“Jacob,” she breathed. Another step across the rug and he was there to meet her. She put her hands on him. Against his face. Holding him still and looking her fill. She could feel his resistance. The way he wanted to pull himself away and keep himself safe. But he resisted the urge and held himself still.

“I’m not good with soft things,” he said. “With soft sweet things who like to dance and drink cocktails and want to hug and watch cooking shows.”

“I hate cooking shows.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not a soft sweet thing,” she said.

“Softer and sweeter than me,” he said.

“You made me strong,” she whispered. “You made me believe in myself. All I want is a chance to be with you.”

He leaned forward and kissed her and it was a kiss she never would have expected from him. A kiss she never would have thought possible. It was gentle and careful. A promise offered and kept.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” someone said and she and Jacob turned to find two young men standing in the entrance to the hallway. They wore prep school jackets and red ties and the smug expressions of slightly drunk rich kids.

But one of them. The dark-haired boy was the Morelli bastard she was looking for—Paul.

“We’re just looking for a party,” Zilla said, staggering a little and letting Jacob take her weight. “You guys want to party?”

“With you, baby, sure,” the blond-haired kid said. Jacob stiffened but didn’t put a stop to the game.

“Come on,” Paul said. “I’ve got coke in my room.”

“I love coke!” she cried.

“Pouring it on a little thick,” Jacob whispered in her ear.

They followed the boys to the room at the end of the hallway and Paul opened the door to a giant guest suite that looked unlived in.

“This is your room?” Zilla asked.

“I’m only here for a month for the holidays and then I’m back at school.”

Jacob closed the door behind them with a snap and Zilla dropped the act. Turning on the boys with a wicked smile.

“Paul, let me tell you what’s going to happen.”

“What?” Paul asked, he and his friend looked at each other. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend of Angela’s. You remember Angela? Sweet girl. You videotaped her being raped at a party and now you’re threatening to release it on social media.”

“How do you know Angela?”

“Missing the point, Paul. You’re going to give me the phone.”

“Fuck this bullshit.” The blond-haired boy stepped towards the door, but Jacob was there. An immoveable object. “What are you doing, man?”

“Give us the phone,” Jacob said in his calm, quiet don’t-fuck-with-us voice.

“I’m not giving you shit,” Paul said. “Now get the hell out of my room.”