Dylan let out a slow breath and kept silent. After several long moments, as James started snoring again, she turned within his arms. He grabbed the comforter, drew it up to their chins and tucked it in tightly around them. "You smell like honeysuckle."

"I make those cupcakes, too."

He made a grumbling noise deep in his throat.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Dylan woke up with the most painful hard-on of his life. Immediately, he thought of Nicole and jerked his hips back. But when he opened his eyes he realized he had nothing to worry about.

She was gone.

And the disappointment slamming him just pissed him off. What the hell had he been thinking bringing her into his bed last night anyway? Yeah, he felt bad that she had to sleep on the floor. But he could've given her the bed. He didn't care where he slept.

Whatever. He'd already shared his bed with her the night before, so what did it matter? It wasn't like he'd act on his attraction. And if he needed a reminder why, he just needed to pick up the phone vibrating under his pillow.

Whipping through the messages, he could see his mom had been texting him all night. Which meant she was either lit or apologetic. He'd find out soon enough.

Knowing how upset she was, it had killed him not to respond to her, but he also knew if he didn't set up boundaries, she'd be calling him night and day until he went home for Thanksgiving. He couldn't let that happen. Not only for his own sanity, but because she needed to build her own life.

He hit her speed dial, and she answered right away. "Dylan." She sounded sober.

"Hey, Mom. What's up?"

"You just...you won't talk to me. I can't stand that you're mad at me."

What could he say to that? He was angry with her.

"I'm sorry." She sounded tired. "I fucked up."

Pushing off the covers, he sat back against the wall. "Why?" She'd gotten her family back in her life, and she'd blown it. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I guess...you're really gone, you know? It's always been you and me, and now...you're gone."

"I'm not gone. I'm in school. And I'll be home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring break, and then three months in the summer."

She laughed softly. "Well, when you put it like that."

"Mom..."

"I know. I fell off the wagon. But I'm back. I swear to you, I'm back. I'll even start going to meetings again."

"You stopped?"

"I was doing great, and I hate hanging around all those fucked up people. It's so depressing."

"Jesus, Mom-" But he shut his mouth before he leveled an accusation or reprimand. Beating her up about past crimes only drove her to act out. He needed her strong. He needed to encourage her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm one of them. I get it." She blew out a breath. "I fucked up." At least she sounded ashamed. That meant something. "But don't worry. I'm back, and I won't miss any more meetings. I see what happens when I do."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. You've got this, you know. You'll be fine."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You can keep your phone on. You know how I get when you don't answer. I need to know you're there for me."

"I won't have it on during class, and I'll have it on silent at night so I can sleep. Other than that, I'll have it on, okay?"

"When you don't answer, I worry about you. What if you're run over or something? How will I know? I'm just...I'm going to need you to get back to me. It helps me, just knowing you're there."

"I have to focus, Mom. I need a three-point-five to keep my scholarship. But I'll do the best I can."

"I want you to do good. You know I do. You're the best thing in my whole life."

This line of thinking got him riled up. If she wanted him to do well, she shouldn't have asked him to steal his aunt's car to get her booze. Or go on drug runs for her.

Stop. He couldn't go there. Didn't help anything. Best to change the subject.

"You better get some sleep. You've got work in a few hours."

"Oh, I'm not going to make it in today. I'm too tired."

"You have to make it. Get a few hours of sleep, and then make yourself some coffee. I left a brand new canister on top of the refrigerator for you. But you can't miss work. You can't lose this job."

"I won't lose my job if I take a day off here or there."

Oh, Christ. She'd never kept a job in her life. This time, though, she had to. "Yes, Mom, you will." How did he get through to her? "But you can't let that happen because I have no more money to give you. All the money I made this summer went to pay your rent. And I don't have a job here yet, so I can't send you anything for a couple of weeks at least."

"I didn't sleep at all last night. You know what it's like right after you quit drinking."

He gripped the back of his neck and squeezed. "You have to do this, Mom. I'm in school. I can't..." He caught sight of something in his peripheral vision and snapped upright. James stood in the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist, looking apologetic.

I'm sorry, his roommate mouthed. Want me to go?

Shit. How long had he stood there? What had he heard? "I have to go."

"Already?" his mom said. "I miss you, baby."

"I miss you, too." He hated to say this in front of his roommate, but it had to be said. "You have to go to work, okay? I don't have any money coming in, so you have to keep this job. Just...tell me you understand."

After a long moment, she finally let out a huff of breath. "I understand."

He ended the call, tossed his phone onto his pillow, and then brushed past James and headed for the bathroom.

The house smelled like flowers.

Dylan came downstairs, wanting to avoid everyone and just get to the gym. He hated that James had heard that conversation. He'd have to be more careful in the future.

But one glance into the kitchen and his heart kicked hard in his chest.

In a pretty yellow tank top, Nicole leaned over the counter, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. But since it was cut so choppily, bits and pieces spilled everywhere. A bunch of guys hovered around her, stuffing their faces with muffins. Two guys stood behind her-one of them rocked his hips back and forth, his hands fisted, arms pumping in the gesture of fucking, while the other laughed, covering his mouth with the back of a hand.

Assholes.

