"What's the play tonight, Mads?" Dex asked, jolting me from my people-watching.

My James-and-Holly watching, specifically.

With one eye on them, and one eye on Ivy and Noah as they whispered and laughed about whatever the hell they were whispering and laughing about, I was two seconds short of giving myself a serious case of whiplash.

We were standing by the bar as we waited for the band to start their set, just another handful of friends amongst the tipsy crowd. But while everyone else was settling into the good vibes of the night, the dynamics of my effed-up friend group was giving me a migraine.

I choked on a laugh. "Don't ever call me that."

Dex poked me in the ribs, raising his cheap beer to his lips. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to see Derek van der Yates drinking anything cheaper than Grey Goose.

"What's with you and nicknames?"

Gosh. That was a loaded question. What was with me trying to keep other people at arm's length? Trust issues, probably.

"C'mon, Madison," he whined. "You were so optimistic yesterday on the phone."

I smiled bitterly. Everything seemed so simple the day before, when I thought that I was the puppet master, the one calling the shots. I was still whirling from my conversation with Holly, still dissecting everything she'd revealed. To think: all along, one of my puppets had been working against me. Outsmarting each one of my plays.

I watched her and James from the corner of my eye, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. She grabbed hold of his bicep, throwing her head back in an adorable giggle at something he'd said. Something smart and witty, no doubt.

My chest tightened, and I heard myself say, "Maybe this is it."

Dex's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "What's it?"

I peeled my eyes from the tipsy duo. "Sometimes things don't work out, Dex. Sometime's you like someone, but it's a case of right person, wrong time. Or wrong person, right time." Or wrong person, wrong time.

Dex continued to study me, his sweet, excited grin falling more and more. "Where's this coming from?"

"I think," another voice snarled, "that someone's feeling sorry for themselves."

The floor slipped out from under me as Ivy crept up behind us. I'd taken my eyes off of her for too long, it seemed; Noah was catching up with some of his teammates at the bar, and she'd been listening in on mine and Dex's conversation.

Dex's head was dashing back and forth between Ivy and me, question marks beaming from his wide, confused eyes. He was likely wondering how Ivy, a stranger, seemed to know what the hell we were alluding to.

Betrayal. I'd betrayed him, betrayed his trust. The anger inside me compounded—not just anger toward Holly and Ivy anymore, but toward myself, too.

Ivy laughed, the sound so obviously fake that I wondered how Dex couldn't have picked up on it. "Oh, sweetheart. Don't worry." She threw me a wink—which did nothing to redirect the rage boiling my blood. "I'm as good a wingwoman as Madi is. You're in good hands."

Dex peered at me—but my face was blank. My mind was blank, and I was tired. And he saw it. So he cocked his head at my lab partner, smirking devilishly.

Or as devilishly as someone like Dex could smirk.

"And what would you have me do?" he wondered, and I couldn't help but feel a prick of pride at the confidence laced through his tone.

Ivy shrugged, running a finger up and down the neck of her beer. "I think," she cooed, "you're too nice."

"Too nice?"

Ivy chuckled, the low, rough sound rousing gooseflesh on my skin. "Girls like banter. A bit of back and forth. It's ... sexy."

I flinched. That was exactly what Holly had said. And maybe she had a point.

I'd always thought it was something akin to irritation that I felt every time James challenged me, every time he unleashed one of his clever comebacks or knowing smirks. But maybe that feeling that swirled in the pit of my stomach derived from ... something else.

"No one wants something that's easy to get," Ivy went on. She linked her arm through Dex's, snatching the anxiety from my stomach and replacing it with something else. Anger. The kind that turned my breathing ragged, that threatened to crack the last shred of composure I'd managed to stitch together. "Half the fun is the challenge, or the sense of being challenged."

Dex considered her again, and my heart wilted for him. He was so trusting, so good and pure. He believed everyone else was, couldn't see that Ivy was using him. Just like Holly was.

Just like I was.

Seeing the interaction through an outsider's eyes compounded everything I was already feeling. Guilt. Shame. Regret. Anger. I'd been in denial for so long, turning a blind eye to what I was doing for so long, that when I finally opened my eyes, my senses were flooded. Everything—my lies, Holly's lies, Ivy's motives ... it suddenly hit me over the head like a bag of bricks. It was like I was falling—falling deeper and deeper into a dark, endless pit. A pit I'd created, one I'd shoved Dex down, too.

