Based on the sunset in the window, it must be late afternoon. I’ve missed my classes.

I rub my temples. Thank God the pain is gone. I recall Blaze carrying me inside our house and taking charge. He set me on the couch and, with my instructions, found my meds in the bathroom, got me a glass of water, and watched me take them. He grabbed my eye mask from the freezer, cranked up my diffuser, and sat in the chair across from me while I drifted off on the couch. He must have carried me to my bedroom after I fell asleep.

I hear a soft snore behind me on the bed and turn my head to see him there, lying on his side facing me. His arm is thrown over my waist, and I blink, wondering how I missed it. I study him, taking in his handsome face, soft with sleep, his full lips slightly parted as he breathes deeply. A little scar, a half-moon shape, sits over his right eyebrow, cutting through the hair there. I turn more until I’m facing him then trace it lightly with the tip of my finger, not wanting to wake him.

The hair doesn’t grow where the scar is and it fascinates me. I picture him as a kid, getting dirty and playing hard.

“Fishing accident,” he says, startling me as his eyes open.

“Oh?” My voice is soft.

“We had a pond behind our house, and I used to take a pole and try my luck there. I went to throw the line out, it got tangled in some brush, and when I jerked on it, the hook popped me in the eyebrow.” He smiles. “Blood everywhere. You would have passed out. I ran back to the house, rod and all. Nobody was home and I ended up in the bathroom, where I pulled it out by myself. Scared the shit out of me.”

“No stitches?”

“No. I’m tough.”

“You should have gotten stitches. If I was your mom—”

“Nah, don’t start with that now. Besides, chicks dig scars.” He makes a mean scowl and the eyebrow drops low. I laugh…until his finger lifts and touches my eyebrow, tracing it. “Now, you, on the other hand…I’ve never seen such elegant brows.”

“It takes a lot of plucking and waxing to get this sexy look.”

“It’s working.”

We stare at each other, and I’m acutely aware that there’s barely any space between us. At least we’re dressed.

“Thank you for bringing me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you miss class?”

“I’ll take care of it. How often do you get migraines?”

“It used to be a lot, but I have daily meds that keep it to a few times a year. Back to you—you sure you missing class is okay?”

“Stop worrying about me. I’m studying every night.” He gives me a brief smile and stares up at the ceiling.

“Are you gonna fuck or what, bitches?” squawks Vampire Bill from his cage.

Blaze leans up on his elbow and eyes the parrot. “You’re one rude motherfucker.” There’s no heat in his words, and the bird eyes him warily.

“Rude motherfucker!” he repeats back.

Blaze bursts out laughing.

I slap him on the arm. “Thanks. Now he’ll be saying that all day. I meant to put him out in the den this morning. He likes to sit by the front door and watch cars. He’s freakishly smart. Sometimes I think he’s plotting, waiting for an opportunity to fly away. Poor thing has a misshapen wing. He can fly about five feet and then he’s out.”

“I’ll move him. I should get up anyway, now that you’re awake.” He sits up and inches down to the end of my bed.

My eyes follow him, part of me wishing he hadn’t gotten up.

Dangerous, Charisma.

He walks over to the bird, reaches into the cage, and rubs him on the head.

I ease up until I’m propped against the pillows. “He likes you. He’s not that crazy about guys.”

“Score for me.” He flashes his smile at the bird, and I swear the damn thing weaves on his little feet.

“Are you some kind of hypnotist?”

He pauses and looks back at me. “If I were, I’d hypnotize you.”

“Yeah? What would you make me do?”

Blue eyes lower, drifting over my face.

“Kiss me. Friends can do that, right?”

Oh. I feel lightheaded as I adjust my pillows. “Not normally, no.”

He clears his throat and tears his gaze off me. He picks up my acoustic guitar in the corner of the room and holds it up. “You play?”

I blush. “Not well. I got it in my head last year to take lessons, but as it turns out, I suck. Probably not the right instrument for me. I like upbeat, harder sounds.”

“Like?”

“Joan Jett, Poison, Bon Jovi, Metallica. I’m old school.”

