Gina came in the back door. "It's like walking into my own personal restaurant every time I come here. What is that yummy smell?"

"That's the sweet potato casserole." Nicole watched her dad roll out the dough for the crust for the pumpkin pie.

Gina leaned in and gave a loud, "Mwah," as she bussed cheeks, and then pulled off her red cashmere wrap. "Why does your kitchen smell so much better than mine?"

"Because your mom orders Thanksgiving dinner from Dunbars." Brandon tromped up the basement stairs with three cases of beer.

"What can I do to help?" Gina hovered over Nicole's shoulder.

"Uh, take some of these for me?" Brandon said.

"You're the superstar athlete," Gina said. "Why go all candy-ass and ask for help?"

"You're standing right there. Doing nothing." He set the cases down next to the refrigerator.

"What is going on between you two?" Nicole couldn't make any sense of the underlying anger between the two of them.

Brandon's features turned crimson. He turned his back on them and squatted, tearing open the box and shoving bottles on the bottom shelf.

"Not a damn thing." Gina's fingers moved across the keypad of her cell phone.

Nicole figured she'd better change the subject. She'd talk to Gina privately. "How long can you hang here?"

"We're not eating till five-thirty, so I've got all day."

"Do you want to set the table?" Nicole knew her friend preferred design to cooking.

"Oooh, yeah. You guys are so weird. You're all about the food. You don't give a fig how anything looks." Casting a mischievous glance over her shoulder, she headed out into the dining room.

Nicole double-took when she noticed Brandon staring at her friend's ass in nothing but a pair of black leggings. She was about to say something, when her phone buzzed.

Dylan. Can you talk?

She shot off a reply. Is there anything left to say?

What do you want to know?

She froze. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Was he saying he would open up to her? She had to find out.

Let me get the stuffing in the oven. One sec.

She brought the casserole dish to the oven. "Guys, I'll be right back."

"Where you going?" Brandon asked, accusation in his voice as he tore open another box and shoved more beer bottles into the refrigerator.

"To make a quick phone call." She took in the kitchen. Turkey was in the oven. She had time before she needed to peel the potatoes or wash the green beans. Her dad had the pies covered-apple and two pumpkins. He wouldn't make the whipped cream until they were ready to eat the pie.

"You've been on that phone a lot this morning," her dad said.

Brandon cut her a look. She waited, almost hopeful they'd ask her something-anything-to take an interest in her life.

But nothing came. "Yeah. Friend from school. I'll be quick." She took her phone and went up to her room.

Dylan answered right away, his voice gravelly and tired. "Hey."

"You sound terrible." Her bare feet padded across the thick white carpet.

"I feel like shit."

Completely disgusted and one second away from killing the call, Nicole said, "That's a hang-over for you. Listen, I'm in the middle of cooking." She had zero patience for people who partied so hard they became sick the next day.

"I'm not talking about physically. I hate that I called you when I was drunk."

Oh. "No big deal." Forehead pressed to the window, she took in the backyard-the pool and terrace, the gazebo, the broad expanse of green lawn.

"It is to you. I'm sorry."

"You seem to be sorry for a lot of things. You asked me to call you, so what's up?"

"Enough, Nicole."

Her head snapped up. She didn't say a word. His shift from apologetic to commanding unsettled her.

"I know I hurt you, but we're not going to get anywhere if you keep sniping at me. I'm sorry for the way I told you about Kelsi, I'm sorry for the way I left you at the airport, and I'm sorry for calling you when I was drunk. I can't take back any of that, but I'd like to go forward. Think you can give me a chance here?"

"I gave you a chance yesterday, and you didn't take it." She said quietly because Brandon had basically delivered the same message about sniping yesterday. It had made sense to her then, yet she couldn't seem to control herself. "You hurt me."

"Then show me hurt and not the fucking cold shoulder."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could be with him. It was so much simpler when they were wrapped up in each other under the covers. "Okay."

He blew out a tired breath. "Look, Nicole, I'm all fucked up over this. I can't...I don't know what to do. My mind tells me to let you go, but the rest of me-my fucking heart-just can't do it."

His heart? She couldn't believe Dylan McCaffrey was talking to her about his heart.

"But here's what I figured out last night. Whichever way I chose, I lose you. If I let you into my fucked up life or if I shut you out of it, either way you're gone. At least if I let you in, I have some chance of being with you. The other option leaves me no chance. So, I'm going to take my shot. If you still want me."

"Oh, I want you." She wanted him all in, not one foot out the door, but she'd take him. He was trying.