Another burst of giggling broke free from Holly's crimson lips, her hand leaving James' arm to glide down his chest. Dex was oblivious as my lab partner pulled him closer, totally unaware that his crush was flirting up a storm with his best friend barely five steps away.

I felt my grip tighten around my drink, my knuckles almost white with tension in stark contrast to my gold rings. How long had Holly been interested in James? How long had she been sabotaging her dates with Dex? Since the wedding? Since our dinner date? Since the beginning?

Suddenly, every one of my interactions with her fell into question. Our movie night—when Dex and I had been talking about Game of Thrones, when she'd turned up her nose and expressed her aversion to it. The way she constantly pushed for group dates with all five of us rather than one-on-one dates with just her and Dex. How she was always bringing up James and me and asking whether I was still into him, whether there was still anything between us. All the way back to that very first time, when I invited her out for Mexican food. She'd asked who else would be there, and she'd seemed so coy. I'd thought her excitement stemmed from the thought of spending time with Dex. Had I misunderstood? Was it James who she'd been excited about getting closer to all along?

My throat felt as if it was closing up, my jaw aching as I grit my teeth. And that's when I realized; I was irritated at Holly.

Not because she'd lied to me about her feelings for Dex, but because she'd concealed her feelings for James. She'd gotten close to me, pried me for information about him and about our faux relationship, only to wield it against me in the end. To corner me, to force me into giving her my blessing, to force me into helping her pursue him. After all, I'd always maintained that we were nothing more than friends. How could I go back on what I'd told her over and over again?

I knew that it was stupid of me to be annoyed with her. Hypocritical, even. I'd been using her, too. And James wasn't actually my ex. We weren't even really friends. Holly had every right to pursue him if she wanted to.

But logic didn't erase how I felt.

And I wondered—when I told Dex, James, and Noah about everything I'd done, was this how they would feel about me?

Of all the worries circling through my head, that was the one that had nausea bundling my stomach.

"What do you think, Mads?" Dex asked.

His voice pulled me back from my spiral, slicing through the emotions claiming me with a python's grip just before they took hold.

But when my eyes meet his, and with Ivy staring me down, all I could mumble was, "I don't know."

He tilted his head, the sweetest crease appearing between his brow. And that—that, his concern for me—might have shattered my heart completely.

If I still had one.

Noah joined us with another tray of shots, and I threw one back without a second thought. Because amid Holly's revelation and Ivy's spontaneous appearance? Yeah—there was no way in hell that I was getting through that night sober.

The band was incredible. We carved out a spot near the front of the mosh, taking turns buying subsequent rounds of shots and then soda as the music played on through the night. It was easier than I thought it would be to get lost amongst the indie beat and strobing lights. At some point, I found myself singing along to the only song I knew.

I truly didn't think that it was just the alcohol loosening me up. It probably helped, but ... Dancing with the guys, draping our arms over each other's shoulders, I felt a sense of belonging I hadn't felt for months. For the first time since I met them, I was starting to come around to the idea that maybe there was more than just Holly linking us after all. That maybe we could even be ... friends.

Another strobe of light beat down on us as the band finished their set, and my eyes flitted to my right. Holly was standing behind James, her arms wrapped around his torso from behind, swaying back and forth while the final note played out.

That sinking feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. I downed the last of my drink, grimacing when the sharp liquid hit the back of my throat.

"They're cute together," Ivy purred, her innocent tone laced with toxic insinuation. "Don't you think?"

That was the final straw.

Most of the crowd was dissipating, already turning to queue at the bar or bathroom. I took advantage of a small opening, edging out of the sea of bodies, up the flight of stairs to the mezzanine, and aimed for an empty table right at the back, wishing I'd grabbed myself another shot. Or maybe a jug.

Definitely a jug.

I sat in an alcove, a neon sign that read I have mixed drinks about feelings spilling red light into the shadows and across the wooden table. Out from the cloud of comradery that consumed me on the dancefloor, all of my problems returned. But, surprising even me, my flailing assignment was the last of my worries, even with Ivy's feline gaze searing me wherever I went.

I cast another look down to the dancefloor, spotting Dex at the bar, laughing with Noah and Ivy. He was oblivious to it all—to Holly's game, to mine and Ivy's project. But I wasn't. I knew what was happening behind closed doors, behind his back. I didn't want to ruin his night, but enough was enough.

