"Right. I knew that. And this is fun, right?"

Nicole laughed and, God, it felt good. "Yes, it's fun. Just wait till the shower gets going."

A collective gasp snapped her attention to the black sky. Even though everyone watched the same spectacle, she couldn't help pointing to the streaking meteor. "Oh, my God, see? That was the money shot."

"That one?" James said. "You said shower, so I imagined, you know, a Star Wars kind of event, thousands of meteors blazing across the sky, slamming into each other. Explosions. You know."

"You're such a guy. This isn't the cataclysm. It's a meteor shower. But if it were the end of the world, I wouldn't exactly mind."

James grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You'll be all right."

"Chef hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't appreciate your squeamishness."

"James, I don't want to work with meat. I'm not a butcher. I work with flour and sugar."

"It's one lab. You'll live. And you know what? It'll make you a stronger person. What if you have to go into the rain forest and learn how to fry some special bug that's super high in protein...or whatever. I'm just saying."

"You're right. I know you're right." But that didn't change the fact that Chef hated her. And that meant he wouldn't choose her for the minor. And then what would she do? She needed to conquer her food issues. More than anything, she wanted to put the past behind her. On an emotional level, she needed the sense of mastery that she would always, always, always be able to feed herself. She believed with all her heart that studying with Chef Desmarais would heal her.

"Nicole," a voice called from far away. "Nic?"

Deep male laughter followed, along with other shout-outs issued from drunken tongues.

"Is that who I think it is?" James asked.

"I don't know." She did know. She'd known him a matter of days and already she'd recognize his voice anywhere. Her heart gave a tug because he'd come looking for her.

"What is going on with you two?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Don't give me that. He sleeps with you every night."

"Not like that. It's just until my furniture comes." Sydney's mom had ordered furniture fit for a master bedroom. They'd had to return everything and reorder for her small, office-like space.

"Nicole?" The voice came closer. She knew it was Dylan, but she'd never heard him drunk before. She didn't like drunk Dylan. "Nicole."

"You should just tell him where you are so people don't take out his knees with a tire iron," James said.

"I don't want to see him when he's like this." No matter how many years had passed since she'd lived with her mom, the barrier of time thinned when she was around drunks. But to know it was Dylan, someone she had feelings for...yeah. It just made it worse.

Oh, hey, now. I thought we're not having feelings for him?

"Where is she?" some guy said. "Is she even here? Nicole?"

"Wait, what the hell?" Yet another voice. How many people did he bring with him? "Is this like the Jamestown massacre? Why're they all lying there?"

The first guy said, "Are they dead?"

"It's a meteor shower," someone sober called. "Shut the fuck up."

"Oh, sorry," one of the drunken idiots said. "Shhh. We're scaring away the stars."

"Nicole?" Dylan barked.

"Jesus, whoever Nicole is, can you please tell your boyfriend to shut up?"

She whipped up. "He's not my boyfriend."

"There you are." Dylan's voice was filled with relief and a happiness she'd never heard from him. In long strides, he came to her quilt, forced his way between her and James and sighed. "I found you."

"You're drunk."

"You wanted me to take off the White Trash tag, so I put on a Sigma Phi one instead. Do you like it better?"

"It doesn't matter what I like. Do you like it?"

"I'll get pussy."

James choked on his laughter.

"You'll get pussy without being in a frat. Isn't that why you work out every single day of your life?"

"You think that's why I work out?"

Someone said, "Ow," as the other guys stumbled through the crowd. They sat on random blankets, amidst a chorus of pissed-off stargazers.

"You're still mad at me," he said.

"When you sober up you'll recall you were the one who was angry with me."

"Just saying, this is way more entertaining than the whole meteor thing," James said.

"You're not mad?" Dylan's hand clamped down on her bare leg.

And, God, did that possessive grip feel good. "Well, I am a little now. I don't like hanging around drunks."

"I'm not a drunk."

His hand rode higher up her thigh, sending a shot of heat straight to her core. "Why don't you go back to the frat and get some pussy?"

James snickered.

Dylan rolled onto his side and nuzzled her ear, reeking of beer. "I don't like when you're mad at me."

"Dylan."

