“Oh!” she says, looking surprised and a little disappointed. “We can go, if you want? I mean, I hadn’t really…”

  Bullshit. I’d seen her linger over by a rock of a diamond solitaire with a heart-shaped lock on the clasp. Delicate and beautiful and discrete. “It’s the diamond, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she answers, smiling and shy. “But it’s too expensive.”

  The fuck it is. I slip my wallet out of my pocket and take my credit card from my money clip.

  “We’ll take it,” I growl at the salesguy, without ever taking my eyes away from Jess.

  He goes off to get us squared away and I take a step into her, caging her in by the pearl earrings.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. No flirting. With anybody. Not even if it’s innocent, we clear? Not even to be polite because...”

  She looks scared, surprised and interrupts me. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

  I hold up a finger, shaking my head. “Let me finish. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, baby girl. But I can’t fucking stand it. So for the sake of the safety of any man that comes across your path, for the sake of me staying out of jail for murder, no fucking flirting. Got it?”

  Her eyes widen, excited and surprised. “Because… you can’t handle it. Literally can’t handle it.”

  “Yeah. And you flirting means a man flirting back, and that equals me doing twenty-to-life for a felony. Which would seriously fuck up my life plan with you.”

  She snickers out a laugh. “Alright.”

  I’m smiling too, but I’m not fucking joking. The clerk brings back my credit card as well as the locking solitaire. “So, this key can be hard to use. Should I put it on the lady for you, sir?”

  How about I slam your nutsack in the vault door?

  “I got it, thanks,” I say, holding out my hand without looking at him, and without breaking Jess’s loving, sultry gaze. It’s like we’re the only two people in the universe. It’s all I want and all I need.

  Hand in hand, I take her back outside. She has to walk fast to keep up with me, and I like that—I like fucking pushing her outside her comfort zone. It’s not the first time and it definitely won’t be the last.

  I take her around to the side of my car, double-checking our surroundings. Parking lot is empty, and this side of the car is shielded by a thick row of boxwoods, taller than we are, and on the other side of that is an empty area, so that nobody can see us from behind.

  I open the rear passenger’s side door, take her purse from her shoulder, and put it inside. “Hands on the seat.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispers, doing exactly as I say.

  I undo my belt and unzip my fly but keep my pants up. Then I hike up her dress and push into her, making her body buck with a deep, primal groan.

  Still buried inside her, I take the solitaire from the velvet box. “Move your hair, baby.”

  She nods, gathering up her long red tresses in her hand. I slip the necklace around her throat, and she automatically lets her hair fall to the side, pressing the diamond against her skin. “Oh my goodness. It’s huge.”

  I know she’s talking about the diamond, but I can’t resist—I give her a little pump of my cock deep inside her. “And it’s all fucking yours.”

  Which she answers with a clench of her pussy that makes me wild, to possess her, to keep her, to rule her, to fucking breed her, right here and now.

  The intensity of my feelings for her are fucking overwhelming. But the more I feel, the more I know we have to lose—I don’t just love her. I need her. Just like this. Just us. Forever.

  But I know I’m risking a lot. My friendship with her dad. Hell, even my relationship with my own son. But nothing fucking ventured, nothing fucking gained.

  I keep my focus on her, on us, on what matters most now. I close the clasp at the back of her neck, making sure not to catch any of her beautiful hair. And then I take the little key and lock it tight. “There. You’re mine now, baby girl. You’re mine for fucking keeps.”

  And then with two deep, brutal thrusts, I’m coming inside her. Claiming her as mine.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jess

  I don’t practice at all that day—not at all, not even a little, for the first time in as long as I can remember. I’m still on cloud nine by the time Sam’s mom drops him off so we can go to the symphony for tryouts. But as soon as he gets out of her car, with Lagerfeld trailing behind him, it hits me just how crazy this is.

  And reckless.

  And impossible.

