"Every day."

His eyes squeezed shut. "Every day."

I cleared my throat. "So, what do you think?"

His hands circled my waist. "Pretty risky spot to pick for your first. Had to hurt like h.e.l.l."

"It did." A nervous laugh slipped out, my heart pounding so hard it was a wonder he couldn't feel it. Then again, maybe he could.

I invaded his s.p.a.ce, setting my fingers on the image of the raven that covered his right ribcage. "I can't even imagine sitting for something like this. Talk about pain." The bird was captured in mid-flight, wings stretched high so that the tips of its feathers nearly reached his armpit, while the claws curled just above the start of his V muscle that swooped up like a waiting branch.

"I've dealt with worse."

It was the flat way he said it, like all the emotion had been leeched out of him and there just wasn't an ounce left to put into those words. We weren't talking about tattoos anymore. My hand flattened against his side, and his skin burned hot against my always cold fingertips.

"Ian." I don't know whether it was a statement or a question, or if it was a question, what in the world I was asking, but it seemed to do the trick. His eyes shifted up to mine, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with a pain that was so evident, I wanted to do nothing more than erase it.

I rocked up onto my tiptoes, sealing my lips over his, and letting my hand drift up the expanse of his chest to curl around the back of his neck. He didn't fight me when I pulled him down to me, and his tongue took no time finding its way into my mouth to taste me. I tasted him right back-a hint of spearmint, like he'd brushed his teeth right before slipping into bed.

His hand ran the length of my side, carefully avoiding my new tattoo, and finally coming to settle against the flat of my back. He pulled me closer until there wasn't any s.p.a.ce left between us. Every piece of me was pressed up against every piece of him, until it was nearly impossible to tell where he ended and I began. When his hand dipped lower to squeeze my b.u.t.t, his forearm flexed against my back, his bicep against my shoulder. Each movement was like a chain reaction, setting off another.

Ian took a step toward me, pressing me right into the granite countertop at my back. I let my hands explore him-over the ridges of his ribcage, across the flat plane of his stomach, to the edge of his waistband. With a fingertip, I traced along the elastic, and he froze.

I pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, then pulled back so I could look at him. His eyes were cloudy with emotion when they locked onto mine, his lips puffy and well used. Gently, I trailed my fingertip across that same spot. This time, a delicate shiver spread across his skin, a heavy breath escaping him. His eyelids fluttered shut just before his mouth found mine again, his hand wrapping around my neck to pull me closer. I slipped my hand inside his pants, and wrapped my fingers around him, giving him a gentle squeeze.

He groaned into my mouth, so I did it again.

My heart hammered in my chest as I worked my way from his mouth to the corner of his jaw, tracing my lips down the length of his neck. I let my hand linger on his chest, reveling in the feel of the furious pounding underneath. It was empowering knowing that I caused this, that just my hands and my lips were already driving him crazy.

I dropped to my knees, and tugged his pants down, letting the soft fabric pool around his ankles. He gripped the counter on either side of my head, and when I ran one hand over his thigh, his eyelids fluttered shut.

I worked my way up the inside of his thigh, alternating tongue, lips, and teeth. I took my time, savoring every indrawn breath and tensed muscle until I finally reached my end goal. Starting at the base, I ran my tongue all the way up to the tip, then did it again. He groaned when I took as much as I could of him in my mouth.

For all my research, in the moment my brain disconnected from my hands and mouth. They moved of their own accord, listening and responding to the subtle vibrations that came from Ian, following a path that was laid out with every slight quiver, every gasp.

I peeked up at him at the same time he opened his eyes and looked down at me. His gaze was fuzzy, like he was working a good buzz, and a flush had worked its way into his cheeks. I swirled my tongue around him and watched him suck in another heavy breath.

"Bianca, I'm not going to be able to hold out much longer," he bit out.

I smiled and redoubled my efforts.

True to his word, his thigh muscles went taut underneath my hand, and his head dipped forward, long strands of hair falling across his forehead as he came. For a long moment neither of us moved, and the only sound in the room was the heavy breaths slipping from between Ian's parted lips. I rocked back onto my heels, using the back of my hand to discreetly wipe my mouth before standing up, while he pulled his pants back up.

Ian's arms were still circled around me, and lifting his head, he brushed back his hair and finally looked at me. I wish I could've pinpointed that look, the emotion that was hovering so close to the surface. His lips swooped down to mine, taking me by surprise.

