“No.”

“No?”

I shake my head.

He looks around the room. I stand with my hands at my sides, pressing one foot on top of the other, willing myself to stay put and not run to the fridge for the other bottle like I really want to do. “So I tried to sleep last night and when I couldn’t I started thinking about you,” he says.

“Oh?” Fuck you, butterflies.

He shakes his head quickly. “Not like that… not like, in a creepy way.”

“Oh.” The first “Oh” was a question. This one was a semi-disappointed, semi-guilty statement.

“So I think I have you worked out.”

“You do?” I ask, clearly surprised.

“Well,” he says, eying the corner of my room where I ended up sleeping last night. “From what I know about you, which isn’t much… and the facts that I’ve accumulated from the small amount of conversing we’ve done… I think I’ve come to the conclusion about who you are. Well, not so much who you are… but what you do…”

“You talk a lot,” I blurt out.

He laughs, this deep, gruff, warm chuckle that emits from his mouth and floats to my ears, then races down to my stomach and again… Fuck you, butterflies. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he says.

“I am?”

He nods slowly. “So… you’re drunk at nine a.m.… not once, but twice now, and you seem to be tired during the day, which means you don’t sleep at night, and whatever has you drinking is something you’re more than likely ashamed of…” He points down my body, past the oversized shirt I’m wearing, pausing for a moment on my bare legs, and then he looks away. “So you work nights, sleep days, and you’re ridiculously drunk in the morning, which I guess is your night… and I don’t think you’re a hooker, so—”

“What the fuck?” I spit.

“And you have a mouth on you, which yeah… I gotta admit… kind of hot.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I’m not a hooker and you can get out now!”

He raises his hands in surrender, then winces and rubs his right shoulder. “Hooker wasn’t my first guess, anyway.”

“I’m scared to ask.”

Cringing slightly, he says, “Stripper?”

“Seriously. Get out.” I point to the door, but he just chuckles, releasing another set of butterflies inside me. Yeah. I definitely hate the way he makes me feel.

He crosses his legs at his ankles and makes himself comfortable on my bed. “I think I’ll stay.”

I pick up a cushion off the floor and throw it at him. He blocks it quickly but then grunts, his hand on his shoulder again.

“Get out!”

“Riley,” he says, all amusement gone. “I was kidding.”

“No you weren’t!”

“You’re right. I wasn’t. But it’s good to know you’re neither of those classy professions.”

I leave him in my room and grab the wine from the fridge, ignoring the judgment in his eyes when I walk in, unscrewing the cap and taking the first sip. He lies down on top of the covers while I half close the blinds, hoping he takes it as a message to shut the hell up and go to sleep. I like him better when he’s not talking. I like to just look at him. And Hello, Guilt.

“So yesterday…” he says.

I sit down on the cushions and grab the pen and paper.

“I was kind of an asshole and I apologize…”

He’s ending his sentences with an open invitation for me to finish them for him but I can’t. And I won’t. He wants to talk, I’ll listen. Apart from that, he’s on his own. In fact, I don’t even want to listen.

After a sigh, he adds, “But I kind of bared my soul to you a little bit. You don’t think you owe me anything in return?”

And now he’s just annoying me. “I’m giving you my bed. I don’t think I owe you shit, Banks.” I throw the paper and pen down and focus on the bottle in my hand. And by focus, I mean focus on emptying it.

“You know my last name?”

I roll my eyes. “We went to the same high school.”

“I know that, Riley, don’t patronize me. It’s fucking annoying.”

I ignore his anger… or welcome it… I’m not sure. “Of course I know your name,” I tell him, my voice softer. “You’re the Dylan Banks. Mr. Popular. Half of the ‘It’ couple.”

“The ‘It’ couple?”

“Yeah… you and Heidi, right? I assume you aren’t together anymore…”

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Because if I were your girlfriend, I would’ve been waiting for you at home, counting down the seconds until you showed up. I wouldn’t be letting you sleep in the back of your truck and I sure as hell wouldn’t be letting you sleep in another girl’s bed.”

He’s silent for a long time. So am I. But I know he’s awake because I can see and hear his breathing get faster, heavier… and then stop. “Good night, Hudson.”

“You know my name?”

“Of course I know your name, Riley. You’re the girl next door…”

Five

Dylan

I could come up with a hundred different excuses as to why I’m lying in a random girl’s bed while she sits on the floor watching me, not bothering to hide that she knows I’m watching her, too.