Tiffany lets out a snort of laughter. “You don’t have to lie. I gained a lot of weight since my last baby.” Her words slur a bit.

“I didn’t notice,” I say honestly. “You look happy, though, and that’s just as important, if not more than looking good.”

“True, and I am happy.” She gives me a goony smile. “Thomas is a good guy.” She must be talking about her husband. “And such a good dad.”

“I’m happy for you.” I bring my hands back, letting the automatic water shut off.

“And I’m happy for you.”

Assuming she’s talking about my success with my writing, I smile. “Thanks. It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I didn’t give up.”

“If anyone could change his playboy ways, it’s you.”

“Wait, what?” I grab two paper towels and ball them up, drying my hands.

“Sam,” she says with a laugh. “He was such a man-whore back in high school, and from what I heard, he was in college too.”

I blink a few times, trying to piece things together. “You think Sam and I are…together?”

“Aren’t you?” She looks genuinely surprised.

“No.”

“Oh. Could have fooled me.”

My mind is still whirling. “What do you mean if anyone could change him, it would be me?”

“I saw the way he looked at you, and that’s part of the reason I was such a bitch. I was jealous of you when I was dating Sam.”

“The way he looked at me?” I echo, still not following along because it just doesn’t make sense. Until maybe an hour ago, I was under the impression Sam looked at me as a strictly platonic friend. And now this confuses me even more. Though maybe…maybe he wasn’t hinting at meaningless sex. Maybe it would mean something to him.

“You’re really not together?”

“No. We’re just friends.”

She raises a hand up to make air quotes. “Just friends.” She gives me a big wink. “Right. Just friends who are boning.”

“We—we’re—we’re not boning.”

“Your loss,” she says with a snort of laughter. “Don’t tell Thomas I said that.” Turning to look in the mirror, she frowns. “I have to take the pink out of my hair before school starts. I like the pink.”

I saw the way he looked at you. I want to press her for more details because I’m that pathetically in love with Sam. Though hearing her remind me how much of a playboy Sam was—and probably still is—is a good thing. I’m hopelessly in love with the idea of what could be. It would be easy to have him pull me under his spell and feel something he doesn’t.

“It was nice to see you again,” I tell Tiffany. “Have fun with your sister.”

“You too,” she says. “With Sam.” She gives me a big wink, and I walk out, head spinning.

I’m so confused.

He reminded me how I was so much like a sister and then turned down coming home with me the other night. But I know he was giving off vibes in the woods, and he just brought up our silly pact and he definitely wasn’t hinting at waiting until the big day to have sex.

What. The. Fuck.

One thing is for sure: I need to avoid whatever the hell it turns out to be. Sam and I are only in town together for a few more days. I can keep things PG between us. How hard can that be?

Hot, humid air slaps me in the face as soon as I step outside, going back up to the rooftop bar. The ache in my shoulder comes back with a vengeance, and I try rolling my neck to loosen it up. It just makes it worse. I go up the last step and slow, looking at Sam. All I can see is the back of his head right now. He’s leaning against the back of his chair, relaxing and looking at the lake. A light breeze blows in, rustling his hair. Hair I very much want to run my hands through.

Dammit, that’s not helping the whole hate the player, not the game situation.

“Hey,” Sam says when I get back to the table. My throat tightens and my heart swells.

“Hey.” I go back to my seat at the table, reaching for my phone. “I ran into Tiffany in the bathroom. I think she’s drunk.” It would explain the crazy things she was saying…that Sam looked at me like he loved me.

“At one in the afternoon?” Sam looks at his watch. “It’s one-thirty, if that makes it any better.”

I laugh. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

“Very true. Do you need to go home and write before dinner? I already paid, so we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, and yeah, I do.” I roll my neck again. “Even though the thought of sitting at my computer is painful.”

“Because of the writer’s block?”

“I wish. I have terrible posture when I’m writing, and my shoulders hurt because of it.” I pick up my water. “I think I’ll live.”

“I think so too.” His eyes settle on me, looking at me as if he’s mentally undressing me. “Want to get out of here?”

“Yeah, it’s hot on the roof.”

“It is. The lake is looking better and better.”

“Jumping in sounds so refreshing.” I take a drink of water and get up, following behind Sam. He holds the door open for me and takes my hand as we walk down the wooden dock, heading back to the parking lot.

“Shit,” I say. “I left my phone on the table.”

“I’ll go get it.” Sam gives my hand a squeeze, and my stomach does that stupid flip-flopping thing again. A smile takes over my face as I watch him jog back in, and a voice in the back of my head—which sounds a lot like Farisha—yells at me not to get ahead of myself. Sam wants sex, and I know myself. I don’t do casual sex. I’ve tried the no-strings thing and it doesn’t work for me. Sex isn’t as enjoyable for me without emotion, and the few times I did attempt a causal relationship, I got attached and hurt when the guy easily moved on, taking it personally even though I braced myself for it from the start.

I let out a breath and go to the edge of the dock; I look down in the water and watch little fish swim about. Sam has always been my white knight, swooping in to save the day. I’m no longer a damsel in distress, and I’m more than capable of defending myself now. I need to remember that and hold on to my resolve. But…fuck…just the thought of Sam slowly undressing me gets me wet.

“Twice in a row,” a woman says, startling me a bit. It’s Lauren, and she’s with her sister. I can’t recall her name, only that she was two grades ahead of us and bitchy and judgmental like Lauren. It must run in the family. “I’m starting to think you’re following me.”

“Well, I was here first, so if anyone was being followed, it would be me,” I say back. Lauren laughs and comes to a halt, putting her hand on her hip. “I’ll admit I’m impressed. First you went to a bar alone and now you’re here—alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Right on cue, Sam comes out of the restaurant with my phone in his hand.

“You’re here with Sam?” Lauren spits.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Figures.” She smiles smugly. “I fully assumed he’d try again after he struck out at the bar. Though I made sure to take care of him.”