“I could be.”

“No way.” She looks at me with the eyeliner in midair. “If you were a lesbian, you would totally check me out. You never check me out.”

“Well, maybe you’re not my type,” I say in between batting lashes and coats of black goo.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I’m everyone’s type—”

“Pixie!” calls someone from the hallway.

Levi.

I haven’t heard his voice for three days, and all my senses immediately go on alert. My eyes snap to the mirror just as his reflection appears in the bathroom doorway, and my heart stammers at the sight.

He’s wearing dark jeans and an untucked shirt that fits his frame perfectly. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, showing off the tan skin of his thick throat, and I suddenly sympathize with vampires everywhere. Who wouldn’t want to take a bite out of that?

WHAT?

Where did that thought come from?

“Hey, Pixie. Ellen wanted me to…” Levi’s words trail off as his gaze runs down my body and lingers on my butt. Desire flashes in his eyes, and my insides start to heat and tighten in response.

Our eyes lock in the mirror.

Am I blushing? Crap, I’m blushing.

He clears his throat and starts again. “Ellen wanted me to give these to you. She says you lost your own set? These are her backups.” He lays a set of inn keys on the counter by my hip, his hand so close to my belly I can feel his body heat seeping in through my leather skirt.

I nod. I swallow. I try not to pass out.

Or you know, bite him.

“Oh, right. Thanks,” I say, my voice all ragged like I just finished running a marathon or something. I’m so cool.

“I’m Jenna,” Jenna says loudly, holding out her hand.

Levi and I blink away from each other, and he raises his eyebrows like he hadn’t noticed Jenna until right that second.

“Oh, hey,” he says in his smooth-operator voice. He has many voices. “I’m Levi.”

“Levi,” she repeats with a Cheshire cat grin as they shake hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

I glare at her, but she refuses to acknowledge me.

“Right.” He glances at me. “Good to meet you too.” He pauses. “So yeah. Later.” Then he rigidly moves from the bathroom mirror.

I stare at the empty hallway that replaces him, suddenly feeling empty myself.

“Ohmygod.” A low chuckle falls from Jenna’s mouth and she drops her head back. “I totally get it. Everything makes so much sense now.” More laughter. “You’re so not a lesbian.”

I pull my eyes away from the hallway and toss the mascara back into my bag. “Whatever.” I look at my reflection with a grimace. My straightened hair looks all wrong.

“Whatever,” she mocks, going back to her eyes. “You conveniently forgot to tell me that our mysterious Levi is HOT.”

“Please shut up.” I pull my hair up. Still wrong.

“Mega hot. Why did he call you Pixie?”

I let my hair fall back down. “It’s a nickname he gave me when we were kids. Quit layering on eyeliner. You look like a walking cry for help.”

“No, I don’t,” she says, putting the liner away and examining her reflection. “I look like a misunderstood bad girl who paints poetic pictures about death.”

I blink at her. “Exactly.”

Picking up all my belongings, I leave the bathroom as Jenna steps back into her shoes and follows after me. In my room, she throws herself belly-first onto my bed and leans over the side, eyeing the three paintings I have drying under the window.

“Whoa.” She crawls off the bed and over to the nearest canvas, running a finger along the edge. “These are beautiful.” She touches another one. “Depressing as hell, but beautiful.”

“They’re not depressing.” I search through the mess of my room for my oversized purse until I find it wedged between an unopened box of stuff from my dorm and a stack of out of state college pamphlets.

“Everything you paint is depressing. It’s all black and white and gray.” She squints at a dark painting of a tree.

“Yeah, well. I like the contrast.” I start cramming clothes into my purse. I’m not sure what my overnight plans are yet, but I’m pretty confident no one will be willing to drive me all the way back to the inn later.

Jenna flops back down on the bed and watches me shove a cotton T-shirt and a tiny black thong into the bag. “Are you thinking about staying at Matt’s place tonight?”

I throw in a toothbrush, a hair tie, and a book. “Maybe.”