  Sam bursts in the front door, and right away I can tell he can feel a change in the vibes. He’s like a heat-seeking missile—I can get away with nothing. And time for real talk: I did just lose my virginity and I’m sure it’s written all over both my face and my body.

  Sam’s eyes go wide and intense, and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Queen. Spill it.”

  My mouth opens to make a word, but nothing comes out, but my face lights up in what feels like a five-alarm blush.

  His eyes dart over to his dad, who is sitting on the sofa answering emails on his phone, with his yummy thighs spread wide and just a hint of a bulge.

  Just a glance at him makes my pussy pulse and my nipples tighten. I automatically press my hand to the solitaire, and I avert my eyes.

  “So, how was it?” I say.

  But Sam narrows his eyes at me. I’m never one for small talk, and right now it feels especially weird.

  “That’s some obviously-not-cubic-zirconia you’ve got there, Queen.”

  Oh no. Instantly I am transported back to my childhood, and the way my mom would stare at me when she actually caught my hand in the actual cookie jar. That horrible feeling of having done something naughty that you just know is against the rules.

  “It’s…” I say, trailing off, searching for some plausible reason why twenty-four hours ago I had no necklace and now I have this necklace, which probably cost almost as much as my violin.

  “Alright kids. Let’s get this done,” Mike says. The tone of it, though, it’s very much Sam’s dad, not Mike. But then he glances at me, all dark and broody. The desire in his eyes is pure Daddy.

  And my whole body turns to hot chocolate inside.

  I busy myself with getting my violin and music, double- and triple-checking that I have everything that I need. I’m just making sure my rosin is where it should be and that I have plenty when there’s a knock at the door, and Sam’s mom comes in, holding Sam’s phone.

  “You forgot this, sweetheart.” She says and I feel like the temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.

  I’ve met her before, but it was quite a while ago. And it’s clear immediately where Sam got his superpower of sensing emotions and situations without a word.

  Her perfectly made-up eyes go from me, to Mike, and back again. And the expression on her face says, Oh I see.

  Mike comes between us, and says, “You remember Jess, don’t you?”

  One perfectly groomed eyebrow slides up. “I have. But you were just a kid when I met you. And you’re not a kid anymore.”

  Another five-alarm blush blazes across my cheeks. I know it’s absolutely obvious to everybody. The curse of red hair and freckles.

  “Oh you know,” I say, with a sort of painfully awkward giggle. “Just, growing up!” To which I add a horribly awkward Tony the Tiger pump of my fist. Nice one, Jess. Nice!

  I cross my arms in front of me, trying to stop myself from more awkward movements. As I do, I guess I must make my cleavage spill out in some kind of way, because I’m positive I hear Mike growl-sigh beside me.

  Sam’s mom inhales slowly. Somehow, it’s quite clear to me that she knows exactly what’s going on between us.

  Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

  I turn away, staying as far away from Mike as possible, tying my Converse and doing a quadruple-check of my case and music bag.

  Sam’s mom continues, talking to Mike. “Sam tells me you made a big donation to the symphony, which is great and all, but isn’t everybody going to think it’s Nepotism City if he ends up with first chair? Or,” she says, pausing for effect, “if Jess does?”

  The words, they fill my body with a weight and a sadness.

  I press my fingertips into the velvet liner of the case.

  What if people do think that?

  I press my eyes shut, feeling an awful rollercoastery sinking in my belly. And I feel myself start to stumble off Cloud 9.

  The ride to the symphony is capital-A awkward. I’m in the back, behind Mike, and every time I look at the back of his head all I can think about is how good it felt to run my fingers through his hair as he made me come again and again.

  But the more I think about it, the wetter I get, and the more aware I am that my best friend is right there in the passenger’s seat and none of this is okay, none of it.

  Mike’s eyes meet mine in the rearview and he hits me with a dreamy wink.

  So simple. So small. But more powerful than all the cannon fire in the 1812 Overture.

