“Fuck. We can’t just leave,” Leif coughs out.

“Shut up. Now,” I hiss under my breath and exit the door with Leif by my side.

“Xander, what’s going on?” Garrett yells to me from just outside the door.

My eyes search for Ivy as the fury builds within me. If she’s not out here I’m going to kill those bastards. When Garrett jolts toward me to grab Leif, I spot her sitting on the curb. Rushing over, I jump in front of her as cars honk for me to get out of their way. I take her hands, pull her up, and move us to the sidewalk as my eyes scan her from head to toe. “Did they hurt you?”

“N-o-o,” she stammers.

“Are you sure?” I ask, caressing her cheek.

She looks at me and her fingers touch my lip. “I should be asking you that question,” she says with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I pull her to me and tuck her head into my shoulder. “What are you sorry for, baby?” I ask.

“I shouldn’t have said yes to dancing with that asshole,” she cries.

“Ivy, are you all right?” Leif calls out.

Hearing Leif’s voice, she pulls away from me and turns around. Running to him, she takes his face in her hands. “Why did you go back in after they asked us to leave?”

Even though he’s bleeding and Garrett’s holding him up, he manages to babble, “Because I had a chick waiting for me.”

She shoves his shoulder. “You’re a dumbass.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you’re right, but one minute some hot piece of ass has her hands in my pants and the next I’m getting the shit kicked out of me. Talk about a cock block,” he says, looking down at his open zipper.

“You okay?” I ask, surveying him for anything more than superficial wounds.

“I was better with that chick’s hand wrapped around my dick.”

“Leif, you’re so drunk. Are you sure you’re okay?” Ivy asks, placing his other arm over her shoulder.

His tone sobers instantly at the sound of concern in her voice. “Yes, I’m fine. What happened, anyway?”

She’s suddenly more composed, wiped clean of emotion. She’s the same resilient, undaunted girl she always was. She takes his arm over her shoulder and tells him about the guy she was dancing with. I don’t need to relive it, so I turn away and call the driver. “Yeah, Scott, we’re ready to get out of here.”

* * *

Every inch of me is tense and the pressure in my chest keeps increasing. It’s eight thirty in the morning and I’m standing outside her door. I didn’t sleep all night. I got up way too early and went for a run in a useless attempt to push thoughts of her aside, but I couldn’t—I have to talk to her. When I knock she doesn’t answer, so I keep pounding, louder and louder. She finally cracks the door open, leaving the chain on it.

“Xander, what’s going on?” she asks in a low croak.

“I need to talk to you.”

“It’s a little early.”

“Just get dressed and meet me downstairs in the coffee bar.”

“Fine, give me thirty minutes.” She huffs loudly and slams the door.

Her favorite drink was always a vanilla latte, so I take a chance and order her one. I grab myself a coffee and down a red-eye. Leaning over the railing, I think about us and wonder how different things might have been if I’d told her the truth way back when. The line for coffee grows as the room starts to fill with people, but I spot her as soon as she enters the atrium. She looks incredible—white shorts, a tight red tank top that hugs her body in just the right way, and some kind of black wedge sandals. The sight of her makes my pulse race so fast that my fingers are trembling.

She enters the coffee bar just as I turn around. Spotting me, she walks slowly. Her gaze is fixed on mine and for a moment her face is soft, calm even, but the closer she gets the more unflappable she becomes. When I reach out to offer her the latte, she smiles and takes it.

“Vanilla,” I tell her as I run a nervous hand through my hair.

“You remembered,” she says with the first genuine smile I’ve seen cross her face.

“How could I forget? We drank our way through late nights and early mornings with them.”

“Do you still drink them?”

“No. I changed to regular coffee. Couldn’t take the sweetness after a while.”

Her fingers touch my lip, and my body comes alive. “Does it hurt?”

I cock my head and press back my smile. “No. Not at all.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, again I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have danced with that asshole.”

“It’s worth a lot.” After a few seconds of silence, I add, “I checked on Leif and he’s actually fine.”

“I know. I checked on him too.” She clears her throat and the easy back-and-forth of our conversation is over. She takes a sip of her latte and asks, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

My brain is warring with my lips to keep me from leaning down and kissing her as she licks the excess froth from her mouth.

