I wake with an overwhelming sense that I've been here before. Blinking rapidly, I lift my head from the comfort of the warm, hard chest I'd been sleeping on and look around. It's morning. The sun is still rising. Ollie is snoring gently beneath me. And yeah, there it is-someone is knocking on the door.

"Ollie!" I whisper, shaking him.

"What?" he mumbles.

"Ollie!" I say again more harshly. This time he blinks in confusion, eyes slowly becoming more and more clear. "Someone is at the door. It's got to be Bridge this time, she probably forgot her keys. I'm the one who locked up before we left for the club last night."

"Okay, okay, let me throw on a T-shirt," he grumbles, voice still sleepy.

I nod, flipping over beneath his sheets to grab the pajamas I brought in a few days ago-emergency stash. I refuse to make the same mistake twice, and these are about as far away from Ollie's clothes as I can get-pink and red striped flannels with my favorite college hoodie.

But just as I pull it over my head, I hear something that stops me.

"I'm coming! Jeez!"

And it's Bridge.

Bridge is home.

She's inside. She's in the living room.

Ollie grabs me by the shoulders, anticipating the incoming freak-out, but he's too late.

"Oh my god, she's here," I squeak.

"Take a breath," Ollie whispers, but when he looks at me, the panic in his gaze is undeniable. We both know we've messed up. Huge. Because if Bridge is here, there's no way I can escape without being seen. Ollie's door and my door both open to the living room, and if Bridge is at the front door, it'll be impossible for her to miss us.

"What do we do?" I ask through shaky breaths. "Oh god. Oh god. We're so stupid. I should have gone back to my room last night. I should've-"

"Stop." Ollie holds his hand over my lips. "Look at me." I do. "I'm going to go outside and distract her. I'll get her to walk into the kitchen. When you hear me say your name, come out as quickly as you can. I'll leave the door open so all you need to do is jump through. Okay?"

I nod.

Hesitantly, he pulls his hand back.

But I'm calm.

Well, as calm as I can be.

Calm for me.

He reaches for the door, about to slip out, when we hear Bridge a second time.

"Oh, come on. You? Again?"

For the love of god. Is this really happening?

But, yes.

Against all odds, it is.

Ollie looks back at me, blue eyes darkening like a stormy sky, because we both know the only person who could possibly be standing there. Without another glance, he rips open his door. "Who is it?"

"The asshole," Bridge sneers, meaning John. But really, it's an apt nickname. Definitely growing on me. "I'm getting Skye. She needs to kick his ass out once and for all, the way she should have done before graduation."

I frown, wishing Bridge could see the look in my eyes. Because, hey, I tried to tell him off. I did. But I just don't have a knack with it the way she does. I'm better at mentally cutting them to pieces, you know, an hour after the fact. In the moment, my mind just goes blank.

Like it is right now.

Because Bridge is about to open the door to my empty bedroom.

Crap.

But Ollie comes in for the save. "Oh no you don't," he says. Knowing them the way I do, it's not hard for me to imagine that Ollie has just grabbed his sister around the waist, lifting her easily from the ground to hold her at bay. "Go in the kitchen and start some coffee, I'll get her."

I can hear Bridge's scoff from here. "Why?"

"Because I'm older and wiser."

Cue annoyed eyebrow raise.

"Okay," Ollie tries again. "Because you're pissed as hell and that's the last thing Skye needs to wake up to right before she deals with this jerk."

"You know I'm right here, don't you?" John says.

"Shut up," both McDonoughs snap in unison.

I grin, shaking my head.

And then I wait, because Bridge will either take the bait or the gig will be up.

"Fine." She sighs.

I release a deep breath. And a moment later, Ollie shouts my name.

"Skye?"

That's my cue.

But I don't move.

I'm too scared.

"Skye?" he calls again.

I lick my lips, trying to fight off the mounting panic. Because what if she walks out right at the same time as me? What if she sees? What if she hates me?

"Skye!"

I jump, closing my eyes with fear as I spring through his door like a confused jack-in-the-box, catapulting myself from his room as though it's on fire. And it might as well be.

But a moment passes.

Then another.

No sign of Bridge. No shout. No sigh. Nothing.

