When the lights suddenly dim in the stands, she turns to me. “I’m not sure watching two guys beat each other up is my thing.”

“Just look away if you don’t like it, and if it’s too much we can leave anytime,” I tell her, thankful for this sign of the innocence I sense she still possesses. I feel an urge to pull her to me and let her bury her head in my chest, but I resist.

Two burly guys try to get by so they can stand on the other side of me and she pushes her body into mine as she moves out of the way. I stifle a harsh breath. The sound of the gruff voice overhead is the only thing that breaks the spell she’s cast over me. When the crowd goes crazy, I instinctively grip her side and move her to stand in front of me. So much for resisting. She leans back slightly, almost leaning against me. The feeling of her body so close to mine just about sends me over the edge.

The announcer continues: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, may we have a round of applause to welcome, Eddy ‘Bikini’ Bottoms.” He too almost trots down the aisle. I look into the ring and see that Casper seems to be circling it—waiting for his prey. His opponent takes his place with ease, and both fighters flex their fingers at their sides, their hands taped so their bare knuckles are exposed. I have a feeling this is going to be a good fight. Each of them slides his gloves on and the crowd explodes in cheers around us when the two opponents meet in the middle and the bell rings. Casper’s opponent swings first. Casper ducks and jabs Bottoms’s side with a right, then a left. A few more rounds pass, and then out of nowhere Casper lands one straight punch to the jaw that knocks his opponent down just like that.

Ivy gasps in disbelief when Bottoms tries to lift himself up on his arms as the counting begins. With each number, she pushes herself farther back into me. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I couldn’t even tell you what’s going on in the ring. I feel like that eighteen-year-old boy that got hard with every move she made. The counting stops and Bottoms’s trainer is by his side, as he lies flat on the mat. I think the ref has already called the fight. But I’m not sure until Bottoms fails to rise and the ref approaches Casper and yanks his arm up in victory while the announcer boasts, “The victor, ladies and gentlemen! I give you, your one, your only, Casper the Friendly Ghost!”

Ivy twists her head back and looks up at me with those feline eyes. “Is it over?” she asks.

With her warm breath on my neck and her lips so close to mine, I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but her. When I lean forward so she can hear me, I accidentally press myself into her and I swear I hear a small whimper escape her throat. I murmur in her ear, “I’ll take you back to the bus if you’re ready to go.”

She looks over at the other guys, who have their eyes glued to the ring, and then turns backs around, now dangerously close. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

I chuckle and nod. “I’m sure.”

Just as we move to leave, Leif notices and cups his hands around his mouth. “Pssst . . . Ivy, where are you going?”

Ivy turns. “Back to the bus.”

“You sure? I promised Casper I’d introduce him to you and we planned to go out later,” Leif responds.

“Next time?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll set something up.”

She smiles and waves goodbye.

We make our way back to the bus quickly and when we hit the front lounge she turns toward me. “Thank you for bringing me back. I’m really tired and just want to sit around and do nothing for a few hours.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’m feeling the same way.”

“Want to watch a movie or you going to go to bed?”

“Watching a movie sounds great.”

“Terrific. There’s a new movie with that actress Jules Atwood on demand I’ve been dying to catch.”

“Jules Atwood?”

“Yes, she’s the actress cast in No Led Zeppelin.”

“Right,” I reply with a smirk. “My cousin’s movie.”

She nods. “Just give me a minute to change and I’ll meet you in the back lounge.”

I make a skeptical noise over her choice of movie and she flashes me a grin before leaving the room.

“Okay, Mr. Push-ups, let’s hear your story,” she mock demands as she enters the dimly lit lounge I’m already sitting in watching the all-time classic movie Stripes.

I swivel around in my chair and glance up. “Chicks dig me, because I rarely wear underwear and when I do it’s usually something unusual.” I grin, quoting John Winger’s most awesome line from the movie.

She giggles and flops into the chair next to mine. “God, I haven’t watched this movie in years.”

“Me either.” I almost say Not since the last time I watched it with you, but I don’t.

“Can we watch this instead?”

I give her a charming smile. “Sure, if you insist.” Like she has to ask me twice about skipping what I can only imagine to be a chick flick.

She has no makeup on, but she doesn’t need it. And when her face is a blank canvas, her eyes seem to always sparkle. Her hair is piled loosely on top of her head, and as she swivels to hoist her feet up on the table, the oversized neckline of her sweatshirt exposes a hint of lace. Fuck, we haven’t been alone like this until now, and I want nothing more than to pull her off that chair and onto my lap.

We sit next to each other for the rest of the movie and even talk over it at times. But the closest our bodies come to touching is when I kick my boots up on the coffee table next to her bare feet.

“Don’t put your shoes on the furniture,” she comments and taps her toes against my boots, shoving my feet down.

I make an amused face. “Yes, ma’am. We don’t want to mark up the fine furnishings.”

She giggles and I toe my boots off, then kick my sock-clad feet back up, where her toes remain very close to mine. Friends, I keep reminding myself. I can do this—establish what we had through friendship first. But no matter how many times I say it in my head, that doesn’t stop me from feeling the way I feel toward her.

The credits roll. Her feet graze mine for a few long moments—on purpose or by accident, I don’t know, but my body reacts instantly to her touch. She looks at me, biting her lip, and the sight sets me on fire. I rise from my chair, ready to pounce, but she stands at the same time and yawns. “It’s late. I’m going to call it a night. Thank you for watching that with me.”

