“I’d like to help you overcome a lot of things,” he says huskily, leaning in to place a soft, wet kiss behind my ear, a shiver traveling down my neck. His nose skates up and down my skin and my breathing becomes ragged. “I love the way you smell, Fran. I could get drunk on you.”

“Matt,” is the only word I can manage because my throat feels dry and the only thought running through my head is to go somewhere so he can get drunk on me…right now.

His hand comes up to my chin, angling it slightly, his lips connecting with mine, and I have to quell the desire to pull him to me until we’re a tangle of tongues and lips. “Breathe, Fran. You’re not breathing.” He smirks against my mouth. “I know, I tend to have that effect on women.” My lips twist into a shameless grin as Matt tips his head back, his gentle blue eyes searching mine. “God, I love your smile,” he says, running his finger gently over the curve of my mouth.

My heartbeat kicks up a notch and our eyes remain pinned for what seems like an eternity. I’m floating on a cloud, suspended in a clear blue sky and I couldn’t look away if I tried. I don’t want to look away but the sound of Peyton’s voice brings me back down to earth.

“Okay, kiddies.” She winks at Matt. “Since tequila was out, we got some Kamikaze shots.”

“I’m driving, remember? So I won’t be drinking,” he tells her, and I like that he’s so responsible.

“Kamikazes, I haven’t done those since I was in college,” I say, remembering how Thursday was always the designated party night at Berkeley, making Friday morning classes impossible to navigate with a head clouded from drink and a body aching from too much dancing.

Caleb claps his hands together and rubs them. “Time to get back on the wagon, Fran!” He and Peyton bounce back into the booth and the three of us lift our shot glasses. “A toast,” Caleb announces, “to making new friends and getting rip-roaring drunk with them!”

“Here, here!” Peyton shouts and we all clink our glasses together, sloshing some of the greenish liquid on the table.

As I bring the drink to my mouth, Matt’s lips hover close to my ear again.

“And to so much more,” he whispers, nipping my earlobe and nearly making the drink become one with my dress.

My cheeks are ablaze with heat and I try to steady my breathing when Matt’s hand slips under my hair, his fingers strumming lazily across my flesh. There’s a tap-dance going on in my chest and an explosion building between my legs. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

“So, how did you guys meet anyway?” I ask, desperate for any kind of diversion from the fact that my body has a craving that can’t be satisfied right now.

“We met back in third grade,” Matt begins, continuing his stroll over my skin. “We bonded over Mexican jumping beans.”

Caleb interjects with a laugh, “Matt’s grandparents had brought him some Mexican jumping beans and I was completely fascinated and had to have them. He wouldn’t give them to me, but he let me sit with him for a half hour while we watched the darn things jump in the box, trying to figure out how the hell they did it.” He pauses to take a sip of water. “But the clincher was”—he looks over at Matt, his eyes sprinkled with gratitude—“he eventually told me I could take three home, and I thought, yeah, this dude is pretty cool. Plus, he was friends with all the cute girls, so it was a done deal…and the rest, as they say, is twenty-five years of history—”

“Fran?”

A low timbre drags me from our conversation and my eyes move to the source—a tall, muscular body connected to a face I recognize, but I blink anyway just to make sure I’m not seeing things.

“Ryan? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” He chuckles, before reaching out and taking my hand to place a kiss upon it.

Peyton kicks me under the table with her heel and glares at me.

“Oh, Ryan, these are my friends, Peyton, Caleb, and Matt.”

Ryan greets everyone before returning his focus to me. “So, fancy meeting you here?” he says, raising a brow and eyeing me suggestively.

Matt’s hand comes around my shoulder in what I perceive to be a territorial gesture, and the pissing contest has just begun.

“I’m here for a design conference, you?”

“You’re kidding me. You’re at the Carlton?” he questions, a hint of pleasure in his voice, and I find it strange that we haven’t run into each other. But then again, I haven’t been there the entire time.

“Yeah. Let me guess. You are too?” I ask, even though I already know the answer and I have to internally laugh at the irony. Ryan is all kinds of gorgeous and I remember my reaction when I first saw him on the plane, but now I’m happy just where I am. I glance over at Matt to give him a reassuring smile before returning my attention back to Ryan.

He’s about to say something when Matt interjects, “So how do you two know each other?”

“We kind of had a near-death experience.” Ryan winks at me and Matt’s hand grips tighter around my shoulder.

“We met on the plane,” I say quickly, not wanting to rehash the embarrassing story of how I panicked, thinking we were crashing into the ocean when the pilot was just landing the plane. Let’s see how many more ways Fran can humiliate herself.

A voice calls out and Ryan turns around, raising a finger in the air. “I need to run, but it was great seeing you, Fran, and nice meeting you all. I’m not sure how long you’re in LA, Fran, but I’ve got business after the conference and will be here for another few days. So maybe we can hang out one night?”

“Oh…sure. That sounds good,” I reply, just for the sake of formality…I think.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks back to me. “What’s your cell number?” he asks, and I quickly rattle it off. “Great. So now I’ll know how to reach you. See you around, beautiful.” Ryan winks again and disappears into the darkness.

“Well, he’s hot as hell,” Peyton blurts out, and I laugh, because that’s exactly what I was thinking.

“Tell us how you really feel.” Matt’s tone is biting and I shift in my seat, the change in his mood palpable.