There’s no pressure with Matt. He’s one of those rare good guys.

My palms start to sweat as I search for my favorite black bra, find it, and toss it into the purse along with a pair of socks and a tube of sunscreen.

She plays with her bracelet. “You guys have been together for like four months, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“If you’re not comfortable with Matt, then maybe you should move on.”

I look up. “Who says I’m not comfortable with him?”

“Your vagina.”

I let out a snort because, gah, it’s true. My vagina is super picky and, apparently, still mad at me about the Benji thing.

I keep shoving random items into my bag like I’m packing for Gilligan’s Island and not an overnighter in a metropolitan city. Do I need a scarf? No. Am I cramming one into my bag just in case there’s a flash blizzard? Yep.

“Seriously, Sarah.” Jenna sits up. “Why are you still dating him?”

Because having a boyfriend is a normal thing to do and I’m desperate for normal.

“Because he’s loyal and patient and kind.” I sound like I’m describing a pet dog. “Matt’s a great guy,” I add. “I just need to relax and get the sex thing over with.”

She crosses her arms. “You realize how stupid that sounds, right?”

I point at her. “Don’t you dare get preachy on me, little Miss Sex-a-lot.”

“First of all”—she holds up a finger—“I may have had a lot of sex, but I haven’t had a lot of partners. Second”—she adds another finger—“every guy I’ve slept with has been a choice I made without any hesitations. And third”—three fingers—“we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m sick of talking about me.”

“Sarah doesn’t want to talk about something real? Shocking.” She pins me with her gaze. “Sex is not a requirement for a relationship. It’s a perk. And if you don’t want to get perky with Matt, then don’t.”

“I want to get perky with Matt.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Kind of.

“Okay. In that case…” Standing up, she reaches into the pocket of her rock-star jeans and pulls out a massive handful of condoms before sprinkling them into my purse, where they slip down among the many scarves, pop-up tents, and emergency snakebite kits I’ve deemed critical for tonight’s bar crawl.

I packed for a deserted island. Jenna packed for a porno.

I blink at her. “Did you just rain condoms into my purse?”

“You betcha.” She smiles. “But seriously, if you change your mind about tonight, you and your grandma sweater can always crash at my place, okay?” She sits back down. “So how are things going with Levi? Have you two talked yet?”

“Can we not do this right now?”

“You never want to do this. You’re always so weird about him.”

“I’m not weird about him.”

“You’re super weird about him.”

“Can you just stop?” I snap.

“Stop what? I just want to know if you guys—”

“I don’t want to talk about Levi!” I snap again. Like a bitch. I just bitch-snapped her.

The room goes silent.

With a slow nod, Jenna quietly says, “Okay. We won’t talk about Levi.”

Guilt washes over me and I hang my head. I shouldn’t get snippy with Jenna like that, and yet I do it all the time.

“Sorry.” I bite my lip.

She shrugs and gives me a small smile. “Don’t worry about it.” Without further argument, she drops the Levi thing and smoothly transitions into a conversation about her summer plans.

Jenna. She’s good at being patient. She’s good at being my friend.

And sometimes that scares the crap out of me.

8 Levi

Zack is living in a mansion. That’s really the only word to describe the enormous house I’m walking through. I’ve already passed three staircases, two grand pianos, and an indoor pool—and I’m not even halfway through the first floor.

Loud music bounces off the marble floor and vaulted ceiling as I weave through the heavy crowd. There are people everywhere. Drinking, dancing… riding life-sized lion statues while topless… business as usual for a Zack Arden house party. And a perfect distraction from all the things I can’t seem to escape at the inn.

Something furry wiggles past my leg and I look down to see a goat. A goat. Just hoofing along like it’s perfectly normal for a farm animal to be kicking it at a house party.

I blink for a moment and then continue through the drunken mass of college students until I eventually find a kitchen the size of a restaurant and, thus, my ridiculous best friend. Zack is standing on a chair in the center of the large room with his arms raised above a group of gathered partygoers and a red plastic cup in one hand.