She throws herself into a chair and slams her book bag onto the table. “God, this semester is kicking my butt. Thank goodness for Connor. If it wasn’t for him…ugh.” Her face goes from annoyed to serene as she tells us about their last date together.

Penelope arrives next, her hair up in a messy bun. A pencil sits behind her ear, and Ryker is beside her, his arm across her shoulders. He gives her a kiss and heads off in the other direction toward the burger place across from us.

She sits down, a bemused expression on her face.

“Love is wonderful, huh?” I say.

A slow grin takes over her face, slow and soft. “Yeah.”

The sound of laugher comes from the eatery across the way, and my eyes are drawn there.

I find Blaze, Dillon, and Ryker sitting at a table together. Speaking of trifectas, they could be movie stars out for lunch with all the hotness they’re throwing off.

I study Blaze while he isn’t looking. We avoided each other in class today…mostly. Hard to do when his body is right next to mine.

I tried to look at his bell responses several times, but he kept his paper hidden from me.

I didn’t mention the party. Neither did he.

We get our pizza and dig in, but my gaze keeps slipping over to their side of the room.

Their table has been overrun with jersey chasers, and some random has her hand on Blaze’s chest while laughing at something he’s saying. Most of them avoid Ryker. They know he’s with Penelope, and he doesn’t put up with it.

I wonder if Blaze would be like that if he had a girlfriend. Ah, but football is always first. Explains why he’s never had a real one. Oh, I know—I’ve asked Ryker.

My gaze goes back to him, tracing his profile, that sexy smile.

A dull thudding starts behind my eyes, and I wince and furrow my brow. I relax my face to relieve the tension, but the pressure doesn’t subside. Dammit. I don’t have time for a migraine right now. I’ve got too much to do. Homework, checking in with some design firms—

My phone pings with a text.

Hey. I see you.

Blaze. My heart rattles around in my chest. Just leave me alone, I want to shout.

But, I can’t resist responding.

I see you too. And the harem. The words smack of bitterness, and I immediately regret sending them.

It’s like background noise. What’s your favorite color?

Okaayyy. I’ll bite.

Black. It’s slimming.

STFU. You don’t need “slimming”.

What’s your fav color?

Red. Color of passion. I’m a passionate guy.

Oh, don’t I know it.

Since we’re friends now, may I ask a personal question? he writes.

My mouth flattens. Friends who dance and have sexy times? Plus, we aren’t even acknowledging what happened.

Yet…

Isn’t that my usual? I don’t want to dig too deep because it might hurt.

I exhale and type. Aren’t you missing out on time with your friends?

I glance up and see his head is bent over his phone, an intent expression on his face. He really isn’t paying attention to anyone around him.

No. Question: what’s your favorite sexual position? I mean, as a FRIEND, I would like to know. Just for clarity’s sake, he sends.

WTH. My heart skips a beat, and my face feels hot. I dart my eyes around the group I’m with, but no one seems to notice I’ve been sucked into a sexting convo.

You aren’t responding. Did I go too far? Can’t FRIENDS talk about this stuff?

My hands clench my phone. I don’t know.

I’ll go first. Mine is lying side by side, looking in her eyes while I fuck her real slow. Her leg is hitched around my hip and my hands are on her ass, doing all the work. She’s saying my name. And when I kiss her ON HER MOUTH, she comes, her pussy squeezing my dick until I can’t resist and come with her.

I nearly hurl the phone across the room. Oh, he went there. He went there. He’s talking about me and my rules. I stare down at his words, my skin tingling as I squirm in my seat. Damn him and his dirty mind.

Now you go.

I can’t think. My head is filled with images of us and I want him—

Panic sets in as I stare down at his text. My legs cross and uncross.

Charisma. Your turn.

My head looks up, and he’s staring at me. I drop his gaze and focus back on my phone. I’m not a game for you to play, Blaze.

I know. I’m not playing. I want to know. Tell me, do you like public places for sex? Like a masquerade party? I think you do.

My chest rises, and I want to pay him back, want to make him burn just as much as I am right now. I think about what to type, my teeth pulling at my lip.

