“Wow, sounds fun! Can I come?” I joke, then cringe. “I’m kidding. I mean, it does sound fun though.”

  Noah is laughing again. I flip him off.

  Linda continues to be unfazed by my weirdness. “Oh, we do a parents weekend in the spring. You’ll definitely be invited.” Her inflection tells me that it’s a good time. “But don’t worry, there’s no alcohol when the kids are around. My oldest son, who’s 18, will go up on his own sometimes, so we never keep booze in the cabin.” She huffs. “Now don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that twerp has gotten drunk a few times, but not on my dime. Greasy food and too many baked goods. That’s the worst they’ll see this weekend.”

  “I’m all about that.” I sigh. “Well, sounds like it’s settled. If you’re okay with Noah joining, then he’s all yours. The number I called you on is my cell, call me anytime.”

  “Got it. And I’ll send you a text once we all get there Friday night. I know how forgetful these boys can be about checking in.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure. I’m thrilled to meet you at their first game, if not sooner.”

  I smile. “Same. It’ll be nice to know someone.”

  I hear a shout in the background before Linda groans. “Sometimes I wonder where their brains go. It was great talking to you.”

  I laugh. “Likewise, and good luck this weekend.”

  Noah’s watching me expectantly, as though he didn’t just listen to the whole conversation. I hold up a finger, making him wait.

  I head into my bedroom, then into the closet. Finding my hidden shoebox, I lift the lid and dig around until I find the envelope. Pulling it out, I remove $300 dollars, then put the rest back.

  Uncle Enzo insisted on giving me some cash when we first moved in. I tried to refuse, but he left the envelope in the house for me before we even moved in. He told me to spend it however I wanted. I don’t know if this is what he intended, but I want to make sure Noah has some money on him. And unless I go to an ATM right now, this is the only option.

  Noah’s at the table, packing up his schoolwork when I re-enter the kitchen. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. Holding out the cash for him to take.

  “This is for this weekend. I want you to be able to buy your own food if you go out to eat. Don’t be pushy about it if they insist on paying, but at least you’ll have the option to pay for yourself. Or if you go to a movie, or buy snacks, whatever. Plus, you need gas money for your truck. I know it might be more fun to ride up with Marcus, but I think you should drive yourself. Then you can set your own schedule and come home when you want to.”

  I don’t think this is a hazing thing, but if he wants to come home, I don’t want him to feel like he’s stuck there.

  Noah slowly takes the money from me. “Wow, thanks Beth.”

  It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s the least I can do. I hope you have fun.”

  Noah stands, looking uncomfortable for a second, before he steps up to me and pulls me into a tentative hug.

  It takes my brain a half moment to realize what he’s doing. When I do, I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze him to me. This is the first time he’s initiated a hug. We’ve embraced a few times. When we first met. At the funeral. But it wasn’t like this. Those were out of pain and grief. This is something else. I hug him tighter.

  Noah let’s out a croak. “Are you trying to crush me?”

  “Shut up.” I reply, not letting go.

  Noah lets out a snort of laughter, then seems to relax a little.

  “Have you gotten even taller?” I ask, realizing that he’s definitely got several inches on me now.

  “I think it was all that honey with dinner.”

  I let him go and reach out to flick his arm. “Go to bed, you turd.”

  Noah grins, dodging the flick. “Goodnight, Beth.”

  “Night, Noah.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BETH

  T he bag crinkles in protest as my fingers scrape bottom. I peer inside, sad to see that I’ve finished the entire bag of BBQ potato chips without realizing it.

  Looking down at myself, I see crumbs all over my lap and sweatshirt.

  “Really fucking classy.” I say out loud to myself.

  The sound of another episode of The Office starting is the only evidence I have that it’s getting later. With trepidation, I tap my phone to see the time.

  “Seriously? How is it only 5:00?” I drop my head back against the couch cushion.