"Yeah?" He sounded as relieved as she felt. "And one other thing, no more drunk-dialing, I promise."

She felt a squeeze at the base of her spine. "Hey, careful, I do want to hear from you now and then."

"You'll hear from me all the time. I'm done partying."

Irritation flashed through her, and she turned from the window. "Okay, this...I'm not going to do this with you. I can't go there, with the promises and apologies. Seriously, Dylan, that will kill me."

"Exactly."

"No, Dylan, listen to me. This is the one thing I really can't handle. All the promises, the disappointments, the begging, the drama." She'd had a lifetime of it. "I can't go there with you. You can party as much as you want. Just don't do it around me."

"But I want to be around you. So I'm not partying."

"Dylan, no. I would never ask you to stop drinking for me. What kind of relationship is that if I'm telling you not to party?"

"The kind where I care about you more than I care about booze."

Her chest seized. Those were the words she'd wanted to hear from her mom, from Jonathan. She nearly reeled backward from the impact of them. "You don't have to do that. Let's not even talk about it." She couldn't bear the disappointment if she were to believe him and then he failed her. Like her mom and Jonathan had done a hundred thousand times.

"Nothing good comes from booze."

Tension gripped her spine-something in his tone made her think he'd done something bad the night before. God, what had he done? "You asked me what I wanted to know."

"I did."

Did she really want to know if he'd done something bad? Maybe he hadn't hooked up with someone. Maybe he'd done drugs. She didn't know. "Did something happen last night?"

"I partied too hard."

She wasn't stupid. She heard how guarded he sounded. "Dylan...just tell me. You had a lot of booze. Did something bad come from it?"

"No. Except I feel like shit today. And I hurt you."

Okay, she'd have to get more specific. God, she hated this game. "Did Kelsi spend the night?" Whoa, that came out aggressively. She hadn't even known how deeply that question was lodged into her gut until it popped out. But she had a right to know the truth.

"Yes."

"In your bed?" The pause told her everything. "Fuck you." And she hung up. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. He'd slept with his ex-girlfriend. He called her right back, but she ignored it. Deal-breaker. Total and absolute deal-breaker.

Too agitated to go back downstairs, she paced around her room. He called again. And then she got a voicemail message. Then, a text. She hated that he'd done that to her. Hated it. All those times he'd warned her off him.

Why hadn't she listened? This was her fault for ignoring what he told her. She knew that-you always had to listen to what a guy said. He was telling the truth. More texts came in. He was frantic.

Fine. She'd read them, but only so she could let him know to stop. She opened the text.

Need you to hear me out. Talk to me.

And another that said, Ur killing me here.

And a third. I did not sleep with Kelsi. I don't want her.

So, fine, she called him back.

"Nic. Jesus Christ, stop that. You're going to give me a fucking heart attack."

"Dyllie?" she heard a woman call. "What're you doing out here?"

"I'm on the phone," he said firmly. "I'll be in soon."

"Who're you talking to?" Was that his mom? She didn't sound young enough to be Kelsi.

"Is it Sawyer?" his mom asked. "Tell him to come over."

"Mom." His voice snapped like a branch.

"What? God, fine."

"Sorry about that." He came back on the line.

"Your mom?"

"Yeah. And, no, I didn't tell her about us. Believe me, you don't want her to know." He let out a shaky laugh.

"Did you sleep in the same bed with Kelsi?"

"We slept on the couch together."

She sucked in a breath. "Did you touch her?"

He paused. "No."

"Don't lie to me on a technicality."

"I don't lie. I don't have to. I own what I do. I didn't touch her because I don't want to. I'm not attracted to her. I want you, Nicole. Only you. How do I get through to you?"

"I believe you didn't sleep with her. I do. But I have to know what happened last night."

"Fuck. Do I really have to do this?"

"If we're going to have any kind of trust, then yes, you do."

He blew out a breath. "I woke up...she woke me up..." He paused. "I didn't even know I was on the couch with her. I was drunk, in a deep sleep. She was jacking me off."

"Did it feel good?"

"What do you think, Nicole? Yes, it felt good. Because I thought it was you."

"What did she say when you went, Oh, Jesus, Nicole?"

It took him a moment to figure it out, but when he did she was pretty sure he smiled. His tone changed, sounded lighter. "To be honest, I don't think she noticed. Either she didn't notice or she didn't care."

"Did you...finish?"

"No." He sounded outraged. "About one second after I said, oh, Jesus, Nicole, I realized it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like you. So I woke up and got off the couch and told her to knock it off."

"What did she say?"