A humorless laugh huffs past my lips.

“I think Zo would probably question my loyalty right about now,” I say, glancing back down at my lap.

“You’re a good person who did something out of character. You can’t beat yourself up forever. Banging your head against the wall burns a hundred and fifty calories, but is that good for you?”

“What?” I laugh, even though I’m not sure when I’ll be rid of this guilt. “Oh my God.”

“I’m just saying I know it will take time, but you’ll have to forgive yourself,” she says, sharing a smile with me. “And the connection you describe with Jared, what I saw for myself between the two of you, it’s hard to ignore—to walk away from—especially if your relationship is . . .”

Quinn squints, searching for the right word.

“Unsatisfying,” she settles on. “You probably knew before Jared even came back into your life that things were not quite what they should be with Zo. It’s painful now, but maybe in the long run . . .”

I process that, not sure I’m ready to let myself off the hook that easily.

“And Jared Foster?” Quinn asks tentatively. “May I ask a highly inappropriate and insensitive question?”

My lips quirk into another smile. “Those are your specialty, aren’t they?”

Her eyes are avid, and she’s practically licking her lips. “Was it good?”

Good would be an understatement. I’m forming words for what sex with Jared was like when the doorbell rings. I glance down at my grimy appearance and grimace.

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” Quinn says, standing and patting my shoulder reassuringly on her way to the door. “And get rid of whoever it is. Have one of those Popsicles!”

I’m giving the frozen alcoholic treat a nice long lick when she reappears, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. Or what I like to call the Jared Foster effect. He walks in right behind her.

God, why does he have to look like that?

Jared’s appeal has never been wholly physical. I’ve seen lots of beautiful men in my line of work. True specimens of manhood. There’s more to my connection with Jared than how gorgeous he is.

But it certainly doesn’t hurt.

“Hey,” he says, filling the arched entrance to my living room. His hands are shoved into dark-wash jeans and a white Kerrington T-shirt stretches across the width of his chest. His hair is wildly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it.

Or like I have.

“Hey.” I look at Quinn and then at the Popsicle in my hand. Anywhere but at him. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same room since what I’ve come to term as Deskageddon, where the world as I knew it ended.

An awkward silence encircles the three of us, and I’m not sure how to break it. Quinn knows what we did. Jared probably suspects I told her. Meanwhile I’m wrestling with a cacophony of emotions and sensations, ranging from guilt to turned on. I’ve never been an oversexed person. I enjoy sex but can always back burner it. It was one of the reasons a long-distance relationship worked so well for me and Zo. But Jared unleashes something wild inside of me. Something I’m not sure how to tame.

“Um, I should go,” Quinn says after a few seconds. She grabs her purse and clears her throat. “Good seeing you again, Jared.”

Peripherally I see him nod, but I feel him looking at me unwaveringly.

“We’ll touch base tomorrow, then, Banner.” Quinn sounds unnaturally bright. I look up and she widens her eyes meaningfully—her sign for OMG.

“Okay,” I say, rediscovering my vocal cords. “I’ll call AesThetics first thing in the morning. Thanks for coming by.”

The soft click of her leaving through the front door doesn’t mobilize me. I stare at the liquored ice in my hand, heedless of it melting and dripping between my fingers. I’m not sure what should happen next. My principles, my convictions, have always anchored me, made me certain of every step. They prescribed every step. Now that I’ve violated them so egregiously, I’m in a minefield, and any step I take may explode under my feet.

“You’re making a mess,” Jared says, walking over to take what’s left of the Popsicle and tosses it into the trash.

He takes my hand and slowly licks the icy, flavored vodka from my fingers. His tongue is like warm velvet making love to the delicate webbing between each digit. All the muscles below the belt clench. I’ll never see that tongue again without remembering how he lapped at what my body poured out for him. In the moment, it felt like perfection. But confessing it to Zo, it felt like sin. I snatch my hand away and finally look up at him. Concern crinkles the smooth lines of his face.

“What have you done to yourself?” He traces around my puffy eyes. “You’ve burst the blood vessels.”

I should have known. That happens whenever I cry too hard, but I haven’t cried this hard in a very long time. Maybe since the last time I cried over him. I pull back from his touch, and he drops his hand to his side. His concerned expression hardens like cement.

“So you told him?” he asks. “What happened?”

