I use my forearm to shield against more flashes as I start the car and begin to pull away.

  When my cell rings, I just laugh.

  “Keeping tabs on me, McMann?” I laugh out the question.

  “Yeah, but I ain’t McMann.”

  My fingers grip the steering wheel harder at the sound of my dad’s voice. “Dad.”

  “Son,” he mocks me. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  No shit. That’s the plan. “Didn’t know you needed to.”

  “Ah, I’m always up for a little one-on-one time. Me. My boy.”

  Throw in some insults, some demeaning comments, and it’s a downright Jennings party like only he can throw.

  “It’s a little late for you to be up, isn’t it?”

  “Cancer knows no hours.”

  I bite back the smart-ass remark the asshole in me would love to say. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Ah, did little Vinnie get his feelings hurt the last time we talked? Don’t blame your old man for telling the truth. A spade is a spade.”

  “What’d you need, Dad?” Don’t ruin my good night. Don’t start with your bullshit.

  “I was getting a little light on cash. Needed some CBD for the nausea and you know that medical grade shit is expensive.”

  I snort. “I pay for your insurance. I pay for your out-of-pocket expenses for treatment. I pay to keep a roof over your head. That’s about the equivalent of what you did for me growing up. I don’t owe you any more than that.” He’s not getting another dime out of me.

  “Does it make you feel good to say that? To try and stick it to me?” His chuckle makes me clench my jaw. “It’s no wonder your mother left you, you talentless fraud.”

  “I’m fulfilling my obligation to you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “You think those people who came poking around here, the ones who are doing that story on you, would want to know what a worthless piece of shit you are for how you treat your dying dad?”

  “Be my guest. I stopped fucking caring about what you thought of me a long time ago,” I lie.

  “Ooooh, your balls finally dropped. Took them long enough. Congratulations. Finally something I can be proud of you for.”

  Fuck you, Dad.

  Fuck. You.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bristol

  “There’s my Stolie.” My dad’s voice booms through the phone. The nickname he’s called me forever, two drawn-out syllables. “How are you? How’s school? How’s your asshole of a boss?”

  “Good. Dad—”

  “Those new pictures you sent me of Jagger? I’ve been showing them to everyone. Phyllis, my tennis friend, can’t believe how big he’s gotten. Josie. You know Josie. You met her a few years back at that barbecue we went to where the sauce wasn’t sweet enough and they ran out of dessert. That was her house. Anyway, I ran into her at the store—in the produce aisle to be exact—and she thinks he’s starting to look more and more like you.”

  It’s not exactly hard for someone to think when they don’t have any knowledge of who his father is to make a true comparison.

  “And then I showed Randy. He caught a ten-pound rainbow trout, so he’s convinced Jagger is good luck. He wants you to bring him back here sometime soon so he can go fishing with us.”

  I love the man to death but he’s exhausting in every sense of the word. And I need him not to be right now.

  “Dad. I—”

  “Oh. Speaking of—”

  “Dad,” I bark out even louder. “I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?” Concern oozes through the line.

  The same concern I feel as I look around the mostly empty parking lot outside of work. “It’s my car.” My chuckle is one of disbelief as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m trying to start it and it’s not turning over.”

  “Where are you?” he asks as if he’s right down the street and not several hours away.

  “Outside my apartment,” I lie. The last thing he needs to know and worry about is me being alone in a parking lot at ten o’clock at night. “I know you can’t do anything, but I thought maybe I could try to start it so you could listen to it. That way when I get it to the repair shop, they don’t try to take advantage of me.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  We go through the routine of me attempting to start the car so he can listen several times. “My guess is a bad alternator or starter but pop the hood. Take a picture of the battery cables to see if they’re corroded. If that’s the case, it’s a simple fix.”

  “K. One sec.” I go to pop the hood but it takes me a moment to find the release and even longer to find where to put the little thing that safely props the hood up. The flash of the first picture I take blinds me temporarily.

  “Hey?”

  I yelp at the voice at my back and turn around, instantly on the defensive. But then I see Vince the minute I register that it’s his voice.

  “Stolie? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” my dad’s voice barks.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.” I turn my back on Vince and lower my voice. “AAA showed up.”

  “Make him show you his ID so you know he is who he says he is.”

  “He already did,” I lie.

  “Okay. Call me later and let me know the estimate. If it’s too much, I can always drive down and change it for you.”

  My smile softens. “Thanks. Love you.”

  When I turn back around to face Vince, he’s already leaning under the hood of my car. He’s holding up the flashlight on his cell with one hand and tugging on the battery cables and tightening things I don’t know the name of with the other.

  “I assume it won’t start? Cables look good. Maybe the alternator or starter,” he mutters as he inspects everything.

  “Make yourself at home,” I say, with a quick glance up to the office building at his back.