“Good night, Ivy. I really enjoyed the movie and the company.”

She scurries out of the room without turning back, and for a minute I consider chasing after her, but I head to bed instead.

* * *

I awake from a deep sleep. Some nights I sleep like a baby, others I find myself tossing and turning most of the night. Tonight is one of those in-between nights. I open my eyes and find myself spinning the gun on his desk as someone taunts me: “Pull the trigger. I dare you. You’re such a sorry excuse of a son. Just do it.” The shadow hovers over me, a face I can’t make out. My heart is pounding and adrenaline pumps through my veins as he urges me to just do it.

“Xander, man, wake up,” Garrett says, touching my shoulders, shaking me.

I look up to see him, not my father, standing over me. Fuck, I haven’t had a dream like that in a long time.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you. Just a bad dream.” He lets the curtain fall back and I shift restlessly for the next few hours.

After a breakdown on the road, we’re headed to Cleveland, and can finally get off this bus. I’ll be glad to stay in my own room and get some decent rest. I’m too tired to get any work done today. My head is drowning with the same regrets I always have after dreams of my father—mainly one regret—why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Of course, in my dreams it’s always my father tempting me with death in some way—but three therapists later, the dreams mean the same thing. I have to let my guilt go or the dreams will continue to haunt me. I have no fucking idea how to do that, and seeing a shrink was not my thing—talking about feelings and evaluating everything in my life since I was born is something I ultimately passed on.

Unable to sleep, I hop out of bed and check my e-mails, but find nothing of concern and no fires to put out, so I decide to go back to bed. Around noon I finally haul my sorry ass up. I skip any kind of workout today—I’m just too drained. The galley is quiet as I walk through it and into the small bathroom. Turning the hot water on in the shower as high as I can, I try to erase the nightmare from my mind and for once just let thoughts of Ivy consume me. The mirror starts to fog up and I think about last night. Shit, all I want to do is make her mine.

Stripping off my clothes, I’m already half hard just thinking about her, her perfect body, and how much I want to be with her again. I step into the pint-sized shower with my cock in my hand. I want her hand to curl around me so she’ll feel how hard she makes me. I close my eyes and gently rub, first around my cock, then my balls. Fuck, that feels good. I picture her doing this—in the shower, with us exploring our bodies in any way we want. I want to feel her hands gripping me. I think of her, her face, her body . . . the ways I want to touch her, where I want to touch her. I imagine driving my cock into her sweet pussy, and it makes me want to come hard and fast.

My fist pumps at a quicker pace and I lick the water from my lips. The pressure wells deep and a tingling radiates from my cock. As my orgasm starts to build, so do the contractions—it feels like electricity is shooting through me. My dick twitches and I can’t hold on any longer. As I start to come, practically spasming, the incredible feeling builds and I finally let myself go, crossing that threshold over and over until I’m spent. My chest rises and falls and I slouch back against the shower wall.

Once my breathing returns to normal, I lather up with soap, rinse it off, and get out of the shower. I don’t bother to shave. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I wipe the steam from the mirror. The ink on my side was always the hope for my future, but I fucked it up because I never went after it. Hazel eyes and brown hair reflect back and I try to see my life differently from what it really is—I’m thirty fucking years old and I have nothing—nothing that matters, anyway.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I attempt to shake off the morning. I print out the daily schedule and post it, then head over to get a cup of coffee. Nix and Garrett sit in comfortable silence in the lounge. Nix is reading the paper and Garrett is eating something that resembles nachos.

“Want some? There’s plenty,” Garrett says, crunching a chip.

“No, thanks. That looks disgusting. What is it?”

“It’s classic is what it is—a can of chili con carne, a jar of nacho sauce, and a bag of chips.”

I pour a cup of the coffee that looks like sludge. “Flynn, your eating habits need some serious help.”

“Hey, watch out—the next time you’re craving my pizza, I might just tell you to make it yourself.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Remind me again when I ever asked you to take a stale-looking hunk of bread and slap a jar of sauce on it?”

He just grins at me and crunches another chip. I take my coffee and stumble blurry-eyed into the back lounge to catch ESPN. Leif’s in there, and he looks me over.

“Rough night?” he asks.

I rub my hand over my stubble. “Just ready to get off this bus.”

He’s in the club chair, twirling while watching TV. “I know the feeling. Want to play some ball?”

Since my mind is shot and I can’t do any work right now . . . “Why not?”

An hour later, I’m killing him. I’ve always been a competitive guy. I don’t fuck around . . . video game or real game, it’s all the same. When my team is beating his, 95 to 72, I yell, “Yeah!” and pump my fist in the air.

He sets the controller down. “Bastard! I’m done.”

“Yes, you are—you sad son of a bitch. You lost! Rematch?”

Shaking his hand, he says, “No fucking way. Are we almost there?”

I glance at my watch and see it’s a little before three. “John said we’d be there before five. What’s your rush?”

“Just wish there were chicks on this bus so I could get a handy while we wait.”

Unable to believe his candor, I have to laugh. “What about that girl of yours you’re always talking on the phone with?”

“She dumped my ass.”

“That’s why you’ve been so punchy. Makes sense now.”