  Bam and Pebbles raise their heads to look at me. They'd set up shop laying at my feet hoping for some chips of their own, but I'd selfishly devoured them all by myself.

  I sigh and close my eyes.

  Ever since his surprise appointment with me earlier this week, I’ve felt off kilter. And every day since I’ve done my best to avoid him. It’s stupid. I need to shake this weird feeling he gives me. He’s no one special. And he has a girlfriend. Or fuck buddy. Or whatever Rachel is. So what if he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever encountered? So what if he looks at me like I’m some dirty little bug on his windshield? His opinion shouldn’t matter to me. This whole thing with him is dumb. I’m dumb. I’m acting like a damn teenager crushing on the forbidden bad boy.

  So I’m here having a Sulky Saturday, while my actual teenager is out having a social life. I’m happy for him. I really am. But I’m also lonely. Pathetic and lonely. Such an attractive combo.

  Last night, I spent the evening baking four types of cookies. Not because I needed them, but because I didn’t want to sit still in my suddenly empty-feeling house. Sure, I have the dogs to keep me company, but those lazy furballs are asleep by 8:00 every night.

  And today, well today I’ve cleaned every room in the house, minus Noah’s. I’m fairly sure there’s an unwritten rule about cleaning someone else’s bedroom. So now, every surface has been scrubbed and sanitized. Every window wiped down. Every garbage emptied. And that didn’t even take half the day.

  I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic. An annoying man. An empty house. These are things that I should be used to. Until Noah came into my life, I’d been living alone since I was 18. I thought I might actually enjoy this weekend, but I miss him.

  And I know you aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, but my ex-boyfriend was also an annoying man. For entirely different reasons. Thinking of Patrick, I ponder if that’s the right term. Am I supposed to refer to him as my ex-boyfriend? Is he an ex simply because he’s dead and not my boyfriend anymore? Does it count for anything that I had been planning to break up with him?

  I groan. This is not the sort of thing I should spend my night dwelling on.

  I look at my phone again. Debate with myself. See the BBQ-colored flecks on my sweatpants and come to a decision.

  I text Sissy. Where are you guys going tonight? And what time?

  I figure it might take her awhile to reply, but it doesn’t. 30 seconds later my screen is filled with a variety of party emojis, a string of peaches, and - finally - a time and address.

  Dress code? I ask.

  Something you can dance in that shows off that bangin' ass.

  Three hours later, I’m standing in my kitchen, waiting for my ride. I don’t plan on getting drunk tonight, but it’s better to be prepared ... and I’d rather not have to ask Noah for a lift to pick up my car tomorrow.

  I look at my reflection in the front window and question if this is the right outfit. And question if this is a good idea. And question every decision I’ve made over the past ten years. But a chime lets me know my ride's here. So, like my life choices, I’m stuck with the clothes I have on.

  I slip on my black ankle boots before hurrying out the door. The freezing air whips my hair around my face. I have a hair binder on my wrist, but I had time to waste so I dried and curled my dark locks into big waves. Then I stood in my closet for-freaking-ever trying on every piece of clothing I own. I ended up pairing my black faux leather leggings with a strappy silver top. The run to the car has me shivering in my sleeveless shirt, but I don’t feel like trying to keep track of a jacket inside a club. I’ll just need to warm up with alcohol.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BETH

  “B

  ottoms up, girl!” Sissy shouts in my ear.

  I look over to see she has a new round of drinks in her hand. With a shrug, I down the rest of my margarita and take the offered glass from Sissy. I’ve been nursing this single drink for the past hour, so I feel okay about having a second.

  I wasn’t sure how I would feel once I was actually here, but honestly - I’m having a great time. Sissy was so happy to see me; it instantly put me at ease. And her girlfriend, Daniella, was just as friendly. Not to mention stunning. Together they make the most beautiful couple I’ve ever met in person.

  Clinking my glass with Sissy, a true smile forms on my lips. “Thanks!”

