"You were young."

"That doesn't remove my guilt."

"I suppose it wouldn't."

I turn around and stare directly in her eyes. "I've been through years of therapy. I've tried to forget the guilt and abandonment feeling Carly left me with. I've faced it a zillion times. I don't want to give you false hope, Paige. This is the first time I want to heal and be real, but I'm positive I'll f.u.c.k this up." Her palms stay planted on my cheeks and I love the fact she still looks at me like a rock star-her rock star.

"What do you need from me?" The question is so simple, yet so complicated.

"I need patience."

"You have it." She relaxes against me, crossing her legs. "I have my own problems, Rob. So, all I ask is the same from you." She tosses a look at me over her shoulder and I inch closer, wrapping my arms around her.

"New ground for both of us then?" She never rushed me, so I'm not about to rush her to reveal anything she's not ready to.

"Yeah." She seems a little distant and I wonder what haunts her. "Maybe we should keep this between us for a while."

I'm thrown back by her request. I was going to suggest it myself, but didn't want to come off like I wanted to hide her from anyone.

"Sure." I shrug, showing indifference.

I WIGGLE OUT of Rob's hold, and slide from his bed. He's so peaceful with that just f.u.c.ked hair that I had in fistfuls most of the night. I had a sense he'd be good in bed, but he exceeded my imagination. Even his demanding talk spurred arousal out of me. I move across the room thief-style, s.n.a.t.c.hing my clothes from the floor.

Once I reach the door, I allow myself one last glimpse of him. My heart constricts thinking of the horror he's experienced. Inching the door open, I peer down the hall and scurry to my room.

Relieved that I snuck out of his room without being seen, I plop down on my bed, reliving the flashback scenes of Rob and I last night. Never in my wildest dreams would I think he'd be so attentive and caring. The sweet kisses and the gentle caressing. None of it jives with his outlandish personality of evil. It's like he's an angel trapped in Satan's body. For some reason I've been the chosen one to heal him. I have to admit; I'm slowly becoming addicted to freeing the angelic creature from the depths of the dark tunnel.

After my shower, I grab my messenger bag, and glance at my phone. s.h.i.t, only twenty minutes until cla.s.s. My body fights my light jog down the steps, exiting through the kitchen. My chucks screech on the linoleum floor when I spot Chrissy at the kitchen table. "What's up?" I break our distance fast, taking the seat next to her.

She picks up her head and her anguish isn't missed from her bloodshot eyes and trembling lip. "The weekend was horrible, just horrible." Her head thumps on the table and she lays there.

"What happened?" I wrap my arm around her shoulders, glancing at the clock on the microwave to see I'm down to fifteen minutes before my cla.s.s starts.

"We got married," she mumbles through the pile of hair covering her face.

"That's great." I tuck her blonde strands behind her ear and a small smile graces her lips.

"Oh, Paige. Our hotel room got broken into while we were at the pool. All of our stuff got stolen. Dex had to call his mom to pay our bill. We came right home." She swipes the lonely tears streaking down her face.

"Where did you guys go?"

"Niagara Falls. We didn't want a big wedding. Dex surprised me, said he couldn't wait any longer for me to be his wife." She smiles big and I wonder if she's conjuring up their special day from her memory.

"Who would think a guy nicknamed Hulk would have such a heart of gold?" She laughs and it's warming to bring that out of her.

"I know, but I would have wished for a better wedding night than stale coffee at a police station and driving six hours back home. Dex is beyond upset that his romantic gesture turned into a nightmare." She ventures to the counter and pours herself a cup of coffee. At this point, I'm debating chalking up my cla.s.s and talking Chrissy down.

"Just think, Chrissy. You're Mrs. Dexter Hanson." I clap my hands and smile wide to her.

"I know." Her cheeks begin to flush. "I'm beyond happy about that fact. It's just, I wish the start of our life together would have been different." She leans against the counter, slowly bringing the mug to her lips.

"Who gives a flying f.u.c.k? Nothing has come easy to us, doesn't change a thing." Dex strolls into the room, winks my way before stalking right up to his now wife. Grabbing the coffee cup from her hands, he places it back on the counter and sweeps her into his arms. Chrissy yelps. "Good morning, Paige. Excuse us. My wife left my bed way too early this morning and I must punish her." With nothing else said, he carries her out of the room and I admire the view of a man so in love.

I grab a to-go cup and begin pouring coffee when two arms wrap around my waist. "I agree with Dex, minus the whole wife thing," Rob coos in my ear, kissing my skin right under my ear.

b.u.t.terflies flutter to life in my stomach and I close my eyes to calm them back down. My weakness for this man is getting way too out of control.

"Sorry, I have cla.s.s." I finish pouring my coffee, driving back the enticement of ditching Economics. "Maybe-"

His hands grip my hips and swing me around. "Nope. You're going. What's your schedule?" he asks and I pray he's asking for one reason. "I'll meet you when you're done." My stomach flips with excitement that he'll be my incentive for attending cla.s.s when I'd much rather stay in bed with him all day.