  “You don’t write. You don’t call. You ignore me at all costs.” He glances my way, the grin on his face enough to stop anyone’s heart, let alone mine. “And then you pretend your car is broken down in the parking lot because you’re so desperate to see me, but you’re not quite sure how to go about admitting it without looking weak.” He winks. “It’s okay, Shug. I’ll play along.”

  Why does he have to be so charming? So amiable when it would be so much easier if he were the asshole to me that he is to many other people.

  “You can’t be here.”

  “Little too late for that,” he says and turns to face me. Without pretense, he grabs his shirt by the back of the neck, pulls it off, and wipes his hands off on it.

  But I’m not looking at his hands or the grease on them. Not when Vince is standing there shirtless in the moonlight. It’s one thing to feel the hard lines beneath his shirt, it’s another to see them.

  And oh, can I see them.

  The grin on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  “I’m serious. McMann is watching me like a hawk. There are cameras in this parking lot he’s probably studying for all I know. Ever since the studio the other day, he knows something is up—”

  “Something was most definitely up,” he murmurs as his eyes scrape down my body.

  “See that? That right there can’t happen.” I take a step back and scrunch my nose.

  “So you don’t want me to figure out what’s wrong with your car?”

  “No. I don’t want you to stand there like that, half-naked in my work parking lot.”

  “I’ll gladly be half-naked elsewhere. Like my hotel. Like your place.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “The back of my SUV over there could work too but might be a little cramped.” He chuckles. “It wouldn’t be the first time we made out in a car, though.”

  “Will you stop? Please?” The man is exasperating. And sexy. And . . . “I told you we can’t do this, and I meant it.”

  “Shug, you can tell yourself that till you’re blue in the face but give me some credit. We both know differently. Good, bad, indifferent, this thing we have doesn’t seem to want to go away.”

  “Put your shirt on,” I order, completely ignoring him.

  “You weren’t at the meetings today. Earlier tonight. Is this part of the we can’t do this so I’m going to ignore you thing again?” he asks as he takes a step closer.

  Keep your eyes on his.

  Not his body.

  Not the dark tattoo snaking up his biceps and part of his torso.

  Not the happy trail that disappears just beneath the band of his jeans.

  “I had my reasons,” I finally say.

  “Which were?”

  I couldn’t stop thinking about you or the way your hands felt on me. The way your lips tasted. The thought that I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.

  But that’s just lust, Bristol. Pure, unadulterated lust fueled by one Vince Jennings, the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

  That, and it doesn’t help that it’s been some time—a very long some time—since I’ve had sex. Being a single mom means Jagger comes first. It means my needs aren’t always met, and while I’ve completely accepted that, it doesn’t make them go away.

  But me being horny and in a dry spell doesn’t mean I have to give in to the man making my body ache with need.

  Because Vince is still Vince. He’ll leave. I’ll be left behind. And risking my job to satisfy this itch he’s created isn’t worth it.

  And the other day in the studio came way too close for comfort. It was a moment of weakness that I have no intention of repeating regardless of how incredibly hot he looks standing there shirtless.

  I’m not just living for me anymore. Isn’t that what it all comes down to?

  That kind of selflessness is something Vince has no clue about.

  But those are all things I can’t exactly explain to him, so I settle on, “I was busy.” His expression tells me he knows I’m full of shit. “I figured you’d be at the studio.”

  He snorts. “I’m stuck. Writer’s block or whatever you want to call it. It’s becoming a thing and I’m not particularly thrilled with it.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Had a last-minute meeting with Will and Jasmine. Needed to discuss a few things that have come up that I want and don’t want to cover before we head back to Fairfield next week.”

  The statement intrigues me. The mention of having to go out of town next week, not so much.

  “You must have a crap ton of work to do if you’re still here at ten at night,” he says.

  “I was enjoying the silence. The incredibly fast Internet. The lack of interruptions.” I shrug and know with my next statement that I’m letting him in more than I think I had previously intended to. “It’s the best place to study.”

  “Study?” Even in the moonlight, I can see the surprise in his eyes.

  “LSATs. Better late than never, right?”

  “Bristol.” He stares at me with a subtle shake to his head. “That’s great. Congrats—well, congrats on a high score because I know you’ll get one, but . . . why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “You don’t need to know everything about me.”

  His chuckle rumbles through the night. “You let me stick my face between your thighs, but get offended as if I’m invading your privacy when I ask about going to law school?” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are we back to being Stand-offish Bristol again?”

  I huff and he laughs. “I didn’t think it mattered. In a few weeks, you’ll be back to your world, and I’ll stay here in mine. You knowing I’m taking the LSATs doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things.”

  He angles his head to the side. “Why can’t you study at home?”

  “Why can’t you call Hawkin and try to fix things with your best friend?”

  “That was a subtle change of topic.” His laugh is quick and his sigh is heavy.

  “Nothing gets by you.”

  “Like you said, in a couple of weeks I’ll be back to my life and you to yours and my reconciliation or lack thereof with Hawke won’t matter.”