Masquerades are meh. I’ve had better.

I look up at him to get his reaction, and he’s staring at me. I smirk and arch a brow. He seems to take a deep breath and then starts typing again.

Charm. You’re being mean.

Fine, fine. He wants me to tell him, and I want him to get as hot and bothered as I am right now. I hunker down and type.

My favorite position is me in his lap on a couch or a chair. He pulls my panties to the side and fucks me under my skirt. We might get caught if someone comes in the room.

Are you facing him or is he behind you? Is the TV on or is music playing? What time of day is it?

Seriously? You writing an article for Penthouse or what?

TELL ME.

Fine. “With or Without You” by U2 is playing. I’m facing him. He fucks me slow but rough, his hands digging into my hips as we stare at each other.

Excellent song. Slow but rough? That doesn’t make any sense.

This is my favorite and you asked so STFU.

Have you done it lately? he asks.

I’ve never had sex exactly like that, but I can’t tell him. Maybe he thinks I get around more than I do. Sure, I hook up when I want, but it’s not willy-nilly, one-night stands. It’s a careful plan, and I’m always in control. That way no one gets hurt.

No, but I will soon.

With who?

The pain in my head sharpens, and I rub my forehead.

You okay? he sends.

Headache. A cold sweat breaks out over me, and I can barely get the words typed out.

The phone slips from my hand, and I lean my head back on the seat. Penelope and Margo’s voices penetrate my fog as the pain kicks in more, asking if I’m okay, and I nod and close my eyes. Sometimes if I can get really still, it will pass and—

“Charm, what’s wrong?”

It’s him.

Damn, he got here fast.

Penelope is standing over me too. Ah, shit. I hate the attention. “I’m cool. Just a headache.”

“Where are your meds?” Penelope asks, already grabbing my backpack and riffling through it.

“My rescue medicine is in the bathroom at home. I forgot to put it in my bag this semester. I just need to get to my car and go get it…” I swallow as another twinge hits, and it hurts to even hold my head up.

“You’re not driving anywhere,” Blaze states, his voice firm.

“I can run you home.” It’s Penelope, and she’s already sitting next to me. “I don’t have a class for another couple of hours.”

“I’ll take her home.” Blaze again. I wave him off.

My eyes peek open and the pain sharpens. I wince. “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Come on.” Without waiting for a reply, he grabs my backpack and puts a hand out.

I take it and he pulls me up.

“Are you sure? Don’t you have a class?”

He doesn’t reply, just wraps his arm around my shoulders, leading me away from the pizza place. We take the stairs down to the exit, my body pressed against his. He handles me as if I’m small and delicate, stopping periodically to stare down at me and ask if I’m still good.

We leave the student center, and the sun makes me flinch. My stomach lurches as the pizza I just ate decides to roll around. If I puke in front of him, I’m going to die.

I stumble down one of the steps, and his hand is the only thing that keeps me from falling.

“Baby, you’re a mess,” he mutters as he pulls me to a stop and sweeps me up in his arms. My head rolls to his chest, my nose pressing against his shirt. God, he smells so good…fresh and crisp, like summer and woods and…

“You’re so gallant…a real Southern gentleman with broad shoulders and a slow drawl. Ma warned me about guys like you,” I mumble, my voice close to a whisper.

“Smart lady. Somehow I don’t think you listen to her.”

“Nope.” I peek out, and he’s staring down at me.

I see where he’s headed, the reserved parking lot close to the student center. “Good thing your truck is close.”

“Special athlete parking,” he says back.

“Lucky duck.”

He opens the passenger side of his truck for me. “Hang on,” he says softly as he runs his hands over my body, getting me settled and buckling me up.

“Don’t cop a feel there, football player.” I close my eyes and lean back against the leather.

I’m aware of him chuckling as he gets in and cranks the truck. “Sick and still feisty.”

16

My eyes crack open. I come to slowly, blinking as I realize I’m in my bed under the covers and a fan I keep on my nightstand blows softly in my face. It’s winter, but I love the noise, plus Penelope keeps the thermostat a bit high for this New York girl.