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  “I think I’m defective or something ‘cause I’m always apologizing to you, Mica. I just…I just lose my self-control with you.”

  I know the feeling.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t-”

  He’s quick to respond, grabbing my wrists in a gentle vice to hold me in front of him. Fear seems etched in his dark gray eyes.

  “No, please. I promise I’ll be good. I need you, Mica. Plus, I have a favor to ask you.”

  His sudden desperation is like an arrow to my heart. I bleed for him. And it’s very uncharacteristic for him to ask anybody for anything. Even with his friends he’s reluctant to ever ask for help. As if it would ruin his image or make him less of a man. Or show his weaknesses.

  When I don’t respond, he pulls me into his arms in the sweetest embrace. I close my eyes when the sound of his heartbeat vibrates through his chest. Ba dump. Ba dump. Ba dump.

  He’s so warm and solid, filling me with a sensation like I’m up on top of a mountain ready to jump.

  It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Freeing.

  But it’s also so terrifying that sometimes I forget to breathe.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  The weight of his hand combs through my loose hair down my back, the other hand at the curve above my butt, his thumb gently stroking the patch of skin under my t-shirt and panties. Goosebumps flitter down my legs.

  He inhales deeply. “Go get dressed and I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

  Just like that, he releases me and swats my ass in the direction of my bedroom, as he heads into my kitchen to wait.

  My head spins and I feel discombobulated as I change into some shorts and a shirt. Lance is like that wild summer thunderstorm. It comes on slowly, rolling in and changing the atmosphere around you until the sky lights up in a frenzy of flashes and fury.

  And like any good storm chaser, I’m enthralled by the inner workings of the chaos, always searching for any way I can get closer to the action; hoping to find out what makes the storm tick before it changes direction and leaves you with a mess to clean up.

  3

  Lance

  “I’ll have the three-egg combo, with bacon and sausage, a side of fruit, the waffle and a cup of yogurt.”

  I hand the menu back to the waitress and turn to see Mica staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief, her dark saucer disks opened wide. Her pink lips agape.

  “What?” I ask, slinking down into the booth so I can stare directly at her from across the table.

  “Dios mío,” she says incredulously. “Where do you put all that food?”

  I chuckle at her ridiculousness. She’s seen me eat an entire pizza and chicken and waffles in one sitting before. This is nothing.

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  I pat my abs and get a thrill as I watch her eyes follow the path of my hand. Just to mess with her, I slip my fingers under my jersey and draw circles around my navel. I love how her eyes turn an even darker shade of brown, glassy with wonder. Maybe even desire.

  I could only hope.

  Pretending not to notice her rapt attention – or at least trying to – I trail my index finger down to the thatch of hair that leads to the elastic of my shorts. She bites her full lips and then seems to catch herself as she quickly looks away.

  I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am disappointed. God, I’ve tried so hard to get her to open up with me. I know she wants to – sexually, that is. I feel it when she’s in my arms, the way she relaxes and gets turned on all in the same breath.

  But there’s this tight thread of reservation she holds onto. She never lets it unravel. Every time she inches too close to that line, she yanks herself back. Back into friend’s territory.

  It’s infuriating, but also sexy-as-fuck. It just makes me want to try harder. She’s not only a challenge, and I’m insanely competitive, but she’s so beautiful and different than any other girl out there. She has a hold on me like no other.

  We’ve been friends for over a year now. There’s been a few times when we’ve made out at parties and we’ve, ahem, broken through those lines like we’ve hit the end of a marathon. I swear the girl has me whipped like nobody’s business and she’s not even my girlfriend. I would do anything for her and it drives me crazy that she keeps this distance.

  Her husky, deeply accented voice invades my thoughts. “So, mi amigo, what is this favor you need to ask of me?”

  Oh yeah, that.

  I’ve got myself into a little jam in school. I struggled to balance it all last year – with everything that happened – and if I want to make the team in the fall, I need to pass my summer classes. And on the top of the list is Spanish.

  I suck at foreign language. Unless it’s something to do with food or booze – taco, fiesta, tequila, fajita, salsa and cerveza – then I’m useless. And my hope is that I can convince my Spanish-speaking chica here to tutor me this summer. It’s a long-shot, because I know she has a lot on her plate, but maybe I can employ my puppy dog eyes. And possibly bacon will help get my girl to do me a solid.

  “You know how I fell behind last year, right?”

  She nods her head, the empathy etched in grooves of tight-lipped smile. Nobody really knows what happened, because I haven’t told anyone. Even my closest friends, Cade and Carver, don’t know. I didn’t want to tell them because we were in the midst of a championship tournament and I didn’t want to see that look of sympathy on everyone’s faces. I think they knew something was going on, and sure they asked, but I lied about everything. I kept it all to myself.

  Sometimes, like now, as I look at Micaela and the sweet light that emanates from her, I want to tell her the truth. But then I wonder if it’s because I want her to know or I just want her to feel badly enough so she’ll let me into her pants.

  Seriously though, it’s sometimes hard to talk to Mica because she is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. It surprises me she even gives me the time of day.

