“And what do you have, Chloe?”

“I have the now.”

I could see that he wanted to persist, but he just frowned and stayed silent.

“They’re not pressing charges, Blake. Don’t worry.”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

“I’m wired now.”

“You want me to take you to get your car?”

“Do you want me to go home?”

“No,” he said quickly.

I laughed. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Where’s your dad? And why does your mom live in the guesthouse?” He blinked once, his eyes searching mine for a long moment. Long enough that I suddenly regretted asking. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry if it’s too personal.”

“No. It’s not that.” He reached out and settled his hand on my hip. My eyes drifted shut, but I didn’t remove it. After taking a deep breath, he continued, “My dad goes hunting with some old friends the first weekend of every month. That’s where he is now, or at least that’s what he tells us. The truth is he has a mistress. My mom lives in the guesthouse because she probably knows about it and hates her life. She’s a big-shot author. You know those romance novels with a bunch of white people almost kissing? Most of them are hers. She’d rather live in the world she creates in those books than deal with what’s in front of her. She’s also an alcoholic, so I guess living in the guesthouse makes it easier for her to not have to justify her actions or behavior to anyone.”

I felt I had plenty of reason to feel sorry for myself, but at least I had people that cared for and supported me, even when I didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it could be worse. At least I have parents.”

I smiled, but it was sad. “Mary and Dean are good people. They take care of who needs taking care of. I’m eighteen now, they don’t even have to let me stay there anymore. I’m lucky, really.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they just know how lucky they are to have you.”

I tried to hide my smile. “You’re not at all what I thought you’d be like.”

He laughed and pulled me closer. “You’ve been thinking about me?”

My cheeks warmed with my blush. “You know what I mean. It’s . . . never mind . . .” I buried my face in his chest.

“What, Chloe? What were you going to say?”

I raised my eyes to meet his. “You and Hannah. I get the whole high-school-jock-and-cheerleader thing, but you just seem above all that, you know? I guess it just doesn’t make sense to me why you’re with her. Well . . . apart from the fact that she’s ridiculously beautiful.” I stopped myself from saying anything else. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I shouldn’t say stuff like that. I don’t even know her. I’m being mean.”

His hand on my waist gripped me tighter while his gaze roamed my face. His eyes met mine with that same intensity I’d seen before. “I think you’re beautiful.”

My heart tightened at his words, but I couldn’t let him see that. So instead, I laughed and pushed his chest. “Shut up!”

He fell onto his back but recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer. I didn’t care that it might have been wrong, and I didn’t think he did, either. Alone, in this room, we could be who we wanted to be. No faking. No hiding. Just us. “Oooh,” he teased. “Chloe . . . What the fuck is your last name? I’m the worst friend ever.”

“Thompson,” I chuckled. “And I forgive you.”

“Well, you did give me a fake name. What the hell was that about?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Blake, will you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“After we wake up and we go to get my car, will you come over and have dinner with us? Dean—he goes to all the games. And maybe you could hang out with the kids . . . shoot your touchdowns?”

He laughed. This beautiful, boyish, carefree laugh. “Shoot my touchdowns?”

“What?” I asked, playing along.

“You’re not kidding?”

I bit my lip, trying to contain my smile. “What?”

“You’re just cute, is all. Fire truck, yes. I’d love to meet them and shoot my touchdowns.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Now sleep, my beautiful little stoner.”

“HUNTER!”

I knew who it was before my eyes snapped open. Within seconds I was out of his hold, out of his bed, and out of his house. “Shit shit shit.” I didn’t have time to see Hannah’s reaction, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be there to witness the aftermath. What the hell was I thinking? “Shit,” I said, louder this time. Pulling my phone out of my bag, I tried not to trip as I ran down his driveway. I’d never been to this part of town before, and I had no car—and my phone had just died in my hands.

A door slammed.

Turning around, I glanced at the front door expecting Blake. But no one was there.

“Is everything okay?” I looked back down the driveway and saw a middle-aged woman walking toward me. Her hair was dark, as dark as Blake’s. She had the same light blue eyes as him, too.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hunter. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She laughed once, stopping a few feet in front of me. “No one’s called me that in years, dear.” Then she looked from me, to the house, and to the car parked near the front door. “Is that Hannah?”