Looking around the darkened, underground room, I was pretty sure we’d found it. The music was loud, the crowd was mixed, and the pool table was surrounded by a group of guys I’d rank at about a seven or eight on the “I’d hit that” scale, Liam being a perfect ten.

Bastard.

How dare he be all sweet and nice in the moonlight, and then take off and never talk to me again? Of course, I did kick him in the balls . . . The memory always gave me a smile.

“Dad know you have a fake ID?” I asked as we moved toward the bar. Kit smirked.

“Of course,” Kit replied. “He gave it to me.”

I stopped dead.

“No f**king way.”

“Yup,” she replied. “Right after I got caught with a bad fake during high school. Told me that he didn’t want me getting arrested or in trouble, so I needed quality.”

“That is so unfair,” I muttered. “He never gave me one.”

“Did you ask?”

I shook my head.

“No, I guess it never occurred to me that I could . . . I mean, after a certain point he let me drink sometimes at the club and home, but I just didn’t think about bars.”

“Well, that’s the difference between you and me,” she said. “I’m always looking for new ways to get in trouble. You’re always looking to slide by without anyone noticing.”

She had a point. Hell, you could even see it in our clothing. I wore a simple black top. It showed a little cle**age and outlined my curves, but in terms of club wear it was designed to blend in.

Kit, though . . . Not so much.

She’d gone full vintage for the night, a look she’d been developing for a while. Her hair was dyed dark black and arranged in an elaborate style that screamed Bettie Page. She wore a fitted, off-the-shoulder red blouse that matched her bright red lipstick and showed off her tattoos. She’d paired it with ultra tight capri pants that somehow looked old-fashioned and slutty at the same time. The entire outfit was eye-catching and unique, and completely above any particular fad or momentary fashion trend.

Kit had always been that—ruthlessly making her own path, oblivious to other opinions. I loved it.

I loved her, too.

“I love you,” I told her, catching her up in a hug. She giggled.

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you!”

“Not drunk enough,” she countered. “Get me a vodka Red Bull, okay? I’m going to hit the powder room.”

I waited for our drinks, musing about my sister and her unique view of life. Powder room, for f**k’s sake? Who says that? Somehow it was all part of that vintage persona, and on her it didn’t seem artificial at all.

Quite the accomplishment, really.

I got the drinks and found a table in the back. The top was a little sticky, as was the padded bench against the wall. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, though, and that was probably a good thing. When it comes to sticky in a bar, spilled drinks are sort of the best-case scenario.

My phone buzzed.

PAINTER: How’s Portland?

Yeah, right. Like I wanted to talk to f**king Painter. I picked up my drink and chugged it down fast.

Kit slid in next to me, eyes wide.

“Are we not a happy camper?” she asked. I slid my phone over to her and she picked it up, studying the message. “Ah, the amazing Painter.”

Then she started typing. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing. I lunged for the phone and she laughed, hitting send.

“You bitch!” I yelled. She laughed and gave it back to me.

ME: Figure it out, dumbass. You blew it, and now I’ll never blow you.

“Wow, that’s cold,” I said, impressed. “He’s gonna be really pissed at me.”

“You found him f**king a girl in the bathroom right after he turned you down,” she said bluntly. “He doesn’t get to be pissed. Ever. And what do you care? You’re done with him.”

“Yeah, but I still have to see him around when I go home.”

“So what?” she asked. “It’s like your head is still in Coeur d’Alene. You live in Portland now, babe. Bottoms up!”

She passed her drink over to me, and I chugged that one, too.

“I think I’m drunk,” I said after a couple minutes. She leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes like a fortune-teller.

“Really drunk, or just mostly?”

“Mostly,” I replied. “But definitely not sober.”

“Excellent,” she declared. “Now we’re going to talk about Liam.”

I swayed.

“I never should have told you about him.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But you did, so that’s a done deal. Have you heard from him at all since that night?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know if that pisses me off or not. I mean, it was all lies. I know that. But I still sort of miss him. How f**ked up is that?”

She cocked her head, thinking.

“Pretty f**ked up. But that’s how it is when you break up with someone.”

“You have to be with someone before you can break up with them.”

Kit started laughing.

“What?”

“You and Liam—Hunter—whatever we want to call him . . . You guys definitely had a relationship. You talked every day for weeks. You had phone sex with him and you pretty much had real sex with him, even if he didn’t literally stick his dick in you. He screwed you over and then he came to visit you and let you know you were safe. That’s more of a relationship than I had with that dumbass I got engaged to. Well, except for the sex part. We had more of that. But my point is, you broke up with someone. Of course you’re gonna be thinking about him.”

I considered her words. She had a good point.

“You know, that actually makes me feel a little better,” I said. “Less like I’m crazy.”

“So have you stalked him online since it happened?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said. Duh. “I mean, I looked at his house and stuff on Google. Went through his wallet. I already told you about the panties and shit. But there’s not much to find. His profile is gone and I can’t find anything else on him. I have no idea how much of what I knew of him was real.”

“This is going to take more alcohol,” she said, surveying our empty glasses.

I considered her statement, then nodded gravely.

“I have to pee.”

“You go do that,” Kit said, equally serious. “Try not to get lost. I’m gonna go replace these drinks. It’s my duty as a sister to make sure you don’t sober up any time in the near future.”

I stood, swaying, and realized there was no real danger of me sobering up any time soon. I made my way to the bathroom, passing the guys playing pool. One of them made eye contact, and I smiled. Yeah, being away from the club was pretty cool. I could flirt with him and not have to worry about him suddenly disappearing because some prospect started growling.

