“Yeah.” I’m usually the one suggesting we head home early. Not that we wade into the pool of wandering hands and sloppy lines that often exist on a bar’s dance floor.

“Later, boys.” She slides out of the booth, and I’m right behind her.

I don’t know the name of the song playing, but it has a steady, sultry beat that’s easy to move in time to. I focus on the rhythmic pulse, letting the glimmer of warmth in my veins guide my movements. I only allow myself one glance at Gray. He’s deep in conversation with Emmett.

“Now’s your chance,” Sloane tells me between songs.

“My chance for what? To show off my shopping cart?”

She snorts at the mention of my trademark dance move. “No. Your chance with Gray Phillips.”

I tense and learn it’s difficult to dance when your body feels like it’s been encased in plaster. “I don’t want a chance with him.”

Sloane gives me her patented I don’t believe you look. “I don’t believe you. You’ve had a thing for him since we were kids.”

“I had a thing for him when we were kids,” I correct.

“Same difference. You need a rebound after Logan. Gray is hot, and he’s only home for a little while. I think it would be good for you. Like a summer fling.”

I scoff. Thankfully, the pounding bass of a Lady Gaga song saves me from any more of a response. I’m no longer loose and pliant. I can’t return to my easy, relaxed state after Sloane’s suggestion.

I’m attracted to Gray. He’s no stranger to short, emotionless flings. If I actually made a move, what would he do? We’re both single. Both adults. Maybe I need to shatter the fantasy once and for all. Knock him off the pedestal I placed him on the day we met.

But I know myself. I might be confident in certain areas of my life, but love and romance are not one of them. I never know the perfect outfit to wear on a first date or the right thing to say or the proper etiquette for texting. And like it or not—I don’t like it—Gray Phillips has always been that guy for me. The one who throws my world off-center and reorients it around himself. If I were to gather the confidence to seduce a guy, it wouldn’t be him—the man who makes me forget basic facts by being in the same room.

Is his effect on me healthy? No.

Reasonable? Also no.

But that’s the elusive, infuriating thing about love—it can’t be controlled. You can’t channel it where you want it to go. It chooses its own path.