  “Don’t mention it.” Sissy says, giving me a side hug. “I’m so glad you came!”

  “So you’ve said.” I laugh.

  They invited quite a few people, but in the busy club it’s hard to tell who all is here for Daniella’s birthday. I’ve recognized a couple people from the gym, patrons that Sissy must be friends with, but the rest are new faces.

  Drink in-hand, I make my way to the dance floor. The crowd in here is pretty crazy, so there’s a lot of bumping and jostling. But - thankfully - it’s an eclectic crowd, ranging all over in age, so I don’t feel like a cougar.

  Letting myself loosen up, I feel the music fill my mind.

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but I turn around when I feel a tug at my arm. Sissy motions for me to follow her back over to the tables that our group has commandeered. Her movements... uncoordinated. She’s totally drunk.

  By the time I make it over, Sissy and Daniella are going through a round of hugs. When they turn to me, I set my drink down and allow myself to be sandwiched between them.

  “Happy birthday! Thanks so much for inviting me out tonight.” I say into a face full of hair.

  “It was great to meet you!” Daniella slurs. “Sissy won’t shut up about how awesome you are. I’m glad I got to finally put a face to the name!”

  “And ass!” Sissy cracks up as she slaps the side of my hip. Her aim not quite right.

  “Oh my god! I’m taking you home, you predator.” Daniella says to a grinning Sissy.

  Sissy grabs my hand. “Are you gonna be okay? Do you want to split a ride home?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’m going to stay and finish my drink.”

  With a final round of hugs, I watch the girls walk away.

  Remembering my drink, I spin back around and pick mine up off the table. With the glass against my lips, a blast from the past has everyone left in the birthday group freeze-framing. No freaking way, they’re playing Barbie Girl. I haven’t heard this song in 20 years. In nearly a synchronized fashion we all slam the rest of our drinks and make our way to the dance floor.

  The crowd is lost in rhythm. I lose sight of my new friends, but I let Aqua take me away. With a smile on my face, my body bounces to the beat.

  Song after song, I shake my hips. I wave my arms around like I know what I’m doing.

  I don’t remember the last time I let go and danced like this. Why don’t I do this more often? This is so much fun!

  I feel my limbs getting looser.

  I feel the bodies around me getting closer.

  I feel myself getting hotter.

  My balance sways and my feet trip. I have to grab a hold of the person next to me to keep from falling. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I don’t recognize him.

  I need a break.

  I push myself away from the stranger and struggle to get through the mass of bodies.

  I aim for our table. Or, wait, that’s not our table.

  I turn around. Is that it? Everything looks the same.

  I just need to sit for a moment. I’m too hot is all.

  A body bumps into me and suddenly I’m facing a new direction.

  Shit. Which way was I going?

  I spot a table a few feet away. It’s a normal height one. Not the tall one I’d been at before. But it has an empty chair. Keeping my eyes locked on my destination, I stagger my way closer.

  Am I really this drunk?

  I get a hand on the table and carefully rotate myself into the chair. Why is this so hard? My legs give out, my ass dropping onto the hard chair.

  I must be more out of shape than I realized. I must have danced too much.

  A figure approaching stands out from the crowd. He’s heading directly for me.

  I blink, trying to focus my fuzzy vision. It’s a man. I don’t recognize him, but he’s smiling at me. A feeling of unease takes root. His smile isn’t friendly.

  He stops when he’s just a foot in front of me. I watch him, unsure of what he’s going to do. He places a hand on the table next to me, and slowly lowers himself into a crouch.

  “Hey, beautiful.” There’s something wrong with his voice. It’s off. Not right.

  I feel the little hairs on my arms rise.

  I open my mouth to tell him to leave, but there’s a blur of motion, and then he’s gone.

  My brain feels like it’s working in slow motion. I can’t make sense of what just happened.

