But I'm too late, because the guys are outside, Alex is sprinting down the street to catch up to her, and I'm stuck, too broken to figure out how to move.

John's not even at fault for what happens next.

I am.

I'm responsible for this whole horrid mess.

But when he puts his hand to my cheek, trying to be romantic, I can't help it.

I slap him.

Hard.

Right across the cheek.

But, come on, he sort of deserves it.

"What the hell!" he snaps.

For the first time ever, I don't apologize. Because, now that I think about it, he damn well does deserve to be slapped in the face. And maybe it's the tequila, or maybe it's the fact that I've wanted to do this ever since I walked into his dorm room and saw those images I can never take back, or maybe it's just that it felt so good. Whatever the reason, I find myself pulling my hand back and gearing up for another go.

My palm smacks loudly into his other cheek.

And I grin as two bright red handprints spark to life on either side of his face, leaving a mark I hope might bruise.

"Skye!"

"What?" I charge right back.

"You know," he sputters. "When I said you owed me one more chance, one date, this isn't exactly what I had in mind. Not you, me, and the girl who hates me and her idiot boyfriend who just wouldn't shut up."

"Yeah, well, when I told you to never speak to me again, I didn't exactly expect you to pop surprisingly back into my life and ruin it all over again."

"You missed me, admit it."

I gape. "No, I really didn't."

"Then what was tonight? The smiling, the laughing, the touching?"

I take a step back, trying not to gag. "Tonight was a show, and now it's over."

He moves closer, too close. "It's never over, not for us. I know you still feel something, you can't fake that."

Okay, this is now entering the realm of stalking. "John," I say. "Tonight was a mistake. I didn't realize how much of a mistake until Bridge left, until right now, until I was left in the last situation I want to be in, alone with you. The only reason you're here is because I'm an idiot. But I'm going to come clean to Bridge. I'm going to tell her about Ollie. And the threat you're holding over my head will be null and void. So walk away while you still have a shred of dignity left, and leave me alone."

And I mean it.

Because that look in her eyes killed me. And I have to get rid of it. Somehow, I have to fix things.

"Skye-"

"No," I cut him off. And then I do the only thing left. Hit below the belt. Because John is a selfish, selfish person, and I know he won't stop until something he loves is at risk. "Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't show up at my apartment. Because if you do, your parents are going to find out just what kind of man you are. I'm guessing you never told them why we broke up. I'm guessing you didn't tell them how their good son who was saving himself for marriage cheated on his girlfriend and got caught and isn't nearly as innocent as they think. But I will, if I have to. The decision is up to you."

Without giving him time to answer, I walk away.

A block later, I'm running.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm falling onto Ollie's mattress as tears burn my eyes, waiting for him to come home and help pick up the pieces.

Have you ever heard the phrase "blinded by love"? When I look back on my relationship with John, that's the only explanation I have for why it lasted so long. Because all his flaws were there, clear as day, yet for some reason I never noticed them until after we'd broken up. And maybe that's part of what scares me about Ollie. Maybe both of us have been so blinded by our feelings that neither of us really has any idea of who the other truly is.

I'm jolted awake by a body collapsing beside me, shaking the bed and bouncing the springs. A loud, tired sigh filters into my ear, and when I flip over, Ollie's eyes are closed, and his arms are thrown over his head, heavy and haphazard.

"Ollie?"

He jumps, eyelids shooting open, and his entire body convulses, almost teetering over the edge of the bed. "Jesus, you scared me."

I bite my lip. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he says gruffly, voice laced with stress.

My brows pull together, wondering if I'm the cause. "Rough night?"

He takes a long breath before answering. "The restaurant was packed, I've been on my feet for hours, my back aches from bending over the stove top, and knowing that my girlfriend was on a date with her ex didn't exactly help."

I guess we're finally going to talk about it...

Last night was a first date dream, but the truce could only last so long. And I don't blame him. Ollie deserves an explanation. I was just sort of hoping to delay my inevitable crash landing for another few hours.

"I wouldn't quite call it a date," I say, trailing off, hesitant. "Torture, cruel and unusual punishment, just plain old awful."

Ollie rolls his head in my direction, pointedly lifting one perfectly arched brow. It's scary how much he and Bridge remind me of each other sometimes.

"To be fair, I was tricked and blackmailed into the whole night," I continue.

Ollie's glare only deepens. "You never had to lie to Bridge in the first place."

I chew on my cheek. "True, but-"

"You never had to agree to the double date."

"Again, true..."

"You could've told John to go to hell."

"It was a little more complicated than that."

"Was it? You-"

"Okay, okay," I cut him off. "I get it. I handled everything terribly. But I'm paying for it, I swear. The night was horrible. Bridge probably won't speak to me again for a long time. And the amount of tequila I consumed has already initiated what I can only imagine will be a wicked hangover. Can you please just forgive me? Just this once?"

Ollie scrunches his whole face for a moment, torn. "Are you seeing him again?"

"Never," I tell him emphatically.

"And we're going to tell Bridge the truth in three weeks?"

"I promise."

"And you had a worse night than me?"

"Without a doubt."