“I’ve got a song for you. Not hard rock, but the words won’t get out of my head lately.” He cradles the guitar, sitting on the end of my bed and strumming out a soft tune with long fingers. He plays the bridge with ease, his head nodding as the soft timbre of his voice shifts into song. The pitch is perfect, the husky quality skilled as the sound reverberates in my small room.

His voice picks up and sings the chorus, about a guy who keeps seeing the girl he broke up with. He sees her everywhere—in her Maxima—and he thought he’d get over her, but he…doesn’t. His small town is closing in on him. He needs to get away.

He sings the last note, and I suck in a breath and try, try to push down my feelings for him.

“Have you had lessons?”

He pats the guitar. “I just pick it up fast. It’s the same with a piano. I may not get the tune right away, but I usually do pretty quick.”

“Blaze…that’s amazing.”

He blushes. “Yeah? When I went to church with my aunt and uncle, I would play when no one was around.”

“What song was that?”

“Sam Hunt, ‘Break Up in a Small Town’.”

“Don’t know who that is, but you’re better than he’ll ever be.”

He laughs and looks down.

“Play something else.” Please. I want to wipe that song out of my head, because it felt like…us.

“You like Peter Gabriel?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Here’s ‘In Your Eyes’.” He hangs his head, his fingers on the strings again, the soft way he strokes them making me sigh. He raises his head and sings the words, the sculpted lines of his face drawn with intensity as he works the guitar with perfect precision. The beat picks up, and he stands and plays, his hips swaying just a little with the beat of the tune.

He ends the song, and there’s a heavy silence. All I can do is stare at him. My chest feels incredibly tight.

“That’s the song John Cusack plays on his boombox to get the girl in Say Anything,” I say.

His eyes flicker. “Is it?”

I close my eyes. It is, and he knows it. “It’s your favorite movie.”

“Ah, guess you got me there.” He looks down and stares at the guitar.

I want to hold him. And I shouldn’t.

“I never knew you played and sang. I guess you do that for girls all the time.” Emotion rises in my throat and I battle it down, but it seems as if I can’t. “Your voice, it…it makes me want to cry.”

“Don’t do that. I can’t take it when you cry.” He sets the guitar down and comes back to me. His fingers brush at my cheeks, and I realize there are tears on my face. “I’ve never sang a song for a girl. Not like this. Never.”

Oh. I push his hands away and wipe my face, feeling color rising on my cheeks. I mutter, “It’s those meds. They make me loopy.”

“Just the meds? Maybe it’s something else.” His eyes are on my face, reading me, and whatever he sees there is enough for him to get on his knees in front of me. His hand goes around my nape and palms my scalp underneath my hair.

“Is it okay to do this? As a friend?” he asks softly.

Breathing faster, I lean into his hand. “Yes. Thank you for the song, for taking care of me.”

Before I can focus too hard on the repercussions, I trace his lips, outlining the fullness. There’s a slight indentation in the center of his bottom lip, and I press my finger there.

He closes his eyes. “Charm?”

I freeze, feeling self-conscious. What am I doing?

He’s here being kind, and I’m…out of control.

“Do you want me to stop?” I say.

“No.” His tongue darts out, licks my finger, and then he bites it, sucking it into his mouth. I can’t breathe, watching his mouth pull on me, until it feels like my body is hardwired to his tongue, everything sparking alive, nipples, my core, all of it connected to his sinewy wetness. He sucks me, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

He lets my finger go slowly, with a soft pop.

He moves back to staring at me, his pupils large, dark, and focused on me.

My body tightens. I know that look. I recognize that heat and desire. I feel it too, every time he’s close to me. Goose bumps sprinkle over my skin, a buzz in my bloodstream…

He stands and paces around the room, his hand in a fist as he puts it to his mouth.

“Come back,” I whisper.

He stops and looks at me.

“If I come back…I don’t think I can resist touching you.”

“Okay.”

He inhales sharply, walks over to me, and gets back on his knees. “I want your mouth, but you don’t like kissing.”