“Your mom’s awesome,” Evan mutters, while we watch her back out of the driveway.

“I know,” I agree, waving back at her, while Evan wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Are you tired?” he asks, sliding his hand down my arm and locking his fingers with mine as he leads me back into the house.

“Totally exhausted,” I reply through a yawn.

“Too tired to sit on my face?” he asks, and my hand spasms in his as the image of me doing just that filters through my mind.

“I think I could keep my eyes open for that,” I breathe, as he locks the door and sets the alarm.

Turning me toward him, he mumbles, “Figure you could,” against my mouth, while wrapping his arms around me and walking me backward toward the bedroom, where I keep my eyes open for a lot more than just sitting on his face.

“Coming!” I shout, walking with my freshly pink-painted fingers spread wide apart, as I head for the front door when the bell rings. Without looking through the peephole, I swing the door open and feel my body go tight when I see who is standing on my front porch, looking exactly the same as the last time I saw him.

“June,” Lane says. I start to push the door closed, but his hand shoots out, preventing me from slamming it in his face. “I just want to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you. Go away.” I try again to shut the door, but his hand stays planted against it, stopping me.

“I want to apologize. Please, let me say sorry.”

“Done. You’ve said it, so go.” I push harder then growl in frustration when he doesn’t move away.

“I know you’re pissed at me, but did you get the letter I sent you?”

“I got it, I read it, and I still don’t care. We have nothing to talk about. Please step back.”

“Are you…” he trails off, zeroing in on my hand. “Is that an engagement ring?”

“Lane, if you don’t step back, I swear to God I’m going to scream bloody murder,” I hiss, ignoring his question.

“You’re getting married?”

“Oh, my God!” I cry in frustration. “Yes, I’m getting married. Will you just leave now?”

His brows draw together and his head shakes. “I was in love with you.”

“You wouldn’t know what love was if it hit you upside the head. I’m only going to say it one more time. Please step away from my door and leave.”

His eyes move back to my hand and his voice drops low. “I fucked up.”

He did fuck up—not that I was ever even close to being in love with him. But I did care about him, and who knows what could have happened with time. But then again, even if I was with him and Evan came back into my life, I probably would have wanted to find out where things could go with Evan, because the connection I’ve always had with him is just that strong.

“Who is he?” he asks quietly, moving his eyes to meet mine.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Is it your ex? The one you were so hung up on?” he asks on a growl, banging his hand against the door.

“Lane, please go,” I beg softly. The way he’s acting is starting to scare me.

“It is, isn’t it?” he asks, turning red while the pulse in his neck beats wildly.

“Yes,” I finally say, hoping he’ll leave once I give him what he wants.

“I hope he makes you happy,” he snarls, dropping his hand from the door, but he keeps his body where it is and my pulse speeds up.

“Lane, please, just go,” I whisper shakily, but he doesn’t move his body from the doorway or his angry eyes from mine.

“Step back.” Looking over Lane’s shoulder, I watch as Evan steps up onto the porch. I didn’t hear him pull up, which is crazy, since he rode his bike today, and I always hear him when he’s on his bike.

“Whatever.” Lane glares at me before moving past Evan down the steps.

Watching his retreating back, I feel Evan get close before he blocks my view. Then, his fingers are on my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. “Go inside. I’ll be in, in a minute.”

“Don’t do anything that will lead to me visiting you in jail,” I whisper-yell, resting my hands against his chest, feeling the anger coming off him in waves.

“Go inside,” he repeats, putting his hand to my stomach, pushing me back an inch before pulling the door closed, shutting me inside.

Debating with myself about ignoring his order, I mutter, “Shit,” and head back to the living room, so I can call my uncle. That’s when I see Ninja through the glass of the backdoor snarling and barking up a storm. “It’s okay,” I coo, as he runs past me into the house toward the front door, coming back a moment later and taking a seat close to me. I leave a voicemail for my uncle, telling him that Lane is at the house, outside with Evan. When my phone rings a minute later, he tells me that he’s on his way and to stay inside then hangs up.

Rolling my eyes at that, I take a seat on the couch. A few minutes later, I jump in place when the door slams and Evan’s boots stomp down the hall. “Why did you open the door to him?” he asks, stopping at the mouth of the living room, planting his feet wide apart, and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t know it was him,” I explain quietly, licking my lips nervously when his eyes narrow.

“You didn’t check the peephole?” His body language and tone make it obvious I fucked up.