“Hi,” she said brightly, with more enthusiasm than she’d ever greeted him. She knew her face was red, her hair sweaty, guilt written all over her expression, but she pretended that everything was normal and that her father, a detective who’d spent his life being suspicious and who was an expert in recognizing when someone was lying, didn’t notice anything unusual.

“What’s going on?” he asked casually.

About that time Jay flushed the toilet loudly, ran water in the sink, and walked out of the bathroom. He, too, was red in the face and his lip was discolored, a bit of dark blood visible where she’d bit him. Kristi wanted to drop through the floor and disappear.

“Hi, Detective,” Jay said, and reached for his jacket, which had been slung over the back of the couch. “Gotta run. Work.”

“Good idea,” Rick Bentz said, his eyes narrowing on Jay. “You know there’s a rule in my house. One my daughter seems to have forgotten, so I’ll tell you. It’s archaic, I know, but hard and fast. There are to be no boys in this place when I’m not here.” He glared at Jay, then at Kristi.

“Sorry. Just bringing her home.”

“And ending up with a split lip?”

“Yeah. Kristi can explain,” Jay said, shooting her a look. “’Night, Kristi. Detective Bentz.” And then he left her to deal with her father and “the talk” in which her father asked her if he needed to make an appointment with a doctor; if she needed to be on the pill, or should he be buying her condoms. She explained about the wrestling match, about biting him to gain control, and her father exploded, telling her that she was pushing it, that boys don’t have any control, that she was asking for trouble.

“Way to go off the deep end, Dad,” she declared, furious. “For your information, not that it’s any of your business, I’m fine. I don’t need pills or anything yet and when I do, believe me, I’ll take care of it. Myself.”

And she had. Six months later.

So now, here she was, in the dead of night, declining a ride from Jay McKnight, the boy to whom she’d given her virginity, then tossed over. The boy who was now a man and her college professor.

“I’ll see you next week,” she said, and moved away from the truck.

“I’d feel better if you’d let me drive you.”

Shaking her head, she half smiled. “I can take care of myself,” she said, echoing the phrase from so long ago once more, then turned on the heel of a boot and headed toward Greek Row and the Wagner House.