It’s a wonderful photo, full of love and joy. I can only assume the girl is Owen’s sister, since they share a lot of the same features. And the guy is vaguely familiar.

“That’s my sister and brother-in-law.” Owen’s right behind me; I didn’t even hear him approach, and I carefully set the frame back on top of his dresser, a little embarrassed I just got caught snooping.

“He looks familiar,” I say lamely, turning to face him. He’s standing so close I can feel his body heat, and my body sways toward his as though I don’t have any control.

Which I don’t.

“He’s Drew Callahan.”

Oh. I blink up at Owen. A living legend around these parts, people still talk about Drew Callahan, especially now that he’s gone on to play for the NFL. Which means …

“Seriously? Your brother-in-law is a professional football player?” My jaw drops.

“Yeah. I thought you knew. Everyone knows.”

“I didn’t.” I tilt my head, studying him. “Is that why you play football?”

“He’s been a big influence, yeah.”

“How about your dad? Does he like football?”

Owen goes stiff all over, his expression eerily blank, as are his eyes. “I don’t know what that asshole likes. I have no idea where he is.”

“Oh.” I should never have asked. My parents are a sensitive subject, too. I don’t like talking about my father at all, so I get it. “I’m guessing you’re close to your sister?”

“Fable? Yeah, she practically raised me.” The blankness disappears, replaced with a warm fondness that shows just how much she matters to him. “She just had a baby.”

“So you’re an uncle.” The thought warms my heart. The visual of Owen holding a baby in his arms makes me feel all shivery.

“Yeah. She’s cute.” He holds up his car keys. “Found them. Are you ready to go?”

Disappointment crashes over me. No! I want to shout. I want to stay. I want to go back out there and have a couple of drinks. Get a little buzzed. Maybe even “smoke a J,” which I’ve never done before in my life, though it sounds like it could be fun. And after I get a little high and get a little drunk, maybe I could drag you back in here and lock the door so I can kiss you. Fall into your arms, feel your hands press all over my skin …

A rapid knock sounds before I can find my tongue to answer him and the door slams open, revealing a tall guy who’s almost as broad as Owen standing in the doorway on wobbly feet. “You do have a girl in your room,” he says, sounding shocked as he rocks back on his heels. “Shit, I owe that asshole Des twenty bucks.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Owen says, though he doesn’t sound that angry. “We were just leaving, so you can tell Des nothing happened. You don’t owe him shit.” He turns to look at me. “Ready to go, Chels?”

I like that he just called me Chels. No one does. I have no cutesy nicknames and I always wished I had.

“Don’t tell me this is the tutor.” The guy trips into the room, stumbling over his own feet until he’s standing just in front of me. “You are, aren’t you? The tutor? I remember you.” He’s pointing at my chest, his tone a mixture of accusations and laughter.

“Um …” I don’t know if I should be honest or not. I’m not a liar like my dad, so I prefer to stick to the truth. And I remember him, too. He was at the diner with Owen along with Des. “Yes, I am.”

“Well shit, Owen. You got her into your room this quick? Sly motherfucker.” The guy grins. “I’m Wade. Owen’s oldest, dearest friend.”

“You’re going to be my deadest friend if you don’t shut your mouth and get out of my room,” Owen says, his voice low and rumbly and sexy as can be. What sort of sick perv does that make me, that I like it when he sounds all angry and growly?

I should be mad. He talked about me to his friends—most likely in a lewd and inappropriate way. More than anything, I should be offended. This means he doesn’t take me seriously.

Instead, I’m thrilled. That he actually talked about me beyond the “I have a tutor and I don’t want to see her” realm fills me with hope.

As though maybe I do have a chance with him.

Grinning, Wade stumbles back out much the way he came, sloppy and a little drunk. The minute he’s gone, I turn to Owen.

“How does he know about me?”

“Uh …” He looks vaguely uncomfortable, so I push for more.

“Did you talk about me to him?”

“He’s my roommate. So yeah, I talked to him about having a tutor.” He shrugs, going for nonchalance, but I don’t believe him.

There’s more to this story than what he’s saying.

“So why would he say that you worked quick and that you’re sly? What’s that all about?” I feel like a dog with a bone, but I have to find out what he might have said.

“You don’t want to know,” he murmurs, keeping his gaze averted.

He has it all wrong. “I definitely want to know.”

Anticipation thrums through me as I wait for what feels like forever. He remains quiet. Runs those long fingers through his hair again, rests his other hand on his hip. He looks frustrated. It’s a good look on him.

Everything is a good look on him.

“You’re going to be offended,” he finally says.

“I’ve been offended since the moment I saw your house and your friend started cursing at you,” I say, because it’s true. Their … colorful language is horrible.

You’re such a prude.

Fine. What can I say? People don’t curse around me. They never really have. Kari drops the occasional bomb, but nothing major. The minute I find myself in Owen’s stratosphere, all I hear is foul language.

He smiles at my remark. “I think I like that you find me and my friends offensive. Maybe I can corrupt you.”

My entire body goes liquid at the promise in his voice. I wish he would corrupt me. Toss me on those red, red sheets and pull my clothes off until I lie there naked, pale against the dark, scared and trembling and excited when his hands finally, finally skate across my body …

“You’re avoiding the question,” I say, my voice shaky, and I lick my lips. When I glance up, I find him staring at my mouth.

My lips tingle as if he actually physically touched them.