"Two o'clock at Beacon Hall." He checks over his shoulder, before pinning me with his hips against the counter.

"I'll be counting the hours." He bends down and his lips meet mine. Never have I been kissed and felt so cherished before. His tongue slowly licks to part mine and I sway into his body as our tongues slide back and forth with one another.

When he breaks away, I grip the counter and hold myself as he chuckles. "Me, too." He backs away and I miss the heat from him immediately.

"Don't be late." He smacks my a.s.s and I jump forward from surprise.

I stop at the door and commit him to memory. Pajama pants are hanging low on his hips. His bare chest and his fresh tattoo are on full display. A rush of excitement zings through my veins. He's drop-dead gorgeous and I just spent the night with him. Hiding a squeal of unbelievable thrill, I exit through the door.

BY THE TIME I'm leaving my last cla.s.s, my mind is numb. There's no way I can process one more theory, formula, or equation. Since Rob texted me around noon, asking me to hit a movie with him after cla.s.s, my feet are moving a little faster to the doors.

I weave by a few girls gossiping about some hook-up to reach the outside and hopefully my new, well, what is Rob exactly? I ponder the question in my head. We were roommates, then friends, but I have no clue if we're exclusive. When I shove open the doors to the sun shining down, my mood lifts immediately and all the worries about what Rob and I are, evaporates.

I move to the side of the doors, basking in the sun. As my skin soaks in the Vitamin D, I wait for Rob to meet me. Just as my eyes begin to droop from the warmth, I hear my name.

"Very good feedback today, Miss Kensington," Professor Bridges, my Economics professor, compliments as he breezes past me.

My head snaps down and I give a polite smile. "Thank you, Professor." He startles me because Professor Bridges isn't known to compliment a student. Persuading to think through negativity is his usual course of teaching.

He nods and my eyes search for Rob. Then my polite grin widens when I see him strutting up the stairs. His hair is gelled up and he's got a black T-shirt on with some faded-out saying that's supposed to make people laugh. Which they usually do. Paired with his low-slung jeans and converse shoes, he screams rock G.o.d, and from the amount of girls fighting for a second glance, I know I'm not his only admirer.

My stomach somersaults waiting for him to reach me, but he's stopped at the top of the stairs by Professor Bridges. I creep over to them and am surprised by what I hear.

"Mr. Winters, have you returned to Western?"

"No." Rob shoves his hands in his pockets and his eyes glance back and forth between me and Professor Bridges.

"Oh, I was hoping you had seen the light."

"I have." Rob stares up at the sky, smirking back down to him.

"One day, Mr. Winters, you'll find that humor doesn't deflect." He slides by Rob and I'm surprised Rob doesn't shoot back with a sarcastic comment. It's not his style to not have the last word.

As though the confrontation didn't just happen, Rob comes up to me, his arm sliding behind my back, as he kisses my neck. "I missed you."

"How do you know Professor Bridges?"

His lips leave my skin, but his hand remains on the small of my back. "He's the reason I dropped out."

I pivot to face him, and even without hearing Rob's side, my respect for Professor Bridges decreases. "Why?"

He slides his hand off my back and laces our fingers together. "The movie is going to start, let's go." He tugs me forward but I dig my heels in, staying firm. He finally figures out I'm not leaving without an answer and a long exasperated breath falls from his mouth. "You want details?" His shoulders fall.

"Yep."

He props up on the cement ledge and I slide in to occupy the s.p.a.ce between his legs, resting my hands on his thighs.

"It's simple. He gave me s.h.i.t in the middle of cla.s.s. Spouting how I'm wasting my life and c.r.a.p. I walked out and never returned."

"What an a.s.s."

"Not really."

My eyes shoot up to see his casual expression. "Why?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I deserved it. He was trying to bully me into studying, doing the cla.s.s work, and being the student he recruited."

"Recruited?"

How much do I not know about this man?

He inhales a deep breath and then releases it. "I was on a scholarship."

My eyes must widen because he shakes his head. "Don't look so surprised. The dips.h.i.t guitarist can read."

I step back and huff from his a.s.sumption that I thought he was stupid. He jumps off the cement ledge. "Let's just go." He leaves me in the vacant strip of sidewalk between the buildings.

"Really? You actually think I'd be with you if I thought you were stupid?" I catch up to him before he can descend down the first step. "I'm just surprised you threw it away."

His icy eyes flick to me and then forward again. "I'm not the same person. You don't know the Rob from back then."

I lightly grab his elbow to slow him down and he whips around already in defense mode. "I know the Rob now and you're not stupid, far from it. So, how about you stop running and actually talk to me."

