite Gray.

I made a little trip to my local library to use their internet access—because Operation New Me means I can’t steal it from my neighbors anymore—and now my hard drive is loaded with the band’s album and a couple dozen half-nude pictures of Asher. The more I listened to the album, the more the memories came back—my ceiling fan spinning above my bed, my heart frozen in my chest, that low, mellow voice crooning from my MP3 player as I did my damndest to sink into my numbness and disintegrate into nothing.

“Come back and break me, don’t let this go unspoken. I’m numb when I’m whole and you left me unbroken.”

And the pictures? Dear God. If I had been the kind of teenager who watched music videos instead of the kind who broke her father’s heart, I never would have forgotten that face or body. Turns out half-naked pictures of a rock star dubbed “Sexy Beast” are plentiful. Thank you, Internets. But there still weren’t enough. Not when you consider how when I close my eyes I can feel his muscles flexing under my fingers, still taste his salty skin on my tongue.

I pack up my laptop and head to the parking lot with a sigh. I just wasted half a day obsessing over a rock star who will never sleep with me. Maybe I am sixteen again.

Stepping out of the library, I squint into the setting sun and see Asher “Sexy Beast” Logan leaning against my car.

My steps stutter and his lips curl into a grin as he looks me over.

Play it cool.

“Your wife kick you out, Pretty Boy?”

He looks damn fine standing there, his dark shades blocking his eyes from the setting sun, a tiny silver hoop glinting in each ear. He is all hard muscle and tan in his fitted black t-shirt and faded jeans. I always said there’s no man as hot as my car. Now I’m not so sure.

My first thought is that we could be na**d and in my bed in twenty minutes. My second is of the story Lizzy just told me, a story that makes Asher the worst kind of bad boy—capital B, capital N, Bad News.

I pull my keys from my purse. “What are you doing here?”

His too-goddamn-perfect mouth quirks into that cocky half grin. “I wanted to see you.”

“Aw! That’s what all my stalkers say.”

He chuckles. “You owe me a date.”

“How’d you even know to find me here?”

“How’d you get the cash for such a sweet ride?”

I drive a deep blue Mustang GT, a gift from my granny. She’s terrible with money and we love her for it.