I open my eyes, staring at the floor as I shuffle forward.

And then finally, I look up.

Directly into two smug brown eyes.

Shit.

My gaze flicks to Ollie, but he's looking at me and hasn't noticed that John saw. He's too relieved his sister didn't.

And suddenly I don't know what's worse.

Bridge knowing. Or John.

Okay, John.

Definitely John.

Because when I meet his eyes again, they're suddenly brighter, as though his evil plans might actually fall into place. His gaze shifts from me to Ollie, back to me, and with each little shuffle, the realization becomes clearer. He saw everything. And he will definitely use it against me if he has to.

"Skye," he says cheerfully, smiling.

I scowl. "John."

As soon as his name slips through my lips, the coffee grinder turns angrily to life. I roll my eyes, knowing Bridge is definitely watching from the kitchen, glaring with her finger pressed firmly on the power button.

"I was hoping we could go somewhere to talk," he shouts over the noise.

And I want to say no.

I so desperately want to tell him to go to hell.

But I can't. Because he glances to the side, to where Bridge is standing, and then turns back toward me, lifting one sharp brow, daring me to give him a reason.

He's already ruined my life once.

There's no way I'm letting him do it again.

So I stalk toward the door, grab the edge, and lean toward him. "I'll be downstairs in fifteen minutes."

And then I slam the wood in his face, so hard I swear I hear the glass in the kitchen cabinets jingle.

"Nicely done," Bridge comments approvingly.

I close my hands into fists, fighting back my anger, and grumble, "I told him I would meet him downstairs."

"What?"

I turn toward Bridge, shaking my head. "It's the only way we'll ever get rid of him. Half an hour and then he's gone."

But the look she's throwing me is dubious at best.

Suspicious at worst.

Does she really think I would get back together with him?

Gross.

"Trust me, Bridge, I know what I'm doing."

Her stare just grows more pointed.

Which, okay, I get. I'm not necessarily the go-to person for controlling a situation or telling someone off or being confidently bitchy or, well, getting out of the number of awkward positions I constantly seem to fall into. But, come on, have some faith. So I meet Bridge's stare, putting my hands on my hips and challenging her right back.

After a moment, she breaks, grinning. "Now that, I believe."

I grunt and turn toward my bedroom, purposefully ignoring the moody expression Ollie is throwing my way. There's absolutely no reason for him to be jealous, and I refuse to give that sentiment any weight by acknowledging it. I have too much to worry about right now-namely, one ex-boyfriend who seems determined to annoy me for the rest of my life.

And when I finally reach the lobby twenty minutes later, after sidestepping all the incessant questions Bridge was vaulting through my door and carefully selecting an outfit that was nice enough to be seen in public but also unflattering enough to keep John from getting the wrong idea, I'm really at the end of my rope.

"Sk-" John starts.

I hold up my hand, walking past him. "I don't want to hear it."

Without bothering to look back, I stomp through the door, down the sidewalk and around the corner to my favorite local coffee shop, collapsing in a seat as soon as I walk through the door.

"I'd like a vanilla latte with whole milk," I say, not looking at him.

He pauses, wringing his hands. And I know, I just know he's trying to figure out how to ask me for money. When we were dating, I never really minded forking over my own share of the cost. After all, why should the guy always have to pay? And maybe subconsciously, I always knew we'd break up anyway. But John just woke me up from a glorious sleep and practically blackmailed me into speaking with him, so I think spending five dollars on my drink is the absolute least he can do.

Cursing him silently with my eyes, I look up.

He flinches and leaves me alone to go stand in line.

Five minutes later, we're in a Mexican standoff as I sip my latte, he sips his tea, and silence permeates the space between us. He's too afraid to speak first. And I'm sort of enjoying watching him squirm. Petty, I know, but still, I'm almost never the one in a position of power. And I can't help but smile a little into my mug as I watch him shift his weight from boney butt cheek to boney butt cheek, flicking his eyes all around the room, too nervous to let them settle on me.

"Skye," he finally says, gaze glued to the floor. "I miss you."

The nerve. "Just like you missed me during Easter weekend last year? When you said you were home with your family, but instead I walked in on you screwing some sophomore from the band?"

Wow.