I had to tell him. Assignment and internship be damned.

"Watson."

My eyes shot up. A head of golden hair caught on a strobe of blue light, a shadowy silhouette slinking closer and closer to my table. In another flash of blue, I was sure I caught a sheepish smile toying with its lips—one that may or may not have flipped my weathered heart right out of my chest. I peered over the figure's shoulder, half expecting to see Holly trailing it.

But James was alone.

We were alone. 

My stomach squeezed with every step that he took, the air around me buzzing with an energy that hadn't been there before. Every part of me seemed to be on edge, as if waiting for something that my mind hadn't yet caught on to.

"You found me."

He arched an eyebrow, leaving the strobing blue lights behind and stepping into the sinful red. "Were you hiding?"

I blinked back at him silently. I didn't know. Maybe a part of me wanted him to find me in the dark.

He hovered by the table, placing down his glass and resting his weight on his arms. After a beat, he looked up, and I swear I caught something other than just civility lurking in those bright blue eyes. "How have you been?"

I was startled by the question. Small talk. It wasn't like James and me to engage in small talk. We were miles past that.

Weren't we?

"Good," I answered plainly. As though he was a stranger, and not someone I'd bared my soul to time and time again. "You?"

"Good." He lowered his gaze, fiddling with his glittering Rolex. "And your birthday?"

My red lips pulled into a small, tired grin. The emotions from that long day were the last that I wanted to recall. But something told me that he knew that. That he could read my silence, and that it told him more than any words I said ever could.

Because we were past small talk.

"Good," I offered. "Thank you again for the cupcake." I'd already text him and the others a thank you in the group chat, but ... whatever.

"It's fine. No big deal."

It was the only birthday present I'd gotten.

"Was it okay?"

"It was great. Really, um ... soft." Soft? But, really, what were we doing? Talking about cupcakes?

James nodded, his eyes twinkling knowingly. And then, we lulled into silence.

That's when I realized what he was doing. What we were both doing. Hedging. Buying time.

It was painfully obvious.

Neither of us knew what to say. So much time had passed since we kissed, and yet it was like none had at all. We'd been texting on and off since I'd arrived back at campus; James had replied to my group message privately, which had somehow snowballed into a conversation about which one food we would take with us to a desert island, and then into an increasingly concerning game of Would You Rather. It felt like we were back in that guest house, inches apart, about to start something we weren't sure we could finish.

The guest house.

The kiss.

The memory of it hit me like a brick to the face. If the brick was made of fairy floss that smelled like midnight kisses and summer rain and springtime. It was making me giddy. The sight of his lips—lips I'd tasted—was enough to make the room around me feel distant. Far away. And maybe it was just the alcohol, but ... maybe it wasn't.

"Are you having a good night?" The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them, as though a change of subject would erase the tingling sensation shooting over my skin.

Something flickered in his eyes. He kept them on mine for a moment longer, and I watched as they glazed over—like I'd caught him amid another thought.

"Your friend's interesting."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "Ivy's not my friend."

James questioned me with a look, but I held my ground. Because it wasn't a lie.

But so much else was.

And that's when it hit me. That's when I realized how at peace I suddenly felt, even though dread and guilt had been crashing through my body only seconds before. That's what James did to me. It's what he'd always done to me. He was a sliver of calm in my world of chaos, a slice of understanding in a world so excruciatingly judgemental.

And I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted to tell him about Ivy, about our assignment, about our stupid hypothesis that was basically dead in the water. I wanted to tell him about Holly, about her plan, about how I'd unintentionally enabled it. Not because I needed his help, or his pity, but just because I needed to talk to someone. I needed to confess. I needed to be told that everything was going to be okay, that I would be okay. And I needed the person who said it all to be him.

I cleared my throat. I opened my mouth.

But James looked away.

He peered over his shoulder, oblivious to the confession creeping up my throat. When he turned to me again, his features were scrunched into a frown, and my desire to confide in him lost out to his desire to confide in me.

"It's ... weird. Holly ..."

I leaned in closer as his voice trickled away, adrenaline rousing at the mention of her name.

But he clamped his mouth shut, hanging his head. "Never mind."

"What?" I prodded.

James ran a finger around the rim of his glass, clearly debating whether or not to answer truthfully. But my stare didn't let up. My heart was beating so fast. I needed him to say whatever he was thinking out loud.