I walk away, needing space, and sit in the sleek leather recliner closest to the fireplace. I avoid the couch where I’ve perched all day because when Jared sits down, I don’t want it to be next to me. The man should come with a highly flammable tag, preferably near his cock.

“I told him, yeah.” I fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of my lounge pants.

He doesn’t respond and I glance up to see his attention fixed on the wall, dented, decorated with fake snowflakes, a pool of glass on the floor.

“He was upset,” I offer by way of explanation.

Jared frowns, his brows jerking together.

“He didn’t . . . touch you, hurt you?”

“Of course not,” I answer immediately. “He took his anger out on the wall, not on me.”

“I imagine he’d like to take it out on me, too,” Jared says, a rueful tilt to his mouth.

“I, uh . . . didn’t tell him who.”

A heartbeat of silence in which he continues to look at me, and I studiously avoid his stare.

“Why not?” he asks.

“You move in the same circles.” I shrug. “I didn’t think it was necessary, though he did want to know.”

“You should have told him. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Why do you say that?” I lift puzzled eyes and find him still fixed on me.

“Because it’s going to happen again,” he says huskily, casually like it should be self-evident. “And I want everyone to know.”

Breath rises from my chest in a slow push. I’m not sure if it’s anger, frustration.

Or worse, relief.

“I wasn’t sure if . . .” My fingers find their way back to the drawstring. “You didn’t call so I thought maybe . . .”

“Jesus, Ban,” he says softly but with intensity. “I call and text every day and you ignore me, so I give you space. I lie back as long as I can stand it so you can sort this shit out with Zo, and you assume I don’t want you? What the hell?”

Welcome to the female mind. Hope you enjoy your stay.

He crosses over to the recliner where I’m seated and takes my hand.

“Do you know why I came here tonight?” he asks, stroking the lifeline of my palm with the pad of his thumb.

“No,” I whisper and look up to find an emotion so naked on Jared’s face I almost don’t recognize him. “Why’d you come?”

“To make sure he didn’t forgive you.”

25

Jared

It’s a shitty thing to say. I know that, but I’m being honest. All day I wrestled with the thought that maybe Zo would find it in that famously magnanimous heart to forgive Banner, and then she would feel compelled to stay with him. And I’d just have to break it up all over again.

Messy.

“What?” Banner touches her chest like my words wound her. They probably did. “How could you say that, Jared? If you knew what this is doing to me, that I’ve hurt him and ruined our friendship, you wouldn’t say that.”

She attributes more empathy to me than she should.

“If the shoe were on the other foot,” she says, blinking her puffy eyes at me. “How would you feel? How would you respond?”

She should be glad this is purely hypothetical. I’m not as civilized and kind as Zo, but I think we’ve established that.

“I would deal with him first.” I tug on her hands until she’s standing in front of me, close enough to feel each other’s heat. “I would beat him to just short of dying because we both know I’m much too pretty for prison.”

She cracks the smallest smile as I hoped she would.

“And then,” I say, my voice dropping to a rough vibration in my chest. “I would deal with you.”

I trace my thumb over her lips, squeeze her chin so her mouth opens the smallest bit and I can see her sweet pink tongue. My thumb fits neatly inside, and I push her jaw closed, watching, waiting for her to suck down. When she does, my dick twitches. I draw a sharp breath through my nose and caress the lining of her jaw and the sharp edges of her teeth.

“You, I would fuck clean.” I bend until our foreheads press together. “I would fuck you until you felt like a virgin. Like I was your first. I’d stay inside you until your body couldn’t remember how he ever felt. How anyone else ever felt.”

She blinks quickly and pants around my thumb in her mouth. I pull out and track a wet trail down her neck and over her collarbone.

“But I plan to do that anyway.”

Her lashes drift closed and sweep over the splintered veins fanning out from her eyes and across her cheeks where she has cried so much.

Over him.

I knew this would happen. That I would have to watch her grieve this way for him, but it still upsets me. Angers and frustrates me. I want her to be able to discard him and move on, focused only on me, on us, and not give him a second thought. Ironically, she wouldn’t be the woman I want if she did that. I can be so heartless in so many ways, and I love that she is good. Not like me at all. It’s sometimes inconvenient and more trouble than it’s probably worth, but it’s what makes her glimmer. I want all that shine for myself and will endure her crying for another man to keep it.