Stalker.

Looking around, I see that in fact, we are passing The Gin Mill. How did he know?

Daisy: Are you stalking me? Where are you?

"Your friend likes me? Don't you, sweetheart?" the man next to me asks.

"What?" I missed the entire conversation between the two of them.

"You like me," he repeats.

I look him up and down. "You seem like you could be a nice fella, but you-"

"Ah, I am nice." He runs his hand down my thigh. "And I can stick my fingers in places too, you know."

Oh my gosh.

Before I can answer, as we are sitting at a red light, I'm pulled off my seat and my worst nightmare comes true. This is it. I'm meeting my death. The Chevy Malibu that's been trailing behind us is finally going to run me over.

Screeching like I'm about to drown, I flail my body as strong arms secure around my waist.

"Settle down." Carter's deep voice fills my ear, sending chills up and down my spine.

"What are you doing?" Hollyn calls out, not happy with Carter.

"I suggest you turn back around and mind your own damn business, Hollyn," Carter replies, menace now in his voice.

"Daisy is my business. She's at a bachelorette party."

"Not anymore." Without another word, he carries me past The Gin Mill, down a dark alley. And here I thought death by Chevy Malibu was going to be my ending. Nope, this alley that smells like homeless man pee is going to be it.

"Where are we going? I don't want to die in homeless man pee."

"If you keep fidgeting, you're going to face plant into the piss. Stay still."

"You can't just manhandle me like this."

"I can when you're drinking without me," he counters and then finally sets me down on a familiar seat. His motorcycle.

Looking around, gaining my bearings, I finally make eye contact with him. He's weary, unsure, but also determined. Wearing a white Henley, buttons undone, and a pair of black jeans, he exudes yumminess with his jet-black hair and penetrating eyes.

Oye, I might be in trouble.

Sitting tall, my hands crossed on my lap, I say, "I can drink without you. You don't own me."

Stepping forward, his hand goes to the back of my neck, sifting through my long blonde hair. My head tilts up from his encouragement, forcing me to make eye contact. The intent in his movement is strong, and I melt into his touch.

It's been like that from the beginning with Carter. I haven't been able to avoid the electric pull between us. It's heavy, intoxicating, inescapable, with the way his head tilts to the side when he studies me, or how his hand sifts through his thick hair when he's trying to understand me. There is something so male about him that has my heart fluttering uncontrollably.

His voice reaching a deeper octave, he says, "I know I don't own you, doesn't mean I don't want to."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He leans forward, like he's about to kiss me. Oh no, he doesn't. Lifting my foot, I place it on his chest and push him away. Thank you, flexibility.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm still mad at you. You can't just remove me from a beer-bike thing and drag me to some back alley with one street lamp shining on us and try to kiss me on your motorcycle like some kind of modern-day knight-in-shining-armor thing. I do have morals, you know."

But now that I think about it, despite the homeless-man-pee smell, this whole setup is West Side Story kind of romantic with the dark streets, a light sheen of dew on them, and the brick surrounding us. Sigh.

"Morals, huh? Well, I told you I can be a real dick most of the time."

"Is that supposed to be your excuse?"

"Yeah." He lowers my foot back to the ground and closes the distance between us again. "It's always my excuse."

Irritated, I cross my arms over my chest. "Well, I don't accept your excuse because it's lame. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a beer bike to find."

My attempt to get up off the motorcycle is quickly washed away when Carter straddles the bike as well, his body pressing against mine so I'm forced to lean back.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Inching closer, that sinister gaze of his splitting me in half, he runs his hands up my thighs until they are gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing inward, sending an immediate shock of pleasure through my nerve endings.

It really shouldn't be that easy for him, but unfortunately, it is.

"Like I said, I'm a dick, but I know when I'm being one. Therefore I can recognize when an apology is needed." His thumbs start to stroke my inner thighs, the tips grazing the junction between my legs. Oh Lord, help me, my nipples are hardening. "I'm sorry, Snowflake, for being such an ass to you the other night when my uncle showed up. You caught me at a bad moment. I trust you." Pressing forward a little more, he runs his nose along my jaw and places a kiss on the corner of my mouth. "Please don't think I don't trust you, because I do. I just don't want you to see a shitty side of me."

Focus on his words. Don't let his proximity make you brain dead.

"I don't know what this is, Carter, but if we're going to be friends, I'm going to want to get to know all of you, not just the side you want me to know."

"Friends, huh?" His mouth moves back to my ear and he whispers seductively, "Do you let all of your friends touch you and kiss you like this?"

Definitely not, nope, not a single one of them. Not that I have many. But Hollyn won't be sticking her hand down my pants anytime soon. Although, I'm sure she would make a lovely mate for someone.

"No," I answer on a hitched breath.

"You better not."

His lips trail down the column of my neck, the buzz I was feeling being quickly washed away by lust for this man.

"Carter, we can't do this."

"And why the hell not?" He kisses across my collarbone to the other side of my body.

"For one, it smells like pee. Two, I'm still mad at you. And three, what about this whole girlfriend thing he was talking about? Are you seeing someone?"

He stills, his lips halting right before they get to my ear. On a huff, he releases me and sits up on his motorcycle, his hand running through his hair.

I wait for him to answer, feeling pride for standing up for myself. Yes, he's sexy and he affects me in ways I don't care to admit, but I still have my morals.

Let's get a fist pump for morals!

"Fair enough." Getting up from the bike, he pulls me up with him, my legs feeling weak from his touch. "It does smell like pee, so let's go back to my place. I don't like you being mad at me. And about what the guy said, my uncle, the girlfriend he speaks of, I have one." A gasp escapes me. I ought to slap this man. "And she's standing right in front of me."

She's what-?

Oh, he's talking about me. Gah, he's talking about me. My stomach turns upside down with excitement, my bones melting like a puddle right in front of me.

"You called me your girlfriend," I say like a giddy little school girl.

"I did." He smirks. Gosh, he's so attractive. "Is that okay with you?"

"I think so." I smile back at him.

"You think so?" His eyebrows lift in question. "Think you could be a little more excited?"

"So full of yourself." I shake my head. "I'll be more excited when you make it up to me."

"Is that so?" His arms wrap around me, pulling me into his strong chest. "All right. Let's get back to my place and I'll show you just how sorry I am. Okay?" Tempting. So tempting "Perfect." He pinches my chin with his thumb and forefinger, bringing me up to his lips where he places a gentle kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, I ask, "We're talking about more kisses, right? And not some weird making it up to me by offering me a pack of cigarettes and a Scooby Doo pencil you've had since the third grade."

His head flies back, a laugh flying out of him. "Oh, Snowflake. No pencils and cigarettes, just a lot of mouth work on my end. I want to taste this earth-shattering body of yours. I know your pussy tastes like candy."

Oh jeeze, why does saying the p-word make my legs clench with satisfaction? And why do I want him to do a lot more than just mouth work? Aren't I still meant to be angry at him?

JACE.

With a nice fine looming over my head from the club, I make my way out to my car so I can still make my flight back to Denver tonight. After my little phone call with Hollyn, I decided she doesn't really get an option in this whole avoidance thing. She's scared, unsure; I get that. But instead of hiding, I want her to talk to me because I can help her work through everything and also, I fucking need her. For my whole life, I have kept my problems and thoughts to myself, having had no family to lean on. But right now, I feel like my head is about to explode. But with her, with beautiful Hollyn, I don't feel quite so alone. So much about her attracts me, soothes me . . . completes me. Her mind. It's as though she's become the balm my soul needs. Her vitality. I've seen the witty and amusing girl Carter once knew, and I want to be around that. Her touch. I want so badly to bury myself deep inside of her, take in her scent, her beauty, and feed off it.

It would be just my luck that the one person I crave is a widow, scared of moving forward from her past.

I find my keys and go to unlock my car when I see a shadow move from the corner of my eye, startling me slightly.

Rebecca.

Christ.

"Getting into fights now? Do you think that's going to help your court case?" she asks in a smug tone.

I don't answer her, instead, I say, "What are you doing here?"

"Meeting Ethan. But thanks to you, I have to wait longer because he's getting stitches."

Damn right he is. I have a black eye, but that fucker ended up with a cut above and below his eye. Another reason why Coach fined me so heavily, Ethan's eye is swollen shut.

"He might be there for a while, might want to take a seat."

Wanting to end this interaction with Rebecca, since the hairs on the back of my neck are already raised, I unlock my car and reach for my handle. However, she steps up behind me. I just want this night over. Her gone.

"How could you do it?" It's a simple question, but the weight of the answer is so incredibly heavy. "How could you give her to two strangers? She's your daughter."

"Yeah, and she's your fucking daughter too," I snap, spinning on her. "You had no problem handing her over to me without a second thought."

"That's not true. You have no idea the thought I put into this decision. I handed her over to you because in my mind, I thought you were going to take care of her, give her the home she deserves with the slight possibility that when I got my shit together, I would be able to come back and be the mom she needs." She never fucking said that.

"These were your words, Rebecca. 'I'm not keeping her. I thought I could do this on my own, but I can't. I'm sorry, but when I give birth, she's yours.' Your words. You can't just decide when you want to be a mom, Rebecca. It's not a decision like whether you want to put makeup on for the day or not. When you have a child, you have the responsibility of being a parent. It's not an on and off switch."

"And yet, you turned your switch off."

"For good fucking reason," I say through my teeth, trying to tamp down my rage.

"Yeah? So you can play baseball? Isn't that a little selfish? Perusing your dreams rather than being the father you should be?"

What the ever-living fuck? Where the hell is she coming from right now? Does this woman not realize that she made the same decision as me?

"Are you hearing yourself?" I point to my ear. "You did the same thing, Rebecca. You gave up."

"I didn't give up," she shouts. "I depended on her father to take care of her, not hand her off because it was inconvenient."

"She wasn't fucking inconvenient." Fuck, I'm choking up, the roller-coaster emotions of making the hardest decision of my life coming to the forefront of my mind. "You don't get it, Rebecca. I have no education, and no way of providing for her other than baseball. And there was no way in hell I was going to be an absent parent, traveling the country, playing late nights of baseball while a nanny I barely knew took care of her. I was a foster child. I have no family. No family to help out, no family to lean on. And I didn't want Hope growing up with no one there to love on her like I experienced." My voice cracks, my past hitting me with such force.

"You abandoned her."

"No." I take a deep breath and look Rebecca dead in the eyes. With a point of my finger, I say, "You abandoned her. I found her a loving and caring home."

I don't want to hear what else she has to say, I get in my car just as Rebecca calls out. "This isn't over, Jace. I'm getting her back."

Over my fucking dead and slowly breaking body.

CARTER.

I'm shaking. Why the fuck am I shaking?

This isn't my first go at it. I've done this hundreds of times, but for some reason, with Daisy below me, her naked, milky white, and beautiful body, I'm fucking nervous.

I didn't expect to go caveman on her when I found out she was drinking without me, an activity I feel I get to stake claim on since she had her first drink with me.

I didn't expect to maul her in the back alley, on my bike, soaking in her innocence in that stupid bike helmet.

I didn't expect to want to own her so damn bad that I claimed her as my girlfriend.

I didn't expect to drive home and love the feeling of her arms wrapped tightly around me, her giggle floating in and out of my ear.

I didn't expect Daisy to hold my hand and guide me to my bed, a saunter in her step I've never seen before.

And fuck, I didn't expect to have the purest beauty ever, spread beneath me, willing and waiting for me to explore her body.

But here I am, Daisy's eyes are filled with lust, her hair is fanned across one of my pillow, and the moonlight dances through my un-curtained windows.