Logan grunts with each upward extension of his arms. We’re both lifting twenty pounds less than usual because last night’s drink fest means neither one of us is operating at a hundred percent today.

“So, what, now you are interested?”

I swallow. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Logan doesn’t say anything else. My fingers hover beneath the barbell as he finishes his reps.

I keep a close eye on the clock above the weight room door. It’s almost five. Hannah finishes work at ten, and then she’s coming straight over to my place.

So we can have sex.

The pressure in my gut gathers in strength, tightening into a massive knot. I have no idea if I can do this. I’m terrified of doing something wrong. Hurting her.

“I’m not surprised you saw the error of your ways,” Logan finally says as we trade places again. “She’s pretty damn cool. I knew that from the moment I met her.”

Yeah, Hannah is cool. She’s also beautiful and smart and funny.

And she’s not broken.

The tightness in my stomach eases as I cling to that last thought. That’s why I agreed to sleep with her, because no matter what happened to her in the past, no matter how many scars she still bears from that ordeal, I know without a shred of doubt that Hannah Wells is not broken. She’s too strong to allow anyone—especially a piece of shit high school rapist—to break her.

No, what she’s lacking is the ability to trust, and to some extent, confidence. She just needs someone to…guide her, for lack of a better word.

But shit, can that someone really be me? I don’t know the first thing about the etiquette required for sleeping with a rape victim.

“So anyway, maybe I’m not pissed that you beat me to it,” Logan tells me.

I shoot him a faint smile. “Gee, thanks.”

He grins back. “With that said, I request an exemption from the part of the bro code that states I can’t date someone after you’ve broken up with her.”

My fingers stiffen on the bar. Fuck that. The thought of Logan hooking up with Hannah makes me want to go He-Man on the barbell and hurl it across the gym. But at the same time, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a chance in hell of Hannah dating Logan, especially now that I know about her hang-ups.

So I shrug casually and say, “Exemption granted.”

“Good. Now I’m adding ten pounds to this motherfucker, because, really, G, we’re better than this.”

The next thirty minutes fly by. The room empties out as the other guys head for the showers, but when I see that Birdie is still rocking chin-ups across the room, I make my way over to him.

“Hey, man, got a sec?” I call out, wiping my sweaty forehead with a towel.

He lets go of the bar, and his sneakers land on the blue gym mat. Then he grabs his own towel. “Sure. What’s up?”

I hesitate. Hockey players aren’t known for having girly heart-to-hearts. Most of the time, we indulge in locker room talk or shoot insults back and forth, with the rare serious convo thrown into the mix.

Jake “Birdie” Berderon is the exception to that rule. The tall, intense senior is the one you seek out for advice, the one you call when you’re in a jam, the one who’d drop whatever he was doing just to help you out. Last season, after half our seniors graduated and nominations for team captain were being tossed around, I told Birdie that if he wanted the job, I’d back him one hundred percent. He shot me down, insisting that he sucks at pep talks and would rather skate than lead, but honestly, deep down I know that Birdie is our real leader. You won’t ever find a better man than him. No joke.

I glance at the open doorway, then lower my voice. “This has to stay between us, okay?”

A wry grin lifts his lips. “Dude, if you knew how many secrets are floating around in this thick skull of mine, you’d freak. Trust me, I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

I sink onto the long wooden bench against the wall and rest my hands on my knees. I don’t know where to start, but I do know I can’t tell him the truth. That’s something only Hannah has the right to share.

“Have you ever slept with a virgin?” I hedge.

He blinks. “Uh. Okay. Well, yeah. I have.” Birdie sits beside me. “Between you and me?” he says.

“Of course.”

“Nat was a virgin when we first hooked up.” Nat is actually Natalie, Birdie’s girlfriend since freshman year. The two of them are one of those “it” couples that everyone makes fun of for being so nauseatingly perfect together while secretly envying their relationship.

I have to ask, “Were you?”

He grins. “Naah. I punched in my V-card at fifteen.”

Fifteen. That’s how old Hannah was when she… I suddenly wonder if that had been her first time, and horror claws up my throat. Jesus. Losing your virginity is a huge deal for some chicks—I can’t even imagine what’d it feel like having it taken from you.

“Why? You’ve got a date with a hot virgin?” Birdie teases.

“Something like that.” Considering he met Hannah last night at Malone’s, I’m sure Birdie is putting two and two together in his head, but I know he won’t blab about this to anyone.

And I figure this virgin story is safer than uttering the words rape victim. Because really, the approach to sleeping with the former can’t be all that different from doing it with the latter. In both instances, you need to be patient and respectful and thorough, right?