I look around to make sure I’m not in a parallel universe.

Dorothy plays on the screen, but I’m not really watching. I sit for a full five minutes, thinking about my response, and I notice that the longer I pause, tapping my pen on the note, the more antsy he becomes, legs bouncing under the table, his fingers drumming against the desk. Still holding his note, I dart my eyes over at him. He’s watching me. Carefully. Intently. Little side glances. Almost grudgingly, as if he really doesn’t want to.

He bites down on that lush bottom lip of his, and warm tingles move through my body as my heart picks up. There’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach—

No. I pass my response over to him.

Why? he sends back.

You know why. You’re one of them. You’re THE SHARK.

So? I just fill a role here. People want someone to fear. Am I so terrible? Didn’t I help you with your tire?

You did. Thank you. No.

He lets out an exhalation, scribbling his response, then passing it over. I got into a fight with Liam. That’s why I have a black eye. Not a big deal.

Huh. I guess football players tussle a lot.

I send him a reply.

Does he look worse than you? What was the fight about?

He reads it and shoves a hand through his dark hair.

I wait, almost expectantly, for him to write a reply, but I get nada.

In fact, he ignores me for the rest of class, and when the bell rings, he jumps up and darts away. I watch his broad shoulders maneuver through the crowd, jostling to get out of the classroom. A few guys call out his name and he waves at them. Then I see Tawny. She waltzes in and latches onto his arm, aligning herself with him. She’s not a cheerleader, but she’s the kind of beautiful that makes your eyes linger while you wonder what kind of genetics created such startling perfection. Luxurious golden brown hair to her waist, a soft oval face, a delicate nose—it’s all very pleasing to the eye. Ugh.

He pauses, looks down at her with a frown, and then stares back at me.

I arch my brow.

Now that’s the kind of girl who jumps at the chance to come to your house, my eyes say.

I give him a thumbs-up while he studies me. He hesitates then tosses an arm around her shoulders. They pause at the entrance as other students maneuver to walk around them, but Knox doesn’t care; he blocks any door he wants.

I see profiles when they turn, talking. His sharp jawline, the glossy hair my fingers touched. Her hand skims his neck. She tilts her face up and stands on her tiptoes. She’s asking him something. I know that look in her eyes. She likes him, a lot.

And then…

Surprise ripples over me. I see them at the keg party last year, his hand tucked in the pocket of her jeans as they left the party.

But… Wait, wait, back up.

First I kissed Chance.

My heart pounds and I flinch as the details that were once locked away slide into perfect clarity. Closing my eyes, focusing on concentrating, I let the images creep in. Chance’s kiss, long and deep and sweet. My immediate response to the pressure of his lips, delving into his mouth. How badly I wanted our date the next night. He was going to pick me up and take me to dinner. It might seem silly to want something so simple, but for a girl like me—one who’s never had big things—it’s the little things that take up room in my heart: soft rain, starry nights, shy looks, leaves falling, a good movie, Tyler’s smile, chocolate cake—and a date with your guy.

I love you, Ava, Chance said in my ear, his hands curling around my waist, holding me like I was porcelain.

He kissed me and said that and I didn’t even remember! Holy shit. I blink.

I was already trashed, but the words are vivid now, a hot brand in my head. And what was my response? No clue, but I lifted my head from Chance’s shoulder and instead of meeting his lips again, I met the gray eyes of Knox Grayson glittering at me. Only two feet away. I could have reached up, stretched out my arms, and touched his unsmiling face. I could have unfurled his clenched fists.

He took a deep breath as our gazes clung.

Chance kissed my neck, and I trembled when I looked at Knox and he let me see…he let me see…a window inside himself. Anguish mingled with want. Longing.

Standing there by the fire, with Tawny by his side, he pressed two fingers to his lips and sent the touch to me. With twenty-twenty vision, without the alcohol clouding me, I saw him, saw the slow, regretful way he tore his eyes off of me and Chance.

Then—just like now—he tossed an arm around Tawny, escorted her to his car, and opened the door for her. He disappeared. And I…I was left behind.

My eyes find them now at the doorway. They haven’t moved.

He bends his head to her—my chest squeezes—getting lower and lower. My breathing intensifies. Unbidden anxiety ratchets down my spine.

I resist the urge to stamp my foot.

Look at me like that again, I want to shout.

Someone bumps into me.

Another nudge, this time on my arm. “…Ava…are you listening?”

The male voice penetrates and I start, glancing over.

“What?” I snap at Chance. He’s been standing there for a while. My hands, which have been clinging to the edge of the table, loosen their grip, and my back straightens. I toss a look around him. “Where’s Brooklyn?”

He flushes. “She left already. Ava…” He stops, his mouth opening and shutting.

“What do you want?” I gather my purse off the back of the chair. I need out of here. I don’t want to rehash that night, and I can feel him psyching himself up for something.

“You hurt me,” are the words he finally pushes out.

What fresh hell?

“I hurt you?”

He tries to hold my eyes but dips his head. “I can’t take it anymore. You’ve only been here two days and I can’t…” He trails off.

“Can’t what?”

His head rises. He struggles to speak, the words pulled from him. He looks as if he’s in some kind of crisis. I almost think he weaves on his feet. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Now?”

He nods.

I blow out a breath. “Really? Where were you when I needed you, huh? You weren’t thinking then. You left me at that party to hook up with your current girlfriend.” Somehow I keep my voice even, almost calm, but I feel the rage lingering, just waiting to pounce.

Shame—or at least I want to think it’s shame—colors his face.

Bitterness whips in the air like a tornado. I know I shouldn’t engage with him, but maybe I need closure. We never got that. I got his text and wrote him off.

“Tell me something, how could you tell me I love you one minute then leave me at that party the next? A brave person would have believed me. Cowards pussy out, Chance. You quit me like I was trash. Even now, I can’t believe I let you get so close to my heart…” I bite my lip, shaken by the torrent of words that have come out of me. I did let him close. God. I let myself be vulnerable for him.

He swallows, blue eyes downcast. “I’m sorry—”

I cut him off right there. “Yeah. You are. And the worst thing of all is maybe it was you. Maybe it was you.” My voice breaks, just a little, and I snatch it back.

He nods as if he expected that but sucks in a breath. “It wasn’t. I’m not capable of that. You know me. I’ve been thinking—”