Caleb raises a hand in the air, motioning back and forth between him and Matt. “Lest not forget the hotties that you’re sitting with,” he utters with a Shakespearean drawl, which thankfully eases the mounting tension. “I’m going to get some more shots. I’ll be back.”

“I’m going to the bathroom. Fran, do you have to go?” Peyton silently urges me to come with, and I oblige.

“Be right back,” I tell Matt, before sliding out of the booth and following Peyton.

There’s a long line of irritated women waiting for the bathroom and Peyton and I attach ourselves to the end of it. I don’t really have to pee but felt the need to get away from Matt for a little while.

She pivots around and gets in my face. “Okay, so that guy Ryan was seriously hot. In fact, if I wasn’t here with Caleb I would’ve wanted a personal introduction.” She raises a chestnut brow and reclines against the wall. “You should’ve seen Matt’s face. I swear steam was going to shoot out of his head. Someone has a jealous streak.”

“Jealous? I think not,” I counter, lifting my sweaty hair up to catch the breeze blowing in from a side door. “It’s not like we’re a couple. We’re just hanging out and having fun.” At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Yeaaaaaah,” she quips, adjusting her bra strap, “how’s that working out for you?”

“Shut up,” I bark, pushing her forward with my hand flat on her back. “Move it.”

After twenty-five minutes of waiting and Peyton nearly peeing on herself, we forge our way back through loud clusters of slurred conversation and grinding hips to find our table. Matt and Caleb appear to be scanning the crowd.

“We were just getting ready to send out a search party,” Matt jokes, seemingly back to his old self, and it makes me smile. When does he not make me smile? Maybe it’s his face that makes me smile. Or maybe it’s just him.

I eye the number of shot glasses on the table. “Are there more people joining us?”

“No,” Caleb answers with a grin, “they’re for us. Surely you can handle it, Franny.”

His words knock me back and take me to a place I never want to go again.

“Shhh, Franny, you can do it. You’re a brave little girl…you can handle it and I’ll help you.”

My muscles tense up and my back stiffens. “Don’t call me that,” I say sharply.

“Come on, Franny. Show us what you got.”

“Lift up your nightgown and show me your belly, Franny, and remember, Scooby Doo is waiting for you when we’re done and he loves you just like Daddy does.”

My chest constricts and the walls are closing in, the pungent odor of cigarettes and sweat attacks my nose, the door to my room shutting, the click of the lock vibrating loudly in my ears as I scoot back on my bed to get away from him.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, my fingernails digging for skin in my palm, and I barely register the pain I’m inflicting upon myself. I’ve grown too accustomed to it.

“Fran?”

Matt’s talking but he suddenly sounds very far away. Or maybe it’s me who’s far away. The instinct to run is too strong now and I have to get out of here. Springing up from the booth, I barrel through the crowd and even though they’re calling after me, I don’t stop. I just keep running. I only wish I knew where I was going.

After all these years, I hate that my father still has this kind of power over me. I remember the words from my therapist. ‘He only holds the power as long as you bestow it upon him.’ Easier said than done. I manage to hold it together pretty well on most days, but then out of nowhere, the triggers come, and I’m that weak, frightened seven-year old girl who only wants to please her daddy and be loved—no matter what the cost. I just never realized it would cost this much.

I’m bumping into a maze of drunken bodies when a hand grabs my arm.

“Fran, wait,” Matt says, but I can’t look at him.

“Matt, just leave me alone. I want to be left alone!” I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip is too strong.

“Fran, please don’t shut me out,” he pleads, “talk to me dammit!”

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his stare. “Why does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know, Fran, but it does.” His voice lowers and he steps closer. “It matters a lot.”

My eyes crawl up to his, begging him to listen. “Please…I need you to leave me alone.”

He drops his hand in defeat and lets me go…and I keep going.

There’s a door toward the back of the bar and I anxiously will my feet to move as quickly as possible to get to it. I knock once and when there’s no response, turn the knob to thankfully find a room that’s empty. There are cardboard boxes labeled with black marker against the wall and it appears to be some kind of storage area, but nonetheless I’m grateful for the solitude. I quickly close the door behind me, sliding back against it and landing on the floor…and that’s when the flood gates open. Tears fall mercilessly down my cheeks and I let them have their way with me, the feelings too overwhelming, the mountain too tall to climb. I blow out a quivery breath and try to steady myself before closing my eyes and banging my head against the door over and over, attempting to anesthetize the searing pain and the years of horrific memories.

“Shhhh…princess,” Daddy said as he held the paring knife in one hand and tucked a strand of thick, frizzy black hair behind my ear. “Remember, this is our special thing we do together.” He smiled but his eyes weren’t happy like Mommy’s. “I’ve got your favorite band-aids all picked out.”

Tears slid down my cheeks but Daddy didn’t care. As he lifted up my favorite nightgown, the one with the cupcakes on it, I felt my tiny body start to shake. I stared up at the stars on my ceiling and wished I could fly to the moon right then and sit amongst them. Where’s Mommy? I thought to myself. Then I felt it. That first bit of pain that always came when Daddy was in my room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited. The pain came back…again, and again, and again.

“Mommy….” I sobbed quietly. “I want Mommy.”

“Shhh…Franny. Mommy’s not here and Mommy will never love you like I do.” He patted my head and when I looked down at my belly, I saw red. Always red. I hate the color red…and I hate Daddy.

More tears come and after a while, I don’t even feel them anymore, a numbness settling in as if my limbs are asleep, the burning sensation dulled in my chest. A familiar voice pulls me from my grief.