  My phone, tucked between my legs, begins to buzz. And I see it’s messages from Sam. From right there in the front seat.

  Sam: WTF is happening in this car?

  Sam: WTF is this energy, girl?

  Sam: Did my Dad give you that necklace?

  Sam: Did you and my Dad…?????

  A sting of tears pinches my nose. Never has a row of question marks said so much.

  Because yes we did. And yes, I wanted to, and yes I want to again and again. But what if it means losing my best friend in the process?

  I’m spared from answering those question marks by Mike pulling up in front of the orchestra building. But my silence, it says everything, and Sam gets out of the passenger’s seat in an angry huff.

  “You two? Seriously?” he says, looking back and forth between us, leaning in the passenger’s side.

  When neither of say a word—me out of embarrassment, Mike out of his natural quiet calm—Sam growls out a dramatic, “Gross!” and slams the door, stomping off for the front door, furious and without a backwards glance.

  I let my head slump down, pressing my forehead against the back of Mike’s leather headrest. “Well that was awful.”

  “Hey, hey,” he says softly. “Come here.”

  I sniffle and scootch over a little so I can lean closer. He turns, his eyes nothing but certainty and calm. “It’s fine. We’ll work it out. You just focus on the tryout. The rest of this shit can wait.”

  The thing is, looking deep into his eyes, I believe him. Because I trust him. Because I love him with my whole heart. I push down my emotions and nod, smiling a little, almost in spite of myself. He winks at me again and then leans in for a kiss. A long, dreamy, sexy, yummy kiss.

  A rapid angry knocking on the window ruins the moment.

  My eyes pop open and I pull away. And in that instant, I tumble down to Cloud Negative Nine.

  Because there, looking outraged and angry, stands not Sam but…

  …my mom.

  The one thing I’ve always been able to do, as soon as I pick up my violin, is focus. No matter how I was feeling or how I was doing or what was going on in my life.

  Until today.

  My tryout goes by in a messy blur. I play the notes, I turn the pages, but my mind isn’t on the music at all. And then, just like that, it’s over. The new conductor and the deputy directors take notes, tell me thank you, say the nice soothing things.

  Walking out of the audition, I don’t know if I did well or badly. I don’t know if I hit every note or none of them at all.

  And now I am sitting in the back of my parents’ car again. My mom isn’t speaking to me. My dad is distant. Mike didn’t say a word after I finished. And Sam won’t reply to my texts.

  I have a made of a mess of everything. And I don’t know what to do.

  And so I put in my earbuds, find Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor. And let the tears slip down my cheeks.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mike

  Things are fucking tense with Sam at home that night. We’re waiting for word on the auditions, but that’s not what’s bothering him. It’s me. And Jess. And me and Jess together.

  Nothing I do—not ham and pineapple pizza, not two hours of Project Runaway reruns, not special-ordering Lagerfeld new Swarovski crystal rhinestones for his in-progress pride vest—seem to help one fucking bit.

  Until I make us both a hot chocolate with a whole bag of marshmallows like I used do when he was a kid and say, “Talk.”

  He sits down across from me. Eyes set and hard. I can see he’s pissed. Pissed and confused and maybe betrayed. All of which is totally understandable.

  So I go first.

  “I was going to tell you. Of course I was going to tell you, son. But you hadn’t been in the door thirty-seconds before you figured it out yourself.”

  His eyes soften. He takes a marshmallow from the bag and dips it into his mug. Progress.

  “Of course I did, Dad. It was like I just walked into a soap opera. The desire was so thick it was like angel food cake.”

  I lift my hands. “Still. I was going to tell you. I was about to tell you. Alright? Don’t bust my balls for being quicker on the draw than me.”

  He huffs but then nods with understanding. “I get that. But that’s not really what’s bothering me.”

  “What then?”

  He nibbles his lip and fusses with the mascara on his lashes. “What I want to know is this: Is it real? Are you happy?”