“They think I’m going to try and …” He huffs out a breath, thrusts his hand in his hair, and tugs. Hard. “Let’s get out of here, Chels. You need to go home.”

I let him drop the subject. Let him steer me out of his room, down the hall, through the crowd in his house and outside to his car. All the while his hand is at the small of my back, his fingers branding me through the lace and the tank top I’m wearing. He doesn’t say much, though everyone calls out to him. Yelling his name, begging him to stay, offering him a drink, a smoke, a cup, a bottle, a bong.

This is not my scene. Owen is not my scene.

It doesn’t matter. Despite it all, I still want him.

And I find that incredibly frustrating.

Owen

The second we get into my car, I breathe a sigh of relief. Fuck, that had been an utter pain in the ass. All the people in my house, all the questions from Des and Wade, and then the finishing touch with the interrogation from Chelsea.

Shit. I barely survived it all.

It’s past one in the morning and I’m fucking exhausted. I have class later in the morning and for the first time in a while, I plan on going. Only to please the girl sitting next to me and to help get my grades up—but if I don’t get some sleep and soon, I’m gonna skip.

And that’s gonna suck.

She gives me directions to her apartment in this subdued voice that makes me nervous. Why, I’m not sure, but she’s scarily quiet, keeping her head bent, her fingers busy as they scrape across the tops of her thighs. Back and forth, back and forth in this rhythm I can fucking hear since she’s dragging her nails along the denim.

I check out her legs when I hit the brakes at a stoplight. She has slender thighs. Thighs I wouldn’t mind grasping hold of and spreading. Just for me. Just for her. I bet no guy has ever stepped between her thighs before. Placed his hands on them and pushed her wide open. I have a feeling I’d be her first.

For whatever strange reason, I like that. Makes me feel all possessive and shit.

The light turns green and I hit the gas extra hard, making the car jerk as it lurches forward. I can feel Chelsea’s eyes on me. She’s probably wondering what the fuck is wrong with me and I can’t give her an answer. I have no freaking clue what’s wrong with me.

Yeah, you do. She’s what’s wrong with you.

Within minutes I’m driving into the parking lot of her apartment building, pulling into an empty spot. She climbs out of the car without a word and I do the same, following her as she walks down the sidewalk, then cuts across the grass.

“I got this,” she calls over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride.”

Now she’s dismissing me? Screw that noise. “I’m not going to let you walk into the darkness and disappear without at least making sure you get to your front door.”

She stops and turns on me, her expression downright ferocious. “So, what? You’re a gentleman now? Give me a break. Like you care. You won’t even answer me when I ask you a question.”

Jesus. So we’ve circled back to that again? I know exactly which question she’s talking about, too. “You don’t want the answer. Trust me.” I already told her what they thought she was to me.

An easy lay. A quick fuck. She’s not, though. Not at all.

“Actually, I do. I’d love the answer.” She marches toward me, her eyes blazing with indignation. She’s furious and beautiful and when she reaches out to shove at my chest, my entire body reacts at her touch.

“I already told you. They think I’m going to try and get into your panties,” I say, wincing the moment I blurt out the words. I’m putting it mildly. Wade’s been on me since he realized I didn’t fuck one of the tramps he brought over last weekend. I woke up Sunday to his endless shit. He thinks I’m hot for Chelsea.

His thinking would be correct.

She stills, her eyes going wide. “Are you?”

“No.” I’m halfway lying, shaking my head. I don’t know what I want from Chelsea exactly, but I do know one thing. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Do you always have to use that word?”

“Yeah.” I grin. Fable still gets on me about my mouth. She’s actually cleaned hers up. Sort of. “I fucking love that word. Always have.”

A ghost of a smile appears, curving Chelsea’s delectable lips. “I think you say it just to irritate me.”

“I probably fucking do.” I glance around, the chill of the night air biting into my skin. She’s gotta be cold, too. “Where’s your apartment?”

“Are you avoiding our conversation again?”

“What’s to avoid? I told you what you wanted to know.”

“So they think you want to get in my panties.” She stumbles over the word panties, which is cute. She contemplates me for a minute, her gaze intense. “What if I told you I don’t wear any?”

Her words startle me so much I cough. Like, start hacking so hard I have to bend over to try and catch my breath, my hands on my knees as I stare at the dew-covered lawn before me. The image of my pretty little tutor not wearing any panties beneath those jeans that look painted on her body almost pains me. Makes my fingers itch to touch her. Undo the snap and slide the zipper down and see if she’s telling me the truth or not.

“So.” I clear my throat. “Are you wearing any? Panties?” I ask when I finally find my voice again. I stand up straight, hands on hips, my lungs still burning.

She smiles. Fuck, she’s cute. “Yes. I am. Sorry. I tricked you.”

Well, hell. That’s a disappointment. “Come on.” I go to her, grab her by the crook of her arm, and start walking with her. “Which building is yours?”

Chelsea points it out and I take her there, following her up the stairs as I check out her butt. Again. My mind is now filled with images of her with no panties on. Picturing that perfect ass of hers naked makes my cock twitch.

“So I’ll see you Wednesday?” I ask as she unlocks her door. I’m leaning against the rough stucco of the building, noticing that her fingers shake the slightest bit as she tries to turn the key. It takes her a couple of attempts before she flips the lock and opens the door.

I wonder if I make her nervous.

“Yes.” She flashes me a quick look. “Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

“No problem. Maybe we could … meet again sometime.” What the fuck do I mean by that?