He drew back, resting his forehead against mine.

"I feel like I should thank you or something, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way." His eyes searched mine, waiting for my reaction.

"You're welcome?" I shrugged. "Was it . . . okay?"

"Okay?" He nearly choked on his laugh. "'Okay' doesn't even come close to describing it, Bianca." His fingers threaded through mine, squeezing as he took a deep breath. "Listen. I need to ask you something."

"Okay." It seemed my very large vocabulary had dwindled down to this one inconsequential word.

"What is this?" He gestured between us. "I don't know what you're looking for from me, or what you want." He rubbed his other hand over his face. "I feel like such a chick, trying to define what's going on between us, but I don't want you to get hurt. I've already told you-"

"That you don't date. I know," I interrupted him. "Ian, I like you." He visibly flinched at my words, so this time it was me giving his hand a squeeze. "But, I'm leaving in December. Long-term, things could never work between us. You don't date, I don't have the time for it either."

"So this is just a casual thing between us?"

"Exactly. Although . . ."

"Although?"

I twisted my lips to the side. "Maybe we could keep this between us?"

"I'm not really sure who you think I'd be telling."

"No." I shook my head. "Sorry, I meant . . . if we're going to do this, I don't think we should see other people." My heart gave a little hiccup in my chest. "I don't want to get caught up in any drama."

"So, an exclusive, casual non-relationship?"

"Yeah. It kinda sounds ridiculous. Is it ridiculous?"

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "It isn't ridiculous if it works for us."

I ran a hand over my hair and gave it some thought. It was all that I could offer him, and really, it was the only thing he wanted from me anyway. Some part of me knew this whole thing was a terrible idea. Whatever it was that was building between Ian and me wasn't even close to casual. But I rationalized, convinced myself that three months with Ian was better than none. There wasn't a future, but there was a present, and I planned on enjoying every second of it. It was a new feeling for me, this living in the moment. It scared me in the same way that staying in New York scared me, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it was just terrifying.

"I guess we have a deal then." I grinned at him and stuck out my hand. "Should we shake on it?"

He grinned right back at me. "I'd rather kiss you again instead."

So he did. And he didn't stop until my lips were practically numb and our Chinese food had gone stone cold.

When I left his apartment that night, I knew two things for sure-one: that the deal I'd made with Ian was one of the best ideas I'd ever had, and two: the deal I'd made with Ian was one of the worst ideas I'd ever had.

Chapter 20: Ian.

7 Years Earlier "Best prom night ever," Maggie said, rolling off me and hugging the thin blanket to her chest. "And so cliche, it was perfect."

"Having s.e.x in a rickety old barn is cliche?"

"Having s.e.x on prom night is cliche."

"I think losing your virginity on prom night is cliche, not having s.e.x in general."

"You say tomato, I say to-mah-to."

I stretched my arms up and rested my hands underneath my head. The barn had become another one of our spots, a place we could sneak away to together when we wanted to be alone. Rundown and abandoned on the edge of our property, no one would ever think to look for us here. Tonight, I'd had the brilliant idea to pre-stock the area with a few candles. Not too many though, didn't want to burn the d.a.m.n place down. Who said romance was dead?

My phone buzzed against the wooden floorboards, lighting up the s.p.a.ce around us in a faint blue glow. I ignored it, rolling over onto my side and running my fingers through Maggie's ma.s.s of curls.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

I shook my head, my nose brushing against hers. "I've ignored it the last hundred times. Whoever it is, they can wait another minute." I kissed her again, taking the time to let my lips play over hers.

The buzzing started again.

"For Christ's sake." I flopped back over and grabbed for it, frowning when I saw just how many texts and calls I'd missed.

The blanket dropped down into my lap as I sat up.

Ben: Where are you? Why aren't you answering your phone?

Mom: Ian, it's Mom. Please call me back.

Ben: Call me back, NOW!

Rachel: Where are you?

Ben: Answer the phone!

Ben: Don't bother with your messages. Get to St. Vincent's asap.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Maggie dropped her chin on my shoulder.

The phone crashed to the floor as I burst to my feet and raced to get dressed. "I don't know. All Ben said is that I need to get to the hospital." Grabbing her dress, I tossed it toward her. "Hurry."