He knew me too well. Knew my stubbornness. Slowly, he sighed. "Does she seem a little ... flirtier than usual?"

My breath hitched. There it was. He was onto her.

What if he was into, her, too? How couldn't he be? Hell, maybe I was into her a little bit.

I grimaced, looking down at my glass. How much had I had to drink?

James misunderstood my silence, gritting his teeth and shaking his head to himself. "God, I sound conceited—"

"No!" I practically shot.

He peered at me oddly, his prying eyes sparking heat on my cheeks.

My mouth floundered as I tried to recover my lapse in composure, tried to ignite some of the playfulness that had consumed us before. "I just mean that ... well, you would know."

He didn't laugh like I'd thought he would. I didn't even think he'd caught on to my inference. He only cocked his head at me, confused.

"Noah told me what you were like in high school," I tried to explain, knowing very well that explaining a joke was futile. I couldn't stop talking. Something else was pushing me to bring the subject up. It was like I'd been waiting to bring it up all night. All day. "Dating casually, never settling down with one girl—"

"He said that?"

I shrugged. "In more or less words."

Is that what Noah said? Or was it what the girls from biology said?

Not that it mattered. The outcome was the same.

James tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Huh."

"Why?" I tried to keep my tone light. Indifferent. I was just making casual conversation, after all. Keeping his mind off Holly, off ideas about him and Holly. For Dex's benefit.

That's what I told myself.

He met my question with more confusion, and I clarified, "Why nothing serious?"

I saw the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. I thought that he would wave me off with a joke, with more surface-level banter.

He didn't. 

He took a deep breath.

"There was this one girl," he finally revealed. His gaze turned wistful, but his voice was thicker, his words heavier than before.

Joanna. 

"McKinlee," he revealed bashfully. Contradicting me as always, though unknowingly that time.

My brow creased instantly, my face the one suddenly dripping with confusion. With intrigue.

He shrugged, shadows devouring his face as he dipped his head, tracing his eyes over the table. "She was pretty cute. I liked her. I invited her to my birthday party, and we got talking. The next week at school, her friend told me she liked me. That she wanted me to ask her out. So I did."

As if it hadn't been through enough that night, the knots in my stomach constricted.

It bothered me to hear James talking about McKinlee. I didn't know why, but it did.

"But I had this feeling. I decided to test it." He looked down at the crowd on the lower level, as though the scene he was describing was playing out right in front of us. "There's this drive-in where we live. Super old school, a little run-down. But they were showing Grease—my guilty pleasure. So I took her to see it in one of the spare cars instead of my BMW. It didn't even have an aux. We got these huge, messy hotdogs and greasy fries and just camped out under the stars ..." He paused, entertaining the beginnings of a dry, humorless laugh. "She didn't speak to me the next day at school. One month later, she was dating the son of our state senator. And, just like that, I proved my theory correct." He shrugged simply, but I could see the hurt contorting his face. "She'd never expressed interest in me before. Not until she saw my parents' place. Not until she heard my last name."

The neon sign flickered, scattering red light across his chiseled features. Other people were shuffling past us, incomprehensible chatter of their own filling the air, heavy with the smell of beer and fries. But it was almost as if they were in an entirely different world to us, like we existed in another dimension that they didn't. It was just James and I, just as it had been in the guest house. And while the nature of our exchange was quite different, it was no less intimate.

"I didn't date the girls from my hometown," he clarified, "because they only ever saw me as one thing. My parents' son."

I reined in the urge to gape. James, the most confident, charming, and unfairly beautiful person I'd met at Camden—or maybe ever—was insecure about the reason why women were lining up to date him. Worried that he couldn't live up to the expectations they placed on him by virtue of his looks, his status, his privilege.

It looked as though he was about to say something else. He took another breath, then shook his head slowly.

It stirred my interest. I was being selfish. I was hungry for more. I wanted to know everything about him.

So I asked, "What were you going to say?"

He was still playing with his glass, his eyes tracing the ice bobbing up and down in the clear liquid. "Just that ..." He smiled to himself, his tongue running over his mouth so quickly that anyone else would have missed it. It sent a thrill through me, but then he murmured, "That that's why I didn't want you to come to my parents' place."

His words floated in the air above us without registering in my mind. Sure, I remembered feeling like James didn't want me to go to the wedding. When Dex and Noah had invited me, James had all but snapped at them for it. I'd always assumed it was because of the fight we had. Because he was upset with me, or because he disliked me. 

