“No.” I bristle at the reminder and poke his chest angrily. “By the way, I want those back.”

“That would be a no as well.” He catches my finger, caresses it between his thumb and forefinger before I pry it free.

I fold my finger back into my palm; it burns a little. “Why not?”

“’Cause I like the way they look,” he says with a shameless glint in his eye, “I like the way they smell, and I like the way they feel between my fingers.”

The color rises up my cheeks and neck and body.

Heat floods between my legs.

My heart feels like a volcano, pumping nothing but lava into my veins.

“I don’t think you love him,” he continues. “You’re not happy with him. It’s like you’re forcing yourself to be whatever you think he wants you to be. If he’s with you, he should want you, just you, period.” He glares in confusion and frustration and anger on my behalf. “Baby,” he exclaims, shaking his head in bewilderment, “why would any woman want to be anything else when they are you, huh?” He grabs my face and looks into my eyes, frustrated. “Huh, Gina?” he demands, searching my face.

His eyes bore into me.

His jaw is clenched so tight I think he’ll break his molars.

“What if that motherfucker is the best I can do?” I challenge back, just a breath.

He laughs softly and caresses his thumbs over my cheekbones before releasing me.

He falls back on the seat, shaking his head.

“That’s not true, you can do so much better,” he softly assures. He reaches out and touches my hair, gently tweaks my nose, and leans over. He sniffs me as he says, “You’re gorgeous, girl. You’re authentic. You smell like heaven.” He eases back, his smile so honest and adorable. “Your presence is like a sparkling firework that never goes out. You bake pie. And your smile is an absolute addiction.”

Scoffing, I nudge him to try to hide my blush. “You’re a jackass! Come on.”

He chuckles, still smiling as he swears, “Regina, this is no joking matter.” He nudges me back. “I love that smile of yours. Show me that smile of yours.” He ducks closer and peers into my face.

I raise my chin and fake a flat, hard smile.

He frowns instantly. “Yeah, um, a little less purse of the lips.” His thumbs gently force my lips to curl upward. “There,” he murmurs, raising his playful eyes to mine.

I feel his thumb remain on the corner of my lips for a second.

I see his smile fade just a fraction as our stares hold.

And all I can think of right now is that I want his lips. I want his hands all over me. Under his shirt that I’m wearing. Between my legs and inside of me.

We stare at each other, and he looks at my mouth like it is all that exists for him right now.

My heart starts pounding.

I’m scared.

His stare is frightening—it’s so blue, so clear, so expectant. So fucking hungry, this guy would eat me up alive and leave no bones to bury.

Slowly…his thumb brushes my lips, removing a little of my lipstick.

My heart almost leaps out of my chest and toward him when I realize he wants my mouth. He wants my mouth bare—with nothing but me.

But I’m so scared I’m trembling. I think of Trent. Of us, on this break.

Finally there’s a good guy who likes me, who might love me. And here is this guy who can have everything he wants and who can take it all away. Who is already such a threat between me and Trent, between me and any other guy.

I cannot get on the Tahoe rollercoaster. Maybe before, when it would be a one-night stand, it was an option.

Now I like him.

Now I care more about him than I care about makeup, jobs, apartments, friends, chocolate.

He’s funny and I think of him often and he’s generous and protective and cocky. And he makes me feel alive. And more than anything—a revelation, really, because a year ago I never thought it possible that we could grow to be this close—I’m too scared to lose his friendship too.

I push myself to my feet, my voice thick with unwanted lust. “I have to go.”

He catches my wrist. “Hey. Stay.”

His blue eyes bore into me, something fiery crackling in their depths that some hidden part of me fiercely responds to with a hot, tight little ache.

Something about the look in his eyes transports me to the Saints’ wedding.

That same rawness is there, that same quiet demand, that same hunger.

When he asked me if I wanted him and I said no.

This moment if he asked me again, I don’t know if my answer would be the same. But then what? Then I’d lose his friendship, and still have the pleasure of watching him womanize his way across the continent?

Thank you, but I deserve better than that. Even Trent is better than that.

“I really have to go.” I pull my wrist free of his grasp and head to the elevators.

I’m already repeatedly pressing the elevator button when he calls my name.

I turn. He’s standing with his legs spread and a look of determination and undiluted frustration on his face. “Do you think about us at all, Regina?”

“Yes.”

His eyes sparkle menacingly.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever do anything about it. You want other things, and I want what you can’t give. So…eat your pie and…get well soon,” I hurry to say as I board the elevator and then turn.

We keep staring all the way until the doors close. And even when the doors close, I hear him slam something hard and growl, “Jesus goddammit fuck!!”