We ran across the lawn with my shirt still unb.u.t.toned and her shoes dangling from her hand. The possibilities flashed through my mind, each one worse than the one before. I squeezed my eyes shut as I turned the key in the ignition, the car grumbling to life beneath me. I don't remember the drive to the hospital; one minute I was in my driveway and the next I was throwing it into park outside the emergency room. An ambulance sped by, lighting up the inside of the car with strobing reds and blues, the siren wailing.

The automatic doors whooshed open and I skidded to a halt, my eyes roaming over the waiting room, looking for a familiar face. When one failed to materialize, I hurried forward to the front desk.

"How can I help you, sir?" A woman in blue scrubs glanced away from the computer screen and looked up to me, pausing to stare at my unb.u.t.toned shirt.

I didn't care.

"I . . . I don't know. My brother told me I needed to get here."

"Who are you here to see?"

"I don't know!"

Maggie tugged at my arm, trying to get me to calm down.

"Ian!" A voice shouted from off to my right, and I turned to see Rachel running toward me. Her neatly styled hair hung in a mess around her shoulders, and her black mascara had left visible tracks down her cheeks. Stains circled the bottom edge of her red dress, and a thick black line of what looked like grease slashed on a diagonal up the fabric. She threw her arms around me, nearly knocking me off balance.

"What's going on, Rach? What happened?" I pushed her back from me and let my gaze roam over her. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"What? You haven't listened to any of your messages?" Her eyes narrowed as she actually stopped to look at Maggie and me, narrowing even further when she got a good look. "We've been calling you for an hour."

"I know. I'm sorry. I was . . . busy."

She pinched her lips together in a tight line. "It doesn't matter. You need to come upstairs, right now."

With her dress fisted in one hand, she led the way, shaking her head when I asked her what was going on. Every step I took was harder than the last, like my shoes were filling with lead the closer I got to wherever we were going. I knew that whatever I was walking toward was bad, and I wasn't sure I was ready to see it.

My fingers fumbled over my shirt b.u.t.tons, desperately trying to put them together with the appropriate holes so that I looked somewhat presentable. Rachel pushed through a gla.s.s door to a smaller waiting room where Mom sat with her head in her hands and Ben paced the room in long strides.

Ben saw us first. "Where the f.u.c.k have you been? Do you know how many times I tried to call you?"

"Alaric, language," Mom responded automatically, not even looking up.

"I'm sorry-"

"It was my fault," Maggie interrupted. "Ian gave me his phone to hold in my purse, and I put my purse down and didn't even think about it."

Ben's eyes traveled down me, then came back up to meet my eyes. His nostrils flared as he gave me a disapproving look. He wasn't buying it, but who the h.e.l.l was he to judge? I could smell the tequila and weed on him from here.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" I shouted.

Mom finally lifted her head up, and her eyes were filled with devastation. Raw and pink around the edges, bloodshot throughout. She opened her mouth to answer me, but all that came out were sobs, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing sobs.

Rachel was by her side in a flash, curling into the chair at her side and wrapping her arms around Mom's hunched shoulders. Maggie took the chair on her opposite side, copying Rachel's gesture. Three heads bent together, hiding their faces, the different shades of their brown hair blending together.

Ben strode over to me, and I half thought he was going to punch me, right there in the waiting room of the hospital. Were it not for the odd circ.u.mstances, I'd be looking to punch him myself. It might have taken a backseat, but I still hadn't forgotten about his douchebag move tonight standing Rachel up.

He stopped a foot in front of me and scrubbed a hand over his face. His hair, almost identical to mine in color, was long enough that he could pull it back in a short ponytail, but at the moment, it hung in wavy strands around his face. "We think Dad had a heart attack," he said, his voice low but steady.

It took me a moment to process his words. I heard them, but they just didn't make any sense. Dad, the man who preferred salad to steak, the guy who shopped at the organic grocery store and who hadn't touched a French fry in all the years that I'd been alive. I ran my tongue over my dry lips and swallowed. "What do you mean, you think?"

A muscle leapt in Ben's cheek as he clenched his jaw. "What I mean, dumba.s.s, is that we don't know. I was on my way down here when Mom called, hysterical. One second he was brushing his teeth, getting ready for the bed, and next thing she knew, he made a grab for his chest and collapsed. He pa.s.sed out, stopped breathing. The ambulance rushed him here. They've been working on him ever since."

"No one's come out to update you?"

He shook his head.

"How long have they been with him?"

"Almost an hour."