Wary, I open the door.

And freeze.

Because an out of breath and slightly damp Oakley is standing in front of me.

“Hi,” I breathe, silently hoping this isn’t a dream or another flashback.

He braces one arm against the frame, as if steadying himself. “Hi.”

We stand there for the better part of a minute, staring at each other like a couple of idiots, until finally, he breaks the spell.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, but you make it fucking impossible.”

He sounds utterly defeated.

I’m about to apologize, but I stop myself because I’m not sorry for wanting to be friends with him.

“Does this mean we can be friends?”

Blue eyes that seem haunted sharpen on me and he gives me a curt nod. “Yeah.”

My heart gallops and I can feel the smile stretching across my mouth. “Good.”

Oakley, however, doesn’t return my delight. “One rule.”

“What’s that?” I ask cautiously.

“Don’t ask me to tell you what happened between us in the past.” His thick lashes lower a fraction. “Give me a fresh start, Bianca.”

My chest caves because the way he says it makes it sound like he’s simultaneously begging for forgiveness and a second chance.

“Okay,” I whisper.

I start to smile again, but then it dawns on me. “I need something from you too.”

“What?”

I shuffle my feet uncomfortably. I hate asking this, but my life is complicated enough.

Plus, I want something for myself.

Something I don’t have to explain or justify to anyone.

Something that makes me happy.

“Can we keep our friendship on the down low for a bit since my brothers hate you and I have a…you know.”

It’s clear he wants to protest, but he must want this friendship as much as I do because he gives me another nod.

I open the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

His eyes drop down and I’m suddenly hyper aware that I’m not wearing a bra under my white tank top.

The hand clutching the frame tightens as hunger clouds his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Right.” I take a step back. “Get home safe.”

He gives me a small grin as he walks away. “Get some sleep.”

For the first time since my accident, I go to sleep with a smile on my face.

Chapter 21

Bianca

“We barely see each other,” Stone states. “I really think you should just move in before the semester ends.”

One look at his mother, who’s sitting across the table from us, tells me she finds the idea of me moving in before the wedding about as pleasant as a root canal.

Feeling’s mutual, lady.

Nonetheless, Stone has a point. We’ve both been so busy this semester we hardly have time for one another.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying my independence. It’s nice being able to come and go as I please and not be accountable to anyone when it comes to my whereabouts.

Especially his mother, who always finds a way to make rude comments under her breath about me.

On one hand, I understand why she harbors so much ill will. Stone and Tommy no longer talk since Stone beat him up and kicked him out last year, and to say there’s a rift between her sons would be putting it mildly.

However, it’s not my fault her firstborn is a giant douche canoe who deserves to have a venomous snake bite his testicles off.

“The semester ends in May,” I remind Stone. “I’ll be moving in before you know it.”

Pouting, he slings his arm around my shoulders. “Fine, but at least think about it, okay?”

Leaning over, I kiss his cheek. “I’ll think about it.”

I start to pull away, but he kisses my lips.

“I love you,” he whispers between soft kisses that have my heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.

I’m about to tell him the same, but his mother clears her throat. Loudly.

A moment later, a jubilant woman carrying a large tray of various cake samples swoops in. “Gosh, I just love seeing couples in love.” She places the tray down in front of us. “Whatever you two decide on, let us know and we’ll get it all taken care of.”

I’ve known what kind of cake I’ve wanted ever since Sawyer stopped by my dorm room with little drops of heaven in cupcake form.

The moment I took a bite of the moist, holy grail of chocolate that is red velvet—my heart was sold.

Stone’s mom, however, isn’t a fan. Therefore, she insisted we try some samples and then decide.

“This one,” she says, pointing to the cake in front of her.

It’s strange how she has her heart set already because it doesn’t even look like she’s tried any of it.

The woman smiles. “That’s our lemon and raspberry cake.”

Pushing aside the carrot cake he was devouring; Stone takes a bite of the lemon and raspberry one and gives his mom a hum of approval.

After scooping some more on his fork, he brings it to my mouth. “Try it, Bourne. It’s not bad.”

I reluctantly take a bite.

He’s right…it’s not bad.

But it’s also not what I want.

Needing to get rid of the weird aftertaste it left on my tongue, I stick my fork into the red velvet cake and eagerly shovel it into my mouth.

So fucking good.

“This one is my favorite,” I affirm, going back for more. “It’s perfect.” And because I can’t resist, I go for a third bite. “What kind of frosting is this? It’s amazing.”

Realizing I’m being rude, I offer Stone the rest so he can try it. “Damn. This is good.”

I fight the urge to tell him I told him so.

The woman laughs. “That would be our cream cheese frosting.” She starts writing something down on a notepad. “We get a lot of compliments on our red velvet cake. It’s an excellent choice.”

Stone rubs his nose against mine and then kisses the tip of it. “It’s settled then. We’ll go with the—”

“Lemon raspberry,” Stone’s mom interjects.

Oh, no she didn’t.

I fight the urge to throttle her. “I’m sorry. What?”

She points to the lemon raspberry cake. “We’re going with this one. It’s simple but classy.”

It’s boring.

Not to mention, the last time I checked it wasn’t her wedding and unlike my father, she wasn’t shelling out a dime for the ceremony or reception.

Clearly uncomfortable, the cake lady looks between us. “I can come back—”

“No need,” Stone’s mom assures her. “We’ve made our decision.”

“No, we haven’t,” I grit through my teeth.

Stone looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Maybe we can try a few mor—”

“No,” his mother insists. “This is the one.” Looking at her son, she sulks. “It was your grandmother’s favorite. She would have wanted you to have this cake.”

Her manipulation game is hella strong, I’ll give her that.