He invites me inside. “Nah, you’re fine.”

I take in the small area with a couch, two chairs, and a huge TV on the media center. I’ve been here before but only got a cursory look around. It appears to be clean for a guy’s place, and I think he straightened it up before I arrived.

“Dillon is out, and Ryker’s with Penelope.” He tosses a look at me over his shoulder. “It’s just you and me.”

“Okay.” I take a seat on the couch, and he sits in the chair across from me.

“You want some popcorn?” He tilts his head toward the bowl in his lap.

I shake my head.

This is weird. I way overdressed, and he’s…distant?

My shoulders tense, and I roll my neck.

“How’s Vampire Bill?”

“Great. Pen and I had to hold him down to give him the drops, but he’s fine.”

“Good.”

A few seconds tick by.

He jumps up. “Want to listen to some music?” He doesn’t even wait for me to reply before he’s connecting his phone to the speakers. Music blares in the room.

He turns around and goes into the kitchen, calling back at me. “I’ve got soda, beer, and vodka—what’s your poison?”

He lingers there, waiting for me to reply. His finger taps his leg, and his other hand is fisted, pressed tight against his lips.

He’s freaking nervous.

I am too.

I cross my legs and clasp my hands in my lap. “A shot of vodka would be…great.” I need the courage.

“Cool. I’ll just have water. Combine’s coming up and I want to stay tight.” He gives me a quick nod, pivots, and makes his way to the fridge.

And now I’m the only one drinking! KMN. Kill me now.

He stays in the kitchen forever, but I won’t look to see what he’s up to.

Oh, lord, stop. Relax.

Finally he’s back. Instead of putting the glass in my hands, he sets it on the coffee table in front of me. I toss it back faster than I should have and cough a little.

“You good?” He’s back in his seat, his forearms tight as he rests them on the sides of the chair.

I nod and clear my throat. “Some of your guys met me on the landing.”

“They give you any trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. They knew who I was.”

He looks away. “Yeah. That’s on me. I told everyone to stay clear of my room. I told them I had a date.”

Oh.

Oh.

He watches me. “I have a movie if you wanna watch? Or a show?” He looks around uncertainly.

“Okay.”

He stands again. “We can’t watch out here though. Dillon will be home soon and there’s no telling who’ll be with him. I have a TV in my room. It’s small, but it gets the job done. We’ll have to sit on my bed.”

“Sure.”

He walks over and reaches out to help me up from the couch. His hand engulfs mine and I think back to how he held Bill. So careful.

He doesn’t let go as we walk down the hall and enter his room.

It’s the usual dorm setup and I take it in again, from the navy and orange comforter to the trophies scattered around, some on the floor, some on his dresser where the TV is. His room is messy, but it fits him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he faces me.

“I… Do you have a shirt and maybe a pair of shorts I can put on? Me in this dress will not work on your bed. It’s going to ride up and I’ll be squirming—”

He lets go of my hand and is at his dresser, holding up shirts for me. “This one?” It’s a soft pale blue with a tiger on it. “It’s one of my practice shirts from Alma. It’s old but pretty much the softest and smallest thing I own.”

“Perfect.” I take it from him along with a pair of gray shorts and dart into his bathroom to change.

I ease the door shut and move fast, finding a hook and slipping my dress on it. I kick off my shoes and set them in the corner.

Once that’s done, I make sure I still look presentable. My eyes take in the motivational notes taped there, lingering on You is all you have. I think about him vowing to be good for his aunt and uncle but still feeling left out in the end.

I come out and he’s already propped up against the headboard, pillows behind him. He pats the area next to him. “Or I can bring a chair in here for you?”

A chair? Is he for real?

“No, the bed is great.”

“I like my shirt on you.”

I touch the hem, which reaches my lower hips. “It’s big.”

“You look good.” The words are gruff.

I swallow. “What movie are you pulling up?”

He’s got the remote in his hand and looks down as if he’d forgotten. “How about some old episodes of HBO’s Rome? You a fan?”