"I hate when you use that voice. You sound like Mrs. Ellis. The prin-priss-principal of my high school. She expected so much better from me."

"Well, she was an idiot. You're incredible."

"You don't know anything about me, so you can't say that." And then right into her ear, he whispered. "You should stay away from me."

She rolled-big mistake-so that they were nearly nose to nose. Close enough to feel his warm beer breath on her face. "I do know you. I might not know all your stories, but I know how you are here and now. Well, not literally here and now, because you're drunk and that's gross, but outside of this exact moment, you're a really good guy. I don't understand why no one ever told you that."

"Because I did bad things."

She turned more fully, leaning in close so no one else could hear them. "Did you?"

Color tinged his cheeks, and her heart went soft for the guilt he carried.

She touched his cheek. "Did you do bad things? Or did your mom?"

And she could see from his pained expression he didn't think there was a difference, and that just made her crazy. She wished so badly she could get through to him.

"Dylan..." She drew in a breath. "You did the best you could with what you had. That's what we all do. Are you doing bad things now? Because I've seen you do only good things."

His grip on her thigh tightened. "You've got some weird ideas."

"What's weird is blaming yourself for what your mom does. That's beyond your control. You're away from your parents now, so you don't have to define yourself by them or by their choices."

"You should stop talking about my parents. I don't have a dad. Never did."

"That's not your fault either."

"You gonna be my champion?"

"If it means I get to wear a cape, then yeah."

He nuzzled her neck, sniffing. "You smell good." He licked her earlobe. She shivered, which was stupid, because he was drunk. He wasn't really hitting on her. She knew that. Still, the connection between them throbbed like a live wire.

His lips brushed over her cheek, and she sighed.

"Wait, do you like me? Like me like me?"

She pushed him away, but it was like pushing a boulder. His body pressed up against hers, and as much as she wanted to be repulsed by him, she couldn't stop her body's response. "Can you please go away? I don't like you right now."

"I don't want to go away from you. I never want to go away from you." He caressed her skin, slowly drifting toward her inner thigh.

Desire burned under his touch. But he was drunk, so she pushed it off. "Okay, that's enough." She started to get up, but his hand on her stomach pressed her back down.

"Stay." He held up his hand, as if to say, See, not touching you. But the way he looked at her, the intensity and desire in his eyes, made the blood roar in her ears.

And when her gaze lowered to his sensuous mouth, when she took in a shuddery breath, he nuzzled her neck. Chill bumps exploded on her skin.

He ran his fingers over them on the sensitive skin of her inner arm, his knuckles brushing against the side of her breast. "Fuck. You do like me like me."

Her whole body flamed with desire. She jumped up. "Oh, my God, enough. What's the matter with you?"

James shot up, too. "Maybe you should go, Dylan. You okay, Nic?"

She took off down the hill, angry at him for messing with her, angry at herself for feeling anything for him. He was drunk. He didn't actually want her.

God, she was such an idiot.

"Nicole," Dylan shouted, and she could hear him running after her. "Fuck." He stumbled, but she didn't bother turning around to help him.

"Nicole, wait," James said.

She quickened her pace, blinking back tears. She hated that he'd treat her like some stupid hookup.

"Leave her alone, Dylan," she heard James shout. "Go back to your frat friends and leave her alone."

It didn't take James long to catch up with her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back. "Wait. God, just hold up."

She looked behind them, making sure Dylan wasn't following. She didn't see him anywhere.

"What'd he say to you?" James looked so worried.

"He was getting all...worked up."

"Oh, well..."

"Oh, well, what?"

"You sleep in his bed every night. What did you think would happen?"

"It's not sexual."

"He's a guy. You're a girl. You sleep in a twin bed every night. Come on, Nicole."

"It's not like that. He shows zero interest in me."

He ran a hand through his dark hair. "You can't be this nave."

"What?"

"You can't not understand what's happening here, right?"

"What are you talking about? He's looking for a drunken hookup."

"He's not that drunk, Nicole."

She knew that. She did. Then why had he touched her like that?

"He's drunk enough to finally loosen up a little, but he's not drunk enough to not know what he's doing. Believe me, tomorrow he'll remember everything."