He trampled down the stairs and charged into the kitchen. Coming up behind her, he pushed the guys aside.

"Dude." One of them gripped the counter to keep from falling over.

"Don't ever disrespect her again." He said it low so only they could hear.

Both guys looked stunned, mouths open.

Adrenaline spiked through him, making his facial muscles twitch. "Do you understand me?"

"Chill, dude, what's the big deal?"

He felt a gentle hand on his back and turned to find Nicole watching the scene in confusion.

"Here." James shoved a muffin in his hand. The only reason Dylan wasn't giving him shit was because he'd been at the oven with his back to the scene.

"No, thanks. I'm going to work out." But he didn't take his eyes off the jerks, not until their stances showed they'd backed down and understood him.

"Have one," James insisted.

Nicole uselessly pushed locks of hair out of her eyes and smiled at him. "Please?"

"She made them for you." James pushed a pale purple-frosted cupcake into his hand. Not a muffin after all.

Right. She'd made the lavender cupcakes for breakfast. Everything she did-just fucking looking at her-pulled at his heart. He dropped his backpack on the floor and peeled the paper away. He hesitated, thought about telling them he didn't eat sugar, but one look at her hopeful expression killed that thought.

One bite wouldn't hurt. But before he sank his teeth into it, the scent wafted up to his nostrils, and he couldn't help breathing it in. It was unbelievable. He shoved half of it in his mouth, and the flavor hit him full force.

When he opened his eyes-he didn't even realize he'd closed them-he found James smiling at him like he'd just won an argument.

"Good?" James asked.

He shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and closed his eyes to experience it.

"He's in," James said to Nicole.

When Dylan opened his eyes, he found Nicole smiling at him, looking pleased.

He had to stop being so damn happy when he pleased her.

Chef Desmarais faced the class, checking out each student that entered the lab. Was he sizing them up to see who he could cut? What did a worthy student look like to him anyway?

"Bonjour." His voice boomed, silencing the chatter. "Welcome to your first food science lab. Please take a seat, silence your phones, and stop fidgeting."

Nicole had chosen to sit in the first row, center. She wanted him to see her interest, her dedication. She wanted him to choose her.

"You will notice there are twenty chairs in this..." He made a dismissive gesture to the room, set up for lab experiments, not cooking. "Laboratory. No more, no less. And that is because exactly twenty of you will work with me for the next four years in Wilmington University's first Sustainable Culinary Arts minor. We will, of course, have an actual kitchen by next semester."

Someone's phone rang, and Chef's expression turned harsh, his gaze cutting to the source. "I won't tell you again. Shut off your phone or leave my kitchen."

The guy scrambled to get his phone out of his backpack.

"As you know, Wilmington is known for the rapport between its students and professors. The professors take them to lunch, welcome them into their homes." He paused. "I, however, am not a professor. I am a chef. I will not take you to lunch, nor will I answer the door if you ring the bell at my house."

He picked up a stack of papers and slowly made his way from student to student, handing them out. "I am teaching six labs of twenty students each. At the end of this semester, twenty of you will be invited into the program. You are wondering how in the world I will be able to cull twenty out of one hundred and twenty potential chefs, but you are mistaken. It will be difficult to find twenty. Many of you will drop out before the October fifth drop deadline and switch to a different lab." He stopped, eyeing them again. "No need to suffer guilt or embarrassment. You are welcome to leave at any time."

He dropped a packet onto Nicole's desk. Food Science Syllabus.

"Read the very simple and basic rules of this lab before showing up to the next one. I offer no office hours. I take no excuses whatsoever. If your dog dies or your best friend is run over by a bus, you are not welcome to come talk to me about it. In case of an emergency, you will see your freshman advisor. If he determines there is something to say to me, I will listen. My only interest is your performance in this lab. Grading is based exclusively on attendance, participation, and performance. It is black and white. No exceptions for anyone."

A chair scraped back, and a student muttered, "This is bullshit," as she threw the door open and bolted from the room.

Nicole swung her gaze back to see Chef's reaction.

He smiled with glee. "One hundred nineteen. Excellent." He looked around the room. "Anyone else?"

The house smelled so good his mouth watered. Now what was she making? As Dylan came down the stairs, he found even more of his roommates in the kitchen. Some crowded around the island, others sat around the table.

"I made scones," Nicole called out to him, just as he hit the bottom of the stairs.

Grabbing a warm scone off the baking sheet, he brought it to his mouth, but before he could take a bite, he closed his eyes and inhaled. He couldn't get into the habit of eating shit like this- "Dude." Harry Cohen thumped him on the back, nearly dislodging the scone from his hand. "Rush starts tonight."

"Okay."

"You're coming, right?" Harry was a nicer version of Garrett. He wore a diamond-encrusted watch, parked his BMW on the lawn so it wouldn't get hit on the narrow street, and talked about his family compounds. He wasn't a bad guy, but Dylan had nothing in common with him.

Weirdly enough, the only place Dylan wanted to be right in that moment was inside Nicole's scone. He smelled nutmeg, cinnamon, and apples.

"We're having a party tonight. I'll bring you. Introduce you around. Cool?"

Dylan opened his eyes and gave him the death glare. Usually, it made people scatter.