I laugh as I ease up on the bed until I’m sitting next to him. “I haven’t seen it, actually, but I heard it was great.”

An hour later, we’re in deep, and some of the tension has eased. There’s another bowl of popcorn between us, and we’re tearing it up as we stare at the TV. The room is dark since he got up earlier and turned the lights off, and the only illumination comes from the glow of the screen.

“I can’t believe how they stabbed Caesar—ugh—and Mark Antony is a useless politician. Well, except for that speech on the steps of the capitol. He’s a lucky sonofabitch. Does he screw everyone in this show?” I say as he sweet-talks a girl in a tavern on screen.

“Hmmm, he gets what’s coming to him later in Egypt—”

“Don’t spoil it.” I throw a piece of popcorn at Blaze.

He catches it in his mouth.

“It’s Cleopatra, right? She’s the end of him. She uses an asp?”

“Not telling you, but bad girls are usually the end of men.”

I snort. “There are two other whole seasons! I’ll never catch up.”

“You will. You’ll catch up. I’m catching up, Charm.”

There’s an earnest quality to his voice, and I glance at him.

Did he mean something else when he said that?

Later, I’m closer to him, my leg pressed against his, and his hand…it sits right next to mine, his pinkie softly touching my skin. It’s not even a caress, just an acknowledgement that he’s aware of me, and I shiver.

“You cold?” His head leans down.

“No. Yes. Maybe.” My stomach flutters. “I’m all over the place.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re fidgeting worse than I do. I wonder why?” His hand tilts my chin up and he stares down at me.

“What?” I say, feeling strung out. We’ve been sitting here for three hours and I’m anxious. What are we going to talk about?

“I’ve been wondering…am I the only guy you’ve kissed at Waylon?”

“Was it that bad?”

“Am I the only one?” His forehead furrows, and I see how important this is to him.

“Yes, fine, you know all my secrets. Kissed you freshman year and that was it.”

“Practically a kissing virgin.” His gaze dips to my lips. “And who was Sport Coat Guy last night?” His voice is softer now, his hand sliding around the nape of my neck.

“Who was she?” I ask.

“Not the person I want. But you already know that, don’t you?”

I nod. I do know that. He barely looked at her. And he sang my song.

“Who was he?” he asks again.

I lick my lips. “My advisor’s been trying to find me a nice Italian guy—”

“Did he find the right one?” His hand clenches in my hair, not hard, but enough for me to know that my answer matters.

“No. I can’t…” My voice breaks. “Blaze, you know it’s you.”

He’s turned toward me, our faces close.

My hand touches his shoulder tentatively then slides down to rest on his chest, over his heart.

“Your heart is beating fast.” My hand draws circles on the center of him, that vital part keeping his blood pumping. “What is this thing between us?”

Moving his arm, he presses his hand against mine. He leans down closer, our foreheads together. “This is me. This is my heart flying every time I see you. This is why I tried to let you go last fall…” He stops, his eyes closing for a moment then opening. “This is why I want your kisses all the time.”

He moves away, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a bag, opening it slowly and pulling out the small piece of paper inside.

“What’s that?”

“Your note. I keep it in my pocket sometimes. Had it with me that night at Cadillac’s. Had it with me at the library and the masquerade party. Had it last night.”

I inhale. “Blaze…”

“Let me finish.” He unwraps it slowly, and tears prick my eyes when I see how careful he is. “I love you, you wrote.” There’s awe in his voice.

I look at the hastily scrawled handwriting. I can’t breathe. I recall getting in my car when I clearly shouldn’t have been driving, parking at his dorm, trying to figure out what to do. I’d already cried my eyes out at the party. I was done with anger. I just wanted him to know what he’d fucking given up when he ended us, so I opened myself up on a gum wrapper.

He glances at me, searching my face. “I found it on my door after we broke up. Didn’t believe it, of course. Nobody’s ever said that to me. Not one person. Not even my aunt and uncle.”