  It takes all my concentration to raise my eyes. The creepy man is standing now. His hands are clutching at an arm. I tell my eyes to follow that arm. Tracing the forearm, I find a large hand clamped around the creepy guy’s throat.

  An angry voice rumbles through me despite the noise of the club. “I’ll remember your fucking face. You better fucking pray you have nothing to do with this.”

  The hand releases and the creepy man staggers back, disappearing into the crowd.

  That voice. That deep, sexy, straight to my core, voice. I’d recognize it even in my sleep.

  Angelo.

  I know it’s him, before my eyes follow from the hands all the way up his oversized frame.

  Sitting here, in front of his standing form, I feel like a toy. Like a little girl in front of Godzilla.

  We lock eyes and his expression is one I haven’t seen before. It’s not the usual derision. But I can’t figure out what it means. Something unpleasant, I’m sure.

  Wait, Angelo? Why is he here?

  In one swift movement, he drops down to kneel in front of me. “Are you okay?”

  His quick actions startle me, and his question doesn’t register. “Angelo?”

  To my own personal horror, I watch my hand as it reaches out and touches his chest. What? No! No. Bad hand!

  My fingers touch hard muscles. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I want to. I can’t stop myself.

  He acts like he doesn’t even notice it. “Beth, what’s wrong?” When I don’t answer, he leans closer. “Are you alright?”

  “What are you doing here?” I know Angelo’s here for something, but I don’t remember how he got in front of me. Has he been here all night?

  His hand reaches towards my face. On instinct I pull back and he halts. I can’t let him touch me. He’s been mean to me.

  “Beth, how much did you drink?”

  I feel my brows come together. “I only had two. I’m not drunk, you jerk.”

  Oh crud. My mouth drops. I can’t believe I just called him that.

  He doesn’t react to my name calling. He just looks at me. Examining my face while his is far too close.

  “Fuck.” He finally says. “Beth, I’m going to take you home.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No.” I repeat.

  “Beth, you can’t stay here. And you’re in no shape to get yourself home.”

  I scowl at him. “I’m not leaving with you. I watch the news.”

  “Beth…”

  I shake my head to stop him. Everything starts to spin and I stop. Fuck. Note to self: don’t do that again.

  Angelo sighs, and reaches into his pocket.

  When he brings his phone to his ear, I see that my hand is still pressed to his chest. I yank it back. Why was my hand on him? Why did he let me touch him? Why did he feel so good under my palm? So warm? I reach my hand back out, placing it fully against his pectoral. My fingers flex into his t-shirt. Hmm, the fabric is so soft. The dark material is stretched tight over his large body. He’s wearing an unzipped hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Letting my eyes fall, I see he’s wearing jeans. Goddamn this buttface. Why is he so flipping handsome? He should look out of place here, dressed like this, but he doesn’t. How can someone look so good in casual clothes?

  “Mmm.” I hear the sound as I drag my hand across his chest. Holy fuckballs, did I just moan at him?!

  Angelo’s voice distracts me from my worry.

  “Yeah, she’s here. She’s messed up. I think someone gave her a roofie.” Who is he talking about? And aren’t roofies drugs? That can’t be right. “I told her I’d take her home, but she said no. I can’t very well drag her out of here.” Me? Is he talking about me? Crap, what did he say before? “If you think that will help.”

  There’s a pause and I look up to find him watching me.

  “Beth, take the phone.”

  I pull away from the staring contest and see that Angelo’s holding his phone out for me.

  Shit, I’m tired.

  “Who is it?” My words slur a little as I force my arm to reach out.

  “A friend.”

  A friend?

  It takes me a beat to let that register. Angelo doesn’t know me, and none of my friends know him. Fear starts to climb up my spine and I curl my fingers into Angelo’s shirt. I don’t know why I’m trying to hold him to me, since he might be the danger.

  Angelo’s hand closes over mine. I expect him to push me away, but instead he holds my hand in place against his chest. “Beth, it’s okay. Please talk to him.”