But that didn't sound like what he was telling me now.

"I didn't want it to change anything," he continued. "For it to change the way that you see me."

I felt my mouth part, his insinuation stealing the words from my tongue. I wished that the darkness would lift from around us, wished he'd look up, wished that I could see the expression on his face. Maybe it would give me the encouragement I needed to speak.

Then again, maybe it took being in the dark for our innermost thoughts to come to light.

"How do you think I see you?" I managed to ask, my voice as breathy as his.

James lifted his eyes at the sound. God, they were piercing. The lights from the club were dancing on him, the shadows licking at the contours of his face.

"I think," he said slowly, "that you see ... me."

The room closed in, and I instantly became aware of every inch of my body. Something foreign stirred in the pit of my stomach. But I couldn't break his gaze, couldn't escape his eyes. Not even when they left mine to flicker down to my mouth. Then down and over my tight, lacy outfit.

My heart flopped. My mouth ... dry. But, for once, I wasn't afraid.

His appraisal, his confession, the way he was staring at me ... it was rousing something in me. Something almost mischievous was pulling at my red lips. I felt a way I hadn't in a long time. I felt playful. Dangerous. Was it just the alcohol? Or was it something more?

James' eyes bounced back up when I didn't reply. His cheeks reddened the slightest bit, a sheepish smile creeping over his lips at the sight of the smirk on mine.

"What?" he asked gently.

I peeked up at him innocently through my feathery lashes. "Nothing."

He didn't buy it.

I allowed my smile to mirror his, arching an eyebrow in a look that I hoped was demure. "Just ... Grease? Grease is your favorite film?"

His simper gave way to an all-out grin, shooting up his face and creasing his eyes. "Hey! Danny is slick."

I pursed my lips thoughtfully, watching him sip from his drink. Watching him swirl that bit of liquid gold, tracing its path down the length of his throat. "I don't know. I was always more of a Kenickie girl."

"Yeah, well." His eyes circled back to mine, something other than amusement sparkling under the flickering lights. "You do have a thing for blonds."

My stomach was twisting again. But I didn't pull away like I usually did. I leaned forward.

I cocked my head. "You're so annoying when you're coming onto me."

The energy around us exploded. We fell back into silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable like it had been before. It was electric. It was teasing every part of me, and I couldn't understand why, but I suddenly wished that we were alone.

But we weren't, so I simply uttered, "I think that you see me, too."

I used to think that I hated him for that, for being able to peer beneath my façade. But, no; I was grateful. Grateful that someone like him saw someone like me, and proud that he liked what he saw.

"I do, Madison." He was only confirming the words I'd said out loud. But my heart pricked like he was confirming the ones I'd said to myself, too.

But ... Madison. I didn't want him to call me Madison. Not anymore—not when our connection ran so much deeper.

Before I could tell him that, before I could put that new, alien feeling of warmth and hope into words, movement over his head caught my eye. Holly was making her way over to our table, a babbling Dex in tow. It took James less than a second to follow my gaze, a flash of light from above revealing a disconcerted frown.

He turned back to me quickly, reading my mind. "Do you want to dance?"

"No." Dancing? Not my strong suit.

But he was already on his feet, already reaching over to grab my hands.

I smiled. And took them.

I let him lead me away from the table and down the steps to the bottom level of the club. I could feel Holly's eyes tracing us every step of the way, her excitement wavering as we became lost to the sea of dancers already on the floor. Another darkened figure watched us from the shadows, her obsidian gaze flickering with understanding.

I tuned it all out. With James' hand finally in mine, it was suddenly easy to forget that a world outside of us even existed. And that's exactly what I wanted to do; I wanted to forget about Holly, about Ivy, about my flailing assignment. I wanted to escape the creeping guilt that constricted my airways every time I saw Dex's face. I wanted to shake off the logic that was starting to pierce through my desire to live in the moment, to follow my instincts and to listen to my heart—no matter how broken and battered it already was.

A new track was starting as we edged into the center of the dance floor, slower and grungier than the one before. The bass vibrated under the heels of my boots, the warm bodies around us forcing us closer as the purple and blue lights flickered on us like moonbeams on a vast, dark lake.

My body was moving in a way it shouldn't have been. Not when my college resolutions forbade me from men. But that electricity from up on the mezzanine had followed us down, James' blue eyes still plastered on mine. They didn't budge, not even when several other girls tried to steal his attention.