“Xander?”

I lose myself for a moment, but the softness in her voice brings me back. “I actually want to take you someplace.”

“You mean the band?” she asks.

“No. Just you and me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve told you this a few times.”

“I won’t talk about anything you don’t want to. Just come with me. I promise it’s a place you’ll love.”

She wavers and takes a deep breath. “Fine. But only because I’m dressed and have nothing else to do. And you’re buying me a muffin first.”

I laugh. “Ah. I can definitely do that.”

* * *

Last night another wall came down between us, and although Ivy is still guarded, she actually seems to be warming up to me. My plan was to talk to her after I took her out for the day, but now that I’ve promised not to talk about the past, I’ll just have to take the conversations as they come. I already believe she’s who I need, but I just need to convince her I’m who she needs. I wanted to take her someplace I know we’ll both enjoy.

The sign reads: OHIO HISTORICAL MARKER—BIRTHPLACE OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL. From afar, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame building is truly stunning. Ivy’s face lights up when she sees it.

Pointing to it, she says, “Look, Xander, it looks like the pictures of the Louvre you sent me.”

And it does. The building is made up of geometric shapes resembling triangles that seem to shadow the lake. And although Ivy’s enthusiasm puts the biggest smile on my face, it’s the sound of her voice that melts my heart—the way she just said, “Look, Xander.”

As we exit the cab I know without a doubt . . . I’m still in love with this girl. And nothing can sour my mood. We enter the building. “Where to first?” I ask her.

She’s studying the map and points to a small red dot. “Right here.”

I laugh. “Could you be more specific?”

“The Beatles exhibit. I really want to see John Lennon’s acoustic guitar.”

“The Beatles it is.” I take her hand without thinking and lead her to the exhibit she selected.

Morning stretches into afternoon as we pass from Metallica to the Rolling Stones memorabilia. We talk about each artifact, spending the most time in the Jimi Hendrix forum.

When we get to the Janis Joplin area, Ivy studies the jewelry pieces on display. I lean against the glass and just watch her eyes twinkle. “Hey, guess what River gave Dahlia as a wedding present.”

She looks up at me and bites her lip. “What?”

The heat I’ve felt between us all day—the ease of two people having a great time—seems to flare. “The gold bangles that Grandpa gave Grandma. Remember, the ones Janis wore all the time and gave to my grandfather when she found out Grandma was mad at him.”

“I remember them. That was a really sweet gift.”

For a moment sadness crosses her features, but it quickly passes.

“Let’s move on. The Who or Michael Jackson?” I ask.

“You know, I’m pretty tired. Late night, early morning. What do you say we call it a day?”

“Sure,” I say, a little disappointed that our day is already ending. “Let’s just slip in the movie theater and watch a few minutes of Dick Clark’s American Bandstand.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Come on, you have to admit it. Best damn television idea second to none. It was reality TV before reality TV.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Five minutes.”

Boarding the escalator, we head to the second floor and enter the dark theater. We take seats near the back and watch as eager teenagers try to get the attention of a very young Dick Clark. We watch the show and I lean closer toward her. She stays put and never glances over toward me. I rest my hand on the arm of the chair and force my eyes to the screen. My breathing takes effort and I hear my own heart pounding. Heat rushes through me and my boldness comes alive in the darkness.

“Ivy,” I whisper.

She swallows and meets my gaze. “Shh . . .”

The way she turns is slow and sensual and it completely steals my breath away. I lean back a little in my chair and give her another glance. I feel like a kid again in the movie theater, wanting to make out with my girl, and the tent in the middle of my jeans is a dead giveaway. What the hell is wrong with me? I reach over and drop my hand to the bare skin of her leg. She stiffens.

“Ivy,” I whisper again.

She turns her head and I focus on her face, her eyes. I stare at her lips. I imagine sliding my tongue down the smooth curve of her arm and shoulder. I sit here as long as I can until I can’t take another minute of wanting her. I lean over and pull her face toward mine. I don’t think she’s breathing. I stop short of her lips and just hold her close to me. I feel the rush of adrenaline as my need for her spikes with every passing second.