My head hurt like a bitch from The Dictator beating me while screaming at me. As I entered my room, the silence was louder than usual. I tossed my jacket onto the chair–only, I didn’t. Right. The “Montgomery girl” still had it.

Things got a little more interesting after he finished beating the shit out of me. He told me to stay away from her while he dealt with business he didn’t want me fucking up, but that was the last thing I planned to do. The memory of her standing on her doorstep, swallowed up by my jacket played in a wicked loop in my mind. It was far too large for her frame, the sleeves practically made it look like she had no hands. Only, in my imagination, she was completely naked underneath my jacket.

She looked deliciously innocent, though.

Fuck, she probably was. Especially with the beating that I received. One of the guys had to rip the old man off of me before he fucking shot me. The bastard pointed a gun at me! And for what?!

I did, however, like the idea of my jacket draped over a chair in her room where she could see it regularly. Did I? Maybe I do.

What confused me was her hesitation with me. Girls didn’t hesitate with me. But she wasn’t most girls, was she? Those big blue eyes widened when I leaned in... fuck that innocence was so tempting. She was so close, too.

She lives a few houses away...

I ran a hand over my head, feeling the fresh buzzcut I got a few days ago. I laughed, remembering what her friend said to her at the door. “Guess I can’t call you a virgin anymore.” Was she really a virgin? Who at twenty was a virgin?

Part of me wondered what would have happened if her friend hadn’t opened the door. I couldn’t predict it, and that was a first for me.

You’re overthinking it–moving too fast. She’s got her little distraction of a boyfriend and an inability to say no. But that smart mouth...

A knock on my door yanked me out of my thoughts of the day. I didn’t even need to guess who it was.

Sloane.

She always had this way of showing up when I least wanted company. Pushing myself up off the bed to open the door, I saw her leaning up against the frame in her typical catlike manner. The smirk on her lips reeked of trouble.

“Hey, you,” she purred, pushing through the door as if it just didn’t exist. “Saw your bike in the driveway. Thought I’d stop by.”

She lived nowhere near my house. “Sloane. I’m not in the mood. I’d like to relax for once.”