He rolls onto his side, already grinning. "I guess, just this once, I can forgive you."

I match his expression, already feeling my mood from the evening shift into that perfectly happy place Ollie's presence always seems to take me to. And then I spring up, twisting from my spot on the bed to kneel, gazing down at him.

"Did we just have our first fight?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "We fight all the time."

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "No, we bicker all the time, like an old married couple. But that, that was different, that was our first fight."

"I guess so," he answers slowly, totally confused by my sudden elation. "And that makes you happy because...?"

"Because," I say, falling over him so my hands land on either side of his face, and my hair surrounds us like a curtain from the real world. "That's another relationship milestone we can check off the list!"

He laughs quietly, eyes sparkling as they take me in, utterly amused by my insanity. And really, thank goodness he finds it quirky and adorable, because otherwise we'd have a problem. But it's true.

We had a fight-a fight!

And yet, somehow, here we are.

Ollie's still looking up at me like I'm his world, and somehow, the idea feels a little more possible now. Because I did something totally crazy, totally absurd, totally idiotic-let's face it, totally Skye-and he didn't run away screaming. He didn't run away at all.

Oliver McDonough is still here.

He still loves me. And he still wants us to work.

"Relationship milestones, huh?" he asks, voice carrying a suspiciously innocent tone, completely unaware of the disbelief racking my brain.

"What?" I murmur.

Ollie reaches up, encircling my waist and pulling me closer, until I've collapsed on top of him, nose to nose.

"I just thought of another one we can cross off the list," he whispers.

My breath halts as heat travels up my spine. Because of course I know what he means. The best part about fighting is making up. But I want to keep the game going. I love this part. The build-up. The anticipation. The butterflies zipping and zooming faster and faster until my whole body is a flurry. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs against my lips.

But before he can finish the connection, I slip away, wiggling out of his arms and twisting to the other side of the bed. "You've got to earn it," I tease.

His perfectly kissable mouth drops open in shock. "Forgiveness wasn't enough?"

I shake my head slowly as a secret smile plays across my lips. "I want more of the stuff."

Ollie drinks in my mysterious enthusiasm, growing more and more curious. I know the moment he shifts gears, ready to follow along with whatever new plan I've concocted. Instead of sitting in confusion, he relaxes, easing his hands behind his head and watching me. His actions pull his shirt up just enough to reveal the little trail of hair disappearing beneath the line of his pants, drawing my eye. And suddenly, I'm struggling to remember why exactly I stopped things.

"Skye," he murmurs, voice colored in humor.

My gaze snaps to his, utterly caught in the act, and I swallow. "Right." I mentally shake myself, trying to locate my train of thought. Earning it. Earning it. Something about earning it. Aha! "Let's play a game. I ask a question. If you answer, I drop a piece of clothing. If you don't, I don't."

Ollie's eyebrows skyrocket, taking in my long-sleeve shirt, sweatpants, fuzzy socks, mentally calculating. Then he looks at his own pants, shoes, cotton T-shirt. "And vice versa?"

I nod.

"Deal."

I pull my lower lip in, chewing as I think. "Okay, first question. What was your most embarrassing moment ever?"

"You're going there?"

I nod. "Yup. I'm going there."

"Okay," he says with faux seriousness, sitting up so we're facing each other. "I was in high school, it was freshman year, and I had just made the varsity football team."

Immediately, I grin because I know exactly where this is going. But Ollie must not know I know, because he stops, eyeing me strangely. I nod encouragingly. "Go on."

After another second of trying to decipher the suddenly knowing look in my eyes, he continues. "So, the older guys on the team drove us out to this abandoned field on the edge of town and made me and the other new guys strip down, totally nude. We had no idea what was going on, but they were seniors, so we just did as we were told. And then all of a sudden, they run, clothes and all, jump back in the cars and ditch us."

"I know!" I say, cracking.

He jolts. "You know?"

"Um..." I trail off, trying to hide the amusement in my tone, but it's impossible. "Bridge and I were sort of hiding in the trunk of the jeep when your dad came to pick you up."

"You were in the trunk?" he asks, face falling in horror.

"Well," I mutter, "Bridge had a crush on your friend, so she wanted to go to maybe see him, but we didn't realize you'd be so, well, naked, and then we got there, and we didn't know what to do, so we just held our hands over our mouths the whole way back and tried to hide."

He shakes his head. "You don't know the best part though!"

"What?"

"The guys left us on the field, so we had to walk, totally nude, down the street until we found a pay phone. Only, we couldn't find a pay phone, but we did find this old farmhouse. All the lights were off, so we thought maybe no one was home, so one of the guys tried to sneak in to use the phone. Only, the second he got inside, a light turned on, and this old man came outside with a shotgun, and his wife called the police. We all bolted, and fifteen minutes later, the cops were hunting us down. One of my friends got arrested and had to spend the night in jail, but I got away by running into the woods. Eventually, I managed to steal a towel off a clothesline and found a pay phone to call home, but the next day I woke up with the most awful itch. My whole ass was covered in poison ivy."

I jump up. "Oh my god, that's why you missed school for a week?"