  “True, but you miss him. You miss them.”

  “That’s neither here nor there.” He clears his throat, cups the side of my face, and runs his thumb over my jaw. I should step back, need to, because for all I know, Xavier scans the cameras every minute, and yet for once, I give myself the grace to tilt my head into his palm. “You’re exhausted. Burning the candle at both ends, huh?”

  “I’m fine,” I say and, as if on cue, my yawn comes.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  “I have to call AAA. My car—”

  “Will be fine here for the night. I’ll get it taken care of for you.”

  “I can handle it myself. I don’t want anything from you.”

  Vince’s eyes flash up to meet mine, the words from our past still as poignant now as they were back then. “I know you don’t. But sue me for wanting to take care of it for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Vince

  She’s holding something back from me.

  Something that’s happened to her. Something that has derailed her. I don’t know what it is, but Bristol isn’t telling me the whole truth.

  And I hate it but also at the same time, I have no right to know what she isn’t telling me either.

  Just like you haven’t said shit about your dad to anyone.

  I scrub my hand through my hair and glance over to her where she’s dozed off in the passenger seat.

  Her head is resting on the window, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is even. The lights and shadows play across her face as I make my way to the address she typed into my phone.

  There’s something so right about her being here, beside me, letting me take care of her. It shouldn’t be, but it just is.

  It’s her. She always felt so right. Her trust isn’t something I deserve—especially after how I left things last time—but it’s what I desperately want.

  Should I be flirting with her? No.

  Do I hope she loses her job? Fuck no.

  But she’s like a drug, and all I can think about is the next taste of it. Deserved or not.

  I navigate through an older neighborhood. Apartments line the streets and the sidewalks are cracked. Trees compete with streetlights for space.

  It feels generic.

  Just like Bristol’s car.

  And not that there is anything wrong with that, because isn’t that where I came from? The norm where everyone is like everyone else, all struggling to survive the day to day, all fighting to get a leg up in the world?

  A place I should still be, in all honesty.

  But most definitely not where she should be, though.

  Guilt eats at me. It’s raw and real and unfounded as I pull up to the curb, but it’s there nonetheless.

  What if I hadn’t left last time?

  What if I knew how to fix the fucked-up inside me so I could be what she deserves?

  What if. What if. What if.

  I shift the SUV into park, strangely hoping to have a few more moments with her, but the motion startles her awake. Her hands flail, knocking her purse off her lap so some of the contents fall onto the floor mat.

  Flustered, she clambers to gather everything and shove it back in her purse. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Bristol.” She shoves another thing into her purse. “It’s okay. Relax.” I place my hand on her forearm to calm her down. Funny thing is, I didn’t know how much I needed the connection too. Her eyes meet mine and when she smiles, the only thought I can manage is, why is this so easy when it simply can’t be? “You’re burning the candle at both ends. Don’t apologize.”

  I climb out of the car and open her door for her. “Let me walk you up.”

  “No. I’m fine. Really. It’s just up the stairs.” She smiles and I write off her jitters for just having been startled awake.

  Every part of me wants to kiss her goodnight. Wants to follow her up those stairs. Wants to feel the warmth of her body against mine. Wants to wake up next to her.

  Turn it off. Shut it down. Walk away.

  It’s not about what’s best for you when it comes to her, Jennings. It’s always been about what’s best for her.

  Why change now?

  I lean forward and brush a kiss to her cheek. “Good night, Shug. Get some sleep. Text me in the morning, and I’ll make sure you get to work on time.”

  I expect a refusal but am greeted with a sleepy ghost of a smile and a quick nod. “Thank you. Night.”

  Bristol walks away with a quick look over her shoulder before she disappears between two apartments in a trove of darkness.

  Conflicted over things I’m not even sure of, I stare where I last saw her for way longer than I should. It’s only when I climb back in my SUV that I notice her driver’s license on the passenger seat. It must have fallen out of her purse.

  She looks back at me in the photo. Her hair is a little darker and her smile crooked. I’m brought back to picture days in high school and waiting to see which one of our student ID cards was worse. How she’d carry mine around in her purse and keep them long after the school year ended.

  But there’s something else that catches my eye. The address. It’s different than where I’m parked. A quick glance at the issue date of her license says it’s only a few months old. That means the address should be correct.

  Curiosity has me punching the address into my GPS and heading there.

  The little cottage-like apartment is two blocks over and one block down from where I dropped Bristol off. The driveway in front is empty, and the front porch has some potted flowers that spill over their edges.

  Just as I pull to the curb on the opposite side of the street, a light flicks on in the front room, and Bristol moves to the windows and closes three sets of blinds.

  I’m not sure if I’m hurt or impressed by her deceit. Hurt that she doesn’t want me to know where she lives and impressed that she had the balls to deceive me.

  The question is, as her silhouette moves about the room, why doesn’t she?

  It seems someone else is keeping her guard up too.

  So why does that make me even more determined to tear it down?