  Two questions. Two big questions. Two questions. “I can’t speak for her. But speaking for myself? Fuck. Yes. It’s real. And I’m happier than I can even remember being.”

  Sam smiles a little, looking down at his cocoa. “It’s real for her, too. I can see it.”

  I sure hope so. I think so. But she’s got me as upside down as a teenager. “You think?”

  “Pfffft, yeah. For real, for real. I can see it on her face. And honestly, Dad, I’d have been so freaking stoked all along if only you’d told me what was going on. But instead I come home to find my bestie playing Mommy Dearest and my dad looking like he’s never known love before.”

  Goddamn it, this boy. Every once in a while, he cuts right though it all to say the thing that needs to be said. Because have I ever known love? Like this? Until now?

  No. Not even close.

  I lean back in the dining chair. “I do love her. And I have loved her. But I didn’t want to get between you two. And I had no fucking idea that she felt the same.”

  Sam sips his cocoa. “Why wouldn’t she, Dad? You’re a catch. All the moms at orchestra think so. And all the mom’s at school as far back as I can remember. I mean, come on, how many casserole’s were gifted to you in the pick up line in elementary school? Those were booty offers Dad, not charity.”

  “I’ve never given less of a fuck about the orchestra or school mom’s than I do right now,” I say, and eat a marshmallow from the bag.

  Sam wags his finger. “There’s one orchestra mom that does require that you give at least a single fuck.”

  He’s got that right. “Janet.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” he says, scooping up Lagerfeld from the floor. Right now he’s in this sort of flannel pajama set. Very cozy. “Her parents are the obstacle. And don’t forget her dad is your bestie. But if you really mean it, Dad, if she’s the one?”

  The one. The one.

  She’s the one. For now and always. I’ve never known anything with so much certainty in my life. “I can’t be without her, Sam.” My voice is thick with emotion, gravely and deep. “I need her in my life. She makes everything makes sense.’

  Sam nods, wise beyond his years and with a heart of pure gold.

  “Then go on. Finish your cocoa, Dad. And go see her. Because you gotta fix this shit and I gotta make some peace with my best friend being my step-mom.”

  Janet answers the door with a big glass of wine and an even bigger resting bitch face.

  “Shall I call the cops now or do you want me to go ahead and wait until we start screaming at each other?”

  I don’t answer directly because I don’t negotiate with her controlling bullshit. “Let me talk to Ben.”

  She purses her lips. “Ben!” she calls out. “Your totally untrustworthy Don Juan of a best friend is here!”

  I glare at Janet. “Nice.”

  “Nice yourself,” she hisses, and then shuffles off toward the kitchen.

  In the living room, I watch Ben fumble desperately with the remote to pause whatever he was watching. Then he barks at Alexa to pause the TV, but he calls her Siri, and his watch answers.

  “Goddamn it,” he says, punching buttons on the remote.

  I step in and take the remote from him, pausing the history documentary he was watching. “We need to talk,” I say.

  He nods at me, not angry but seriously fucking confused. “Let’s go out back and have a beer.”

  Over two IPAs, we talk it out. Direct to the point, no bullshit, no anger. And it doesn’t take long before Ben’s feeling about as good about things as Sam was.

  “I can’t say I’d be sorry,” he says, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Janet isn’t eavesdropping like some kind of goddamned prison guard. “I’m not sure she could do better than you, Mike.”

  Fuck. I don’t know about that, but I’m going to spend my life trying to make her happy. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, man. I can’t think. I can’t eat. Even now, not knowing if she’s here or not? All I want is to see her. Please.”

  “She’s…” Ben says, trailing off. But no sooner has he started the sentence than Jess herself comes flip-flopping out onto the patio.

  She marches straight up to me. Mad. Furious. With her phone stuck out straight in front of her. “See what you did? See?”

  I squint at the words and make sense of them even from a distance. Congratulations. First chair. Violin.

  “Fuck,” I say, standing up to take her in my embrace. “I knew it. I knew you could do it.”