  Truthfully, I’ve been around the block when it comes to women. There’s no hiding the fact that I’m a player. It comes with the territory. As a twenty-two-year old college athlete, I’ve had just about every type of woman there is. Tall, blonde Barbie Dolls, fun-loving sorority sisters, perma-tanned hoops hunnies, and every other college chick who wants to have some fun with a college basketball player.

  But Mica’s different. Her grace and beauty outshine the rest on even her worst days – which I’ve never even seen. Her skin is a perfect blend of bronzed caramel and cinnamon – and she tastes just as sweet. Her long dark hair is buttery soft and smells like milk and honey.

  Aside from Cade and Carver, Mica is my closest friend. While she is oblivious to my secrets, sometimes I catch her staring at me with knowing eyes, as if she can see right through me. Past those darkened curtains I keep closed tight, away from prying eyes. She seems to see through my darkness and it’s her light that beckons me through my anguish.

  “I’m in a pretty tough spot right now. If I don’t pass my Spanish course this summer with at least a C, I won’t be able to start on the team this season and it’s my last year. I can’t lose everything over a stupid foreign language credit.”

  Her eyes grow wide and I realize I may have inadvertently insulted her language.

  “I didn’t mean Spanish was stupid…just the grade,” I reassure.

  Mica sighs and leans her chin in the cupped palm of her hand.

  “So, what do you need, exactly? I’m not going to help you cheat.”

  I give her surprised face and a cheeky grin. “I’d never ask you to do that for me. But I need you…your help learning Spanish.”

  I see every thought flash through her warm, sincere eyes, her thick lashes unable to conceal her apprehension.

  “Lance, you know I would love to help you, but I’m so busy right now,” she argues, shrugging in defeat. “I barely find enough time to study for my own courses, much less time for you.”

  This is exactly the objection I had expe
cted and prepared for.

  “You have Sundays off. I’ll make you dinner every Sunday night. And I’ll drive you to school every Tuesday and Thursday when you have classes.”

  She gives me a strange look. “How do you know what days I have classes? Stalker, much?”

  Yeah, okay, that does sound like I’ve been following her around. But I haven’t. I just have my sources.

  “Ainsley,” I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows.

  I reach across the table, moving the salt, pepper and syrup bottle out of the way, and take her hand in mine. Threading my fingers through hers, I guide our joined hands toward my mouth and plant a kiss on her knuckles. I smile when her eyes darken, and I notice the goosebumps that pattern her skin.

  “With friends like her, who needs enemies?” she mutters with amusement.

  I continue with my well-devised strategy. “Plus, didn’t you say you’re going to lend your car to your brother Mateo until he can save up for a new one?”

  A few weeks ago, her younger brother, Mateo, crashed his motorcycle. Luckily, he walked away with only a few bumps, bruises and a cracked rib, but the bike was destroyed. Being the loving sister that she is, Mica offered to lend him her car, so he can get to and from work for the next month or so.

  She’s been taking the bus to school. I know all of this because I overheard her talking about it with Ainsley one night while I was hanging out at Cade’s.

  Once again, she squints her eyes inquisitively. “I don’t remember telling you this. Now I really think you’re a creeper.”

  She tries to stand up, but I pull her back down with a laugh, shrugging off her suggestion. “I have ears. I know everyone thinks I talk all the time and don’t listen, but I do. Especially when you speak.”

  I let my confession sink in while I take a huge gulp of coffee. Getting up and staying awake this early practically kills me, but I knew it was the only time I’d get to spend time with her.

  Rolling her eyes, she slides her hand out of mine and places it in her lap, fidgeting with her blouse buttons. I can’t help but notice the swell of her breasts underneath the button-down denim she’s wearing. How I’d like to trace those curves with my fingertips and tongue.

  The clearing of her throat draws my attention back up to her face, the look of annoyance clearly defined in her forehead.

  “Really…like how you’re listening to me right now?”

  Shit. Busted. She must’ve said something while I was daydreaming about her boobs and I missed it.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” I give her a big lopsided grin that I know she can’t resist.

  I haven’t had a lot to smile about the last year. Everything in my life has changed since last March when we lost out in the NCAA Tournament. And then May came and went and I saw my two best friends go off to start their new lives and careers. While I was left behind.

  All I want to do at this point is to finish my last year in college and figure out where I go from here.

  Granted, real life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’d take the college party life any day over the adult world. I’ve seen what it does to people…my parents, especially.

  I shake off my thoughts and worries and return to my attention to Mica.

  “Okay, you busted me. But sometimes, I can’t help just staring at you. You’re so very…what’s the word in Spanish?” I scrunch my nose and snap my fingers when it comes to me. “Estás bonita.”

  The blush and sweet smile that lights up her face is all the confirmation I need. I’ve got her.

  “You are nothing but a persistent flirt. You know that, right?”

  I shrug and shake another packet of sugar in my coffee.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a sweet, charming guy who wants to tell a woman that she’s beautiful.”

  Mica throws a full sugar packet at me and it hits me in the shoulder before falling in my lap and then landing on the floor. I laugh at her aggravation and bend down to pick it up, but not before I get a glimpse of her silky legs under the table, her shorts riding up to show off her creamy smooth thighs.

  I inhale deeply and squeeze the packet into my palm to avoid the instinