"Ha. No. I'm the lone foodie in a herd of athletes. My oldest brother's entering the draft. He plays baseball for Mich U, and my other brother's the starting quarterback for Yale. Oh, and my dad was a wide receiver for Notre Dame back in the day."

"Wow. Fit in much?"

She smiled. "Exactly. I'm the outsider. On the other hand, there would be no Thanksgiving without me."

"So, do you get to bake in this Food Science program? Because no matter what words are coming out of your mouth, all I hear are lavender cupcakes."

"No, no baking, but I'll be doing some cooking. For the first time in the program's history, they've hired a chef to run one of the labs. But the super cool thing is that this chef? Henri Desmarais? He's going to choose twenty of us to launch the school's first ever Sustainable Culinary Arts minor."

"That is awesome. How do you become one of his students?"

"He'll choose us from the labs he's teaching. We have to present a dish for our final."

"Lavender cupcakes?"

"Not submitting a cupcake. Though I'm by no means modest. They are mouthwatering."

"So you do have glow. It's just the kind that won't dazzle until later in life. I'd rather glow later than burn out early like these guys." He motioned to Caroline and her friends, dancing to Rihanna across the hall. "You just need a little learnin' from Chef Henry, and then you'll surpass these glowhards by a mile."

She thought of Dylan. Could someone's glow be their striking good looks? Their hard muscles and perfect physique? "So, um, what do you think of your new roommate?" Where James's side of the room looked like a decorator had come in-he even had hammered metal shelves on his walls-Dylan's was stark. A duffle bag rested atop a thin blue comforter. No office supplies on his desk, unlike James who looked like he'd had a visit from Mr. Staples himself.

"Oh, good grief," James said. "Don't even go there."

"Go where?"

"Please. I see your expression. He's sexual heroin."

"Oh, I..." She would've liked to say he wasn't her type, but that would be lying. He was everyone's type. At first glance, he looked rough and rugged, a man who'd just come down off the mountain. But, really, that mess of shoulder-length hair? Silky, light brown with glints of blonde, like he'd spent the summer on the trails? Gorgeous. His hard, toned body looked like an athlete's, and he was so handsome it was hard to look at him for too long.

"You were saying?"

"Yeah, so not my type." But she said it with a smile.

"Right," James said. "Quit it right now. Mr. Brooding Bad Boy shows up for nine months of college with a duffle and a sleeping bag, won't look anyone in the eye, and totally keeps to himself? Seriously, he might as well have orange hazard cones around him."

"Believe me, I'm not interested in him like that. I don't want to get involved with anyone this year."

"Me neither. And I mean it more than you do."

"Senior Year of Disgusting Decadence?"

He nodded, looking pained.

"I'll bet your story's much more interesting than mine."

"You go first."

"Fine. You had your one year of drama? I had four. I dated the same guy for three and a half years in high school, and let me tell you, I am done with boy drama."

"You did not dump him before prom? You put in all that time and didn't even get any bang for your bucks?"

"I got lots of bangs."

James stared at her, as though trying to figure out if she meant what she'd actually said. When she cracked a smile, he burst out laughing. "So this whole sweet-lil-thang look you've got going on is just a cover for a very naughty girl. I like that. I like that a lot."

"I look like a prude?"

He shrugged.

"Why? 'Cause I don't advertise the goods? I'm not interested in snaring some guy with my body. I want him to want me."

"Not a Hooters girl. Noted. So, you stayed with him for the sex?"

"I stayed with him because we started out as best friends, and I kept believing our friendship would be the thing that pulled him back when he started going off the rails. It didn't." Even though she'd broken up with him eight months ago, the hurt still lived inside her. She'd never understand why he'd chosen partying over her. Especially when he'd taken the break-up so badly.

"Fine. You still should've waited until the day after prom to break up with him."

"I'm guessing prom was the highlight of your life?"

He tugged on a leather wristband. "No, but it was the turning point."

"I think this is where your story gets good."

He smiled. "I went to the prom with one person, hooked up with someone else in the bathroom, and went home with one of the hotel's wait staff."

"Ah."

He winced. "So, I'm on a self-imposed hiatus from relationships. I'm also on probation from partying, but that's father-imposed."

"Slut."

"Sassy face."

"That's it? That's your best shot?" She yawned. God, she was tired.

She took in the room, twin beds, matching nightstands and dressers-it left a small rectangle of floor space in the middle. Where would she sleep? "Well, I've got to get up early for my freshman seminar." She reached under Dylan's bed and pulled out the sleeping bag.

"Do you want to take my bed?" James rolled off, got to his feet.

"Oh, God, no." She untied the bag. "He said I could use this."

He made a face of displeasure. "On the floor?"

"Of course, I could always share with Dylan." She was only teasing, but the look of warning in James's eyes caught her out.

"Stay away from that one."

"I know." And yet her chest tightened at the thought of being held in Dylan's big, powerful arms.

For all those years of hell she'd endured trying to get through to her ex, she'd never once listened to her friends. It was like she'd been on some kind of mission to save him or something.

But her friends had been right. She couldn't save anyone.

This time, she'd listen.

She'd keep away from the guys with orange hazard cones around them.

CHAPTER TWO.

A creak roused her from a fitful sleep, reminding her of the hard floor beneath her. Just as she started to roll over, a big foot landed on her stomach.

"Oh, shit." James crashed onto the other side of her. "Are you okay? Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I totally forgot you were there."

He hadn't put all his weight down, so it didn't hurt that badly. Just the shock of it had her a little shaky. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Shit, Nicole. I can't believe I did that. Are you sure you're all right?"

And then big arms slid under her bottom, lifted her in the air, and deposited her on a mattress.

James stood there watching, as Dylan climbed over her and got into bed. He pulled back the covers, slid inside, and punched the pillow. Both James and Nicole stared at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Going to the bathroom." James hurried out of the room.

Well, holy moly. In bed with Dylan...she just...God. "You don't have to do this."

He turned, giving her his back. "Sleep. I have to get up early."

Sleep? Seriously? Sharing a tiny bed with this big, muscled, unbelievably hot guy? Heat radiated off him, and she could smell the clean scent of his sheets.

Should she go? No way could he be happy about sharing his twin bed with another person. A stranger. Yeah, she should go.

And yet, there was a part of her that...well, leaned into him. Wanted to wrap herself up in all that big, hardy strength. I mean, come on. The guy had taken apart her doorknob to get into her room. He'd given her a place to crash. He hadn't had to do any of that.

"Nicole." His voice sounded tight.

"Sorry. Sleeping." She closed her eyes.

After a moment, he turned to her. "No. You're not."

"You don't think this is awkward?"

A corner of his mouth started to lift. "If we're sleeping, we won't notice how awkward it is."

And there he was, right in her face. In the hall light pouring in from the open door, she could see the little scar at his temple, the cleft in his chin. Her nerves hummed. No way could she sleep. She started to get up. "You'll never sleep with a stranger in your bed."

His arm snugged around her, pinning her to his warm, very hard body.

Oh, God.

She chanced a tilt of her head to look into his eyes, and the intimacy trapped the breath in her throat. He was so freaking handsome. Strands of his long, silky hair fell across his cheek, and she had to tuck her hand to her collarbone to keep from smoothing them back behind his ear. He smelled delicious-like soap and fresh air and that hint of cinnamon.

But it was the look in his eyes-the vulnerability-that did her in. She could see the truth in those watchful eyes. Somehow she saw not the eighteen-year-old guarded man, but the sweet little boy who'd seen things no child should ever see.

She understood.

Giving him a soft smile, she sighed. "Good night, Dylan.

Deep into the night, the hard wall of heat against her twitched, jerked. Dylan gasped.

She remained still, waiting. He woke up, blinked, got his bearings. When he looked at her, she gave a gentling smile. She placed her hand over his heart. "It's all right."

He kept an eye on her. Perspiration beaded on his brow and over his lip. Gently, she dragged a finger across his skin, wiping away the moisture. He drew in a breath, closing his eyes.

"I have bad dreams sometimes, too," she said softly.

He didn't answer, didn't open his eyes. Carefully, she leaned in closer, aware of the rise and fall of his chest, and she set her head in the crook of his arm, stroking a strand of hair away that had fallen across his cheek. She tucked it behind his ear.

She knew just the moment he fell back asleep.

A vibration under his pillow snapped Dylan's head up. Startled awake, it took a moment to get his bearings. But not long to become aware of the warm, sweet-scented body jammed up to his.

Arousal hit him hard and fast, as he realized his hard dick was pressed right up against her ass. Oh, shit. He inched back, his body screaming to reclaim the contact.

This girl had him so wound up he couldn't think straight.

The phone vibrated again. He reached for it and saw his uncle's name light up the screen.

Alarm rang through his body. Fuck. Four AM. "What's wrong?" He eased out of bed, careful not to shift her too much. His mind scrambled to recall exactly where he'd dropped his jeans, shirt, and boots.

His uncle let out a hesitant breath into the receiver.

Shit. "What happened?"

"She's gone. I got up to go to the bathroom." Another sigh. "She's not in her bed."

"I'll be right there." Reaching for his jeans, he jammed his legs into them, grabbed his boots, and left the room as quietly as possible.

Breathe. Just fucking breathe. Last night his uncle had called, told him not to come to the hotel. Said they'd see him in the morning.