She takes a step toward me and peers down at it. Delicate, with spread wings, the stone is soft and smooth, about an inch thick. “I saw the purple and blue colors mixed together, and it made me think of you. It’s a charm for strength, the lady said—you keep it close and rub when you need to feel centered.” She clears her throat. “You can put it on a desk or wherever, and when I’m out of your hair, you’ll remember tonight and not think I was too much of a pain in the ass.”

I close my fingers around it, rubbing my fingers over the surface. “I’ll keep it in my pocket every day.”

Her breath hitches. “You don’t have to—”

“You aren’t a pain in the ass.”

“Give me time.”

I stick my hand in my pocket, curling around the stone. “My guess is your apartment isn’t going to be livable for weeks. The basement has structural damage. You’re about to start fall semester, and you don’t need the extra hassle of searching for an apartment. Stay as long as you want. Be my real roommate.”

What the hell am I saying?

She licks her lips. “My family and our friends might think we’re, you know, a thing . . .”

“We’ll tell them we’re not.”

“Because we aren’t,” she says on a sigh.

“Just . . . stay.”

Stay, stay, stay . . . the word bangs around in my head, ping-ponging around the blurry childhood memories of my mother driving away, lingering visions of every woman after that slamming a door and telling me goodbye.

I’m not deluded. Part of me knows I’m teetering close to a heady infatuation with Giselle, throwing my inhibitions aside and devouring her piece by piece. Then she’ll wake up and see I’m not good enough, just like Hannah did. Unease pricks, making me itch, and I want to peel the sensation right off my skin.

“We need rules, though.”

She swallows. “Yeah?”

My hands tighten at my sides. Just say it, just say it . . .

“I’m going to be up front. I find you . . . attractive,” I say gruffly.

“What a nightmare,” she replies dryly, eyes gleaming. “Devon thinks the nerd girl is cute.”

“Shush. You’re gorgeous, okay? Your ass is fine; your tits are small . . . ,” I tease, “but perfect, and when you walk in a room, men look. They look real hard, Giselle—even me—and you’re not even paying attention.”

“Oh, I’m catching a clue.”

I don’t touch that remark. “All I’m saying is we keep our hands to ourselves. We’re friends, and we don’t want to ruin that. Plus, Jack . . .”

“Meh, we’d probably never mesh in bed anyway.”

Unbidden, my hands clench. She went there? I take a breath. Steady now . . . “Really? I can assure you, fucking me would be the highlight of your damn year—”

“Promises you don’t plan on proving.” She pats me on the arm, then stops. “Oh wait, can I touch you there?” Her lips curl.

I shake my head, reaching for exasperation but finding nothing but bolts of heat at the sight of her. This is an asinine idea, asking her to stay, but . . .

“Don’t split hairs with me, smarty-pants.”

“Uh-huh. So what’s off the table?” She steps in closer, her arms curling around my neck. Fire licks up my skin, and I suck in a gasp of air. What is she doing?

“Giselle—”

“I mean, sex is a no-no,” she murmurs. “You’ve laid down the law, Sheriff, but what about first base? You already did that. You kissed me the night of the fire—and gotta say, it wasn’t the best. We can’t let it stand. Plus, you told me if I brought Red back safe, you’d tell me why you kissed me.”

She smells fucking good, and I swallow down the thickness in my throat, my hands of their own volition reaching up and cupping her face. “Because I was angry, and it felt . . . right,” I admit. “Was it that bad?”

“Just the first time I’ve been kissed in five months, only I didn’t get any tongue.” She plays with a piece of my hair, twisting it around her finger. “I propose we get a real kiss in and call it quits—after all, you let some chick kiss your neck tonight, so they don’t mean much to you. I’m sure there wouldn’t be a spark anyway, but once it’s out of the way, we’ll know for certain there’s no zing. Truly, I need it for testing purposes. I plan on kissing Mike Millington at my party, and it would be prudent to have yours as a control to compare—”

Anger zips over me. “I want to meet this motherfucker. No one’s getting near you if he doesn’t pass my test.”

“I do love it when you get all growly. What kind of test?” She presses her lips against my cheek, right at the corner of my mouth. It’s not sexy or a come-on but gentle and teasing.

Regardless. My brain stops. Literally stops functioning.

Fuck, fuck, she feels so good . . .

“Dev?” She pulls back, gaze locked with mine as the moments tick down. “Level five,” she murmurs, and I shake my head at her.

“What kind of test?” I grumble, trying to focus. “The douchebag-slash-asshole-slash-how-bad-do-I-want-to-kill-him test. It’s evolving as we speak.”

“Clearly.” She rests her head in the crook of my neck, and my arms curl around her waist. I tug her closer, tipping her face up. She looks ethereal in the lights of the car, her blonde hair shining. I sigh. “All right. Come on; let’s get this kiss out of the way and get on with our lives.” My words are light, but my pulse beats like a jackhammer, already imagining how she’ll taste, the slide of her mouth against mine, the satiny feel of her skin under my hands, because I’m going to run my hands all over her, touch her face, her hair, her arms, her tits. I can handle one kiss, for Christ’s sake.

Can you? a voice cackles in my head.

“You were right the first time. No touching. I get it. I’ll wait for Mike.” And then she’s twirling out of my arms, with her face averted.

I’m right behind her, and she whips around, and we bump into each other.

“Giselle, you’re teasing me.”

“No, I’m not,” she replies, eyes flashing. “Don’t you get it? I have thought about kissing you more than you may realize, and it’s . . . not returned! We are just friends, not even really that, because you only know me because of Jack and Elena, but in my head—” Her voice stops. “What are you doing?” she gasps as I fiddle with her hair.

“When I kiss you, I want my hands in your hair. These braids have to go.”

I work on one, and she does the other. “If you think I’m going to let you kiss me now, you missed your chance.”

“You’re right; I’m an ass. I don’t deserve to kiss you at all,” I murmur as she throws her rubber band on the ground, and I toss mine alongside it. “But we should get this . . .” Hot as fuck moment . . . “Experiment out of the way.” My hands wrap around her waist.

She shakes out the braids with her fingers and glares at me. “You might discover, football player, that one kiss isn’t enough—”

I kiss her, getting my first taste (and trying to go slow) by pressing soft brushes against the corners of her mouth before tugging on her bottom lip with my teeth, parting her lips, and swallowing her gasp, then swooping in to slant my lips against hers. We fit together as if we were made for each other, her head tilting in my palms as I slide my hands deep into her hair and clutch her skull. I give her everything she deserves, long and slow and languid, lazily sucking at her lips until she moans, her fingers scraping down my jaw, sliding across my shoulders, her nails digging into my shirt as she grips me.