The beat compounded, and a rush in the crowd packed us all tighter. James' hands had no choice but to land on my waist, mine having nowhere to go but to his chest. His firm, defined chest. The memory of what lingered underneath overwhelmed me, making me dizzy, making me want—need—more.

I was hot. So hot. The lights, the other bodies. The alcohol. Him. The moment was consuming me. James was consuming me. I should have turned around, had him dance on me from behind so I could tear myself from that look on his face. But I had a feeling that it would only make matters worse.

Or better.

I wasn't sure.

The angsty chords and luscious tempo was racing in time with my heart. Like a moth to a flame, I dared to look up. Dared to see whether the moment was what I thought it was—whether he'd dragged me to the dance floor to feel my body on his, or if it really was only a ploy to escape Holly.

His eyes were still fixed on mine. Droopy, as they had been the morning I'd woken up in his bed. His lips were parted, twisted so devilishly, just like they had been after we kissed in the guest house. We were so close, and everything he'd said minutes before was echoing in my ears. I still hadn't untangled his cryptic words fully, still hadn't dared to let them settle where they wanted to in my mind.

"Why?" I asked.

I didn't know how he heard me; the music was so loud. But he tilted his head, and asked, "Why what?"

"Why me?"

Because I'd been awful. Moody and mean and, aside from kissing, the most intimate moment we'd shared had been me breaking down into a puddle of tears, then falling asleep on him.

James curled my hair behind my ear, the gesture so soft and tender I felt like I was going to cry.

He said, "You're real." His fingers slid down my cheek, gliding along my jaw to rest under my chin, lifting it so his words brushed over my lips. "You're snarky and say what you think, mean what you say—but you're not mean. Not cruel. You take it as well as you give it. You're real, Madison."

I might have been crying again.

"This." He stroked his thumb over my cheek, collecting my solitary tear. "I don't know if I've ever met anyone who feels as much as I do. I just ... I want to know you. I need to know you."

Whatever was left of my heart erupted. Euphoria and relief and desire overwhelmed me.

He felt it when I did. He must have. Because within a second, his lips crashed into mine.

It wasn't like in the guesthouse. It wasn't gentle or cautious, hesitant or afraid. Our kiss was rough and dangerous, a fire doused in gasoline, a captive animal finally uncaged. My senses were heightened, his skin hot under my fingertips. The arch of my back tingled as his hands clawed against the material cloaking it. I stretched up as far as I could, every part of my body calling for more. More of this. More of him.

"Madison," he breathed.

My legs were shaking. He was cradling me, and I worried what would happen if he let go. But with a flutter of my eyelids, I could see him gazing down at me, his lips swollen and raw from the power of mine. And I knew he wouldn't.

For once, I wasn't thinking. I wasn't telling myself that this would end badly, that he was just using me, that heartbreak was inevitable. All I wanted was to taste his lips again, to feel him infiltrate me, to hear him breathe my name like it was his source of oxygen.

I wanted James, and I wanted him to want me. For once, I wasn't going to stop myself from admitting it. And maybe it was just biology, just dopamine and oxytocin at work. But that didn't mean that it wasn't real.

"I don't feel well." My voice was hoarse. Raspy. It was so quiet that I didn't think there was any way he could hear it over the music.

A cloud passed over his face. He didn't understand.

"I'm going to go," I clarified slowly, breathing my words onto his mouth. Piercing my eyes into his, pouring my desire for him into his puzzled gaze.

The cloud lifted, a match sparked underneath. "I'll call us a cab."

"No," I said weakly. Fighting him with all the force of a feather on the wind. "Stay. Enjoy your night—"

His hand moved from my waist, tracing a line up to my lips. Touching and teasing the places where his mouth had sucked the air from my lungs.

"Madison." He said my name like it was an order, one that had my mouth clamping shut and my elation intensifying. "I'll call us a cab."

I couldn't leave you hanging, so ... today is double update day ✨

Please note that the following chapter is a little more mature than the ones so far, so reader discretion is advised. I wrote most of this story long before I started uploading it to WP, meaning I had no idea that it would attract younger readers as well as readers in its target new adult demographic. I don't write smut, but I feel obligated to leave a little note of warning here just in case any of you feel uncomfortable with slightly more mature content. Proceed with that in mind.

- Danielle 💓