I headed to the fridge, grabbed a bottle and then returned. “You should drink this.” When she took the bottle, I sat on the edge of the couch. “So that made you, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” she whispered, ducking her chin.

“That’s really young to be drinking.”

Sitting the bottle down, she fixed her ponytail. “Yeah, you didn’t drink when you were fourteen?”

“I snuck a beer or two at fourteen, but I thought your parents were strict?”

She snickered as she dropped into the moon chair. “I don’t want to talk about them or drinking or Halloween.”

Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out those three things were connected. And it also didn’t take a vivid imagination to picture a young Avery getting too drunk at a party and doing something she came to regret later. At least, I hoped it was that. “Okay.”

Shortcake watched me a second and then went about trying to take her sweater off. A laugh built up in my throat, but got stuck when she dropped her sweater. She wore a tank top underneath, but the material was thin and exposed a lot of flushed skin. Her nervousness seemed to run deeper than a beer buzz or even because I was here after all the crap between us.

She stood again and started pacing. When she stopped, in between the kitchen and the hall, she curled her fingers under the hem of her tank top.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She didn’t respond as her slightly unfocused gaze met mine. I had no idea what she was thinking. I never really did, but she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Wariness settled in my bones. She was definitely up to—

Avery pulled her tank top off.

Holy. Shit.

I inhaled sharply. “Avery.”

Holy. Shit. Shit. Shit. That’s about all I could think as I stared at her in her black bra. I’d seen her when she was sick, but I had not seriously really seen her. Not like now. Her breasts were full, straining against the lacy cups as she dragged in one deep breath after another.

When she leaned against the wall and let her arms fall to her sides, I clamped my jaws together as I breathed deeply. My gaze dipped from her face again, to her breasts and then down the smooth line of her stomach. Her jeans hung low and her belly concaved around her navel. The sweet curve of her waist begged to be touched.

She was obviously drunk and if I was a good guy I wouldn’t be staring at her like I wanted to eat her up, but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t remember standing, but I was and somehow I had moved around the couch. Heat built between my legs, thickening and potent.

“Cam?” she said breathlessly.