It took a long time to get to the bathroom and back. I can’t quite remember why, but I think I might have gotten lost near the pool table. Kit sat waiting for me, my phone in front of her, fingers flying.

Shit, why hadn’t I taken it with me?

Oh yeah. Drunk.

“Okay, two things,” she said when I got back. “I changed his name from Liam to Hunter in your contacts. It’s confusing me to keep track of both. Also, he said this.”

She handed it over to me. I looked at her blankly.

“Read it already,” she said. “Here, I got you a drink.”

She pushed a glass toward me, then glanced at the phone pointedly.

I looked down.

ME: Hey. Wht r you doing?

HUNTER: Em? Holy shit. How are you? I’m not doing anything. Can’t believe your messaging me

ME: I just wondred how you were, maybe if you think about me?

I looked up and gave Kit a death glare. Why hadn’t I drowned her when we were both still small, and I could’ve gotten away with it?

“What the hell were you doing?”

“Starting a conversation,” she said brightly. “I feel like we’ve got unfinished business here. Let’s get it out and over with, and then we’ll find someone to punch your V Card and move on.”

She said this last part way too loud, because the guy at the next table turned his head to eye us. He gave me a smile, and one of those chin lifts guys do.

“You need to stop talking,” I hissed at her. My phone vibrated, and I glanced down.

HUNTER: I think about you all the time

My heart skipped a beat. Well. That was interesting.

Kit tried to grab the phone again, but I stuffed it down the front of my pants. Ha! I smirked at her triumphantly until she whipped out her own cell. She hit a button and suddenly mine started vibrating.

Oh, wow.

There was something really, really wrong about how good that felt.

“I’ve had way too much alcohol,” I said. “I think I’m turning into a sex fiend.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked the guy next to us.

“No!” I grabbed Kit’s arm and started dragging her away.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to get the hell out of here,” I muttered. “Go dancing or something.”

This shit was out of control. Typical night out with my sister.

• • •

Two hours later I found myself in a cab headed toward Hunter’s house.

How we got from me dragging Kit out of a bar to stalking my former kidnapper, I wasn’t quite sure. I’m usually a pretty sensible person.

But in my defense, she bought me shots.

Anyway, because Kit is a sneaky bitch, she had the cabbie drop us not quite a block from Hunter’s address, so we could creep up on him. (I swear, in the moment it made sense. Shots!) We tiptoed along the sidewalk like two cat burglars, which would’ve been far more effective if we hadn’t been giggling hysterically and stumbling around. About two houses away we realized there was a party going on at his place.

Even during a party he took the time to answer “my” text!

Some part of me deep inside—the part that’s too stupid to live—thought this was sweet. That’s when I had to bitch-slap myself mentally, because seriously? Kidnapper. Naked photos.

Endless orgasms . . .

No. Don’t think about those.

We stopped behind a giant rhododendron and peered through the leaves at the house. People flowed through the front door, and loud music filled the air. Hunter stood in the corner of the old-fashioned porch, leaning against the rail and looking down over the yard. It was one of those old houses that defines Portland—tall and skinny on a narrow lot. Almost Victorian, but just a little more raw, as if the builders couldn’t quite afford the gingerbread. The porch slanted forward and steep stairs led to a narrow walk. Tree-sized shrubs surrounded it, many of them still flowering despite how late it was in the year.

Hunter watched impassively as a group of girls staggered up to the house. A tall chick with giant boobs tried to talk to him and I felt myself tense, but he ignored her and after a minute she followed the others inside.

“Wow, he’s hot,” Kit whispered. “No wonder you’re obsessed with him.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Whatever,” she said. “But damn . . . That chick looked like she was ready to drop to her knees on the spot if he gave the word. Not many guys would turn that down. Text him!”

“And say what?”

“Ask him what he’s doing,” she hissed.

“You already asked him that!”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Ask him if he’s got anything interesting planned.”

I dug my phone out of my jeans and started typing, which was harder than you’d think, since my thumbs kept hitting the wrong spots.

ME: So you have anthing intrsting plnned? I’m out wth my sister

Seconds later Hunter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, glancing down at it. He smiled and I melted, because he really was gorgeous. He started to type something back, but then a beautiful girl with bright red hair came out and wrapped her arms around his waist.

I waited for him to push her away or freeze her out like he’d done with Big Boobs.

Instead he hugged her back. She said something to him and he laughed, the expression on his face so tender I could have thrown up. Bastard. Motherfucking cocksucking bastard. Hunter leaned over and whispered in her ear. She smacked his stomach playfully.

“I think we should kill him,” Kit hissed. “He doesn’t look nearly as cute with that bitch wrapped around him.”

I nodded.

He kissed the top of the girl’s head and she laughed again, then pulled away and went back into the house. Hunter turned back to his phone and I got a text from him.

HUNTER: Nope nothing planned. Just hanging out with the roommates. Shit it’s good to hear from you Em. Miss you. How are you?

I showed the message to Kit, and she growled.

“That takes balls,” she muttered. “You saw how they were together? That’s not some new thing, they’re a couple. He’s f**king with you. Either that, or he’s f**king her while thinking about you. Not sure which one sucks worse.”

“I know,” I said, my voice grim. God, why had I wasted so much energy on this guy? Why the hell was I surprised to see him hanging on some bitch right after he texted me?

Hunter wasn’t a nice guy.

We’d covered this.

I should just slink away. Just go home before I embarrassed myself even more. Then I pictured him naked with that redheaded twat and my head exploded.