He roams over to a bench and I follow, sitting down next to him. His arm rests along the top and his hand cups my shoulder, pulling for me to slide closer. Loving the warmth he gives me, I go. "I'm sorry," he mumbles and kisses my temple. "Professor Bridges just has a way of making me see red."

"Why?"

"Because he reminds me of my biggest regret."

His lips dip down and I wish I had some way of cheering him up.

"Then come back." The answer is simple, right?

"You don't get it. Then he wins."

"This isn't about winning. You're being stubborn."

He unhooks his arm and stands. "Let's just go home; I don't want to go to the movies anymore."

"Oh stop being such a lump. We can talk about this later, but you're taking me to the movies." I don't wait for him to answer, but instead I stride straight to his illegally parked car.

At first I don't hear the footsteps behind me, but he comes to his senses and before I reach the car door, he's there opening it for me. When I peer up at him, arching my eyebrows, his eyes ping anywhere but at me. "You win, okay?"

I place my hand on the side of his stomach and step closer. "I don't want to win. I want you to win." With a small smile, I climb into his car.

In the solitude of his car for the limited time it takes him to jog around, I try to absorb the information he gave me. By no means did I think Rob was some slacker that Western kicked out, but a scholarship? That's a whole other realm. Since it's a touchy subject, I'm not going to press because regardless if he comes back or not, he has to make that decision.

"What are we going to see?" he asks once we're on the road.

"You choose."

"No, ladies choice." His hand finds my thigh and I draw in a breath, relieved things aren't awkward after the Professor Bridges and returning to school discussion.

"We can decide when we get there."

"Sounds perfect." He shoots a smile over to me in pa.s.sing. It's like a flick of a light switch how fast his mood can change. As though he's gradually transforming back to who he is, or inspires to be.

WHAT THE h.e.l.l is wrong with me? Thank G.o.d we're going to the movies so I can shove my mouth full of popcorn to the secrets stop spilling. She must think I'm an all-round f.u.c.k-up. First I tell her about the accident and Carly, now she knows I threw away a scholarship because of pride. Pride of what, I still don't know.

Even without thinking about Paige, Professor Bridges threw me off my game. I should have figured out he was Paige's professor and asked her to meet me at home, or down the street. When he whispered to call him as he sauntered by, it only brought guilt of what I did. If I even decide to enroll again, our paths will cross, so maybe I should get the slaying of my ego over with and meet with the man who once referred to me as a new mind with brilliant ideas.

By the time we're stepping up the stairs to the movie theater, with our arms filled with popcorn, drinks and candy, Professor Bridges has vanished from the depths of my mind with Paige's swaying a.s.s replacing him. She glances over her shoulder to make sure I'm following her. What, is she crazy? I'd follow her into a storm of gunfire.

I'm not sure why Paige's choice to sit in the last row surprises me. Sometimes it's like our minds are one. When I suggested a movie, you better be d.a.m.ned I expected some lip action. Especially since we're back to platonic-a foot away-roommates with Dex and Chrissy's return.

She sits down and peers around to the other six people sprinkled in the rows down from ours. "Is the last row okay with you?"

"f.u.c.k yeah." I plop down next to her, placing the pop in the cup holder between us.

She wiggles back and forth, as though she's getting comfortable in her s.p.a.ce. Imagining her a.s.s wiggling into my c.o.c.k this morning flicks to mind. The popcorn isn't even in my lap before her hand is digging in the bucket. When I watch her dumbfounded in awe as she munches the b.u.t.tery kernels, she notices and then cracks up. She stops chewing and her hand full of popcorn drops to her lap.

"You like your popcorn?" I joke with her, because it's cute the way her tongue sneaks out and grabs each kernel, drawing it into her mouth. How can an act so normal be so s.e.xual? Because it's her.

"I'm starving," she mumbles through a mouthful and then swallows. The more she becomes comfortable with me, the more attractive I find her. She helps herself to my gum or water in my car, and now she goes all caveman on the popcorn. I smile and confusion crosses her face, but I keep my thoughts to myself. Maybe because I'm still absorbing them myself.

The lights dim and the audio gets louder, signaling the movie is starting, or rather the twenty minutes of previews.

"I would have fed you," I whisper in her ear and she shoos me with her hand.

"No, No. This is great." She points at the popcorn in my lap and then relaxes back to her seat.

A half hour into the movie, the bad guys are chasing the good guy and I'm completely enthralled in what's about to happen when Paige's hand slips over our armrest. I shift in my seat as she cups my package through my jeans. Her palm rubs along the length of me as blood rushes to my d.i.c.k that's growing thicker with each swipe of her hand.

She leans over, and her tongue licks my neck up to my earlobe. "Relax," she whispers and then a groan leaves my lips when she ventures back to her side.

I eye her as she moves our drink over to her side and slowly lifts the armrest between us. My blood begins pumping and I can't keep my a.s.s in the seat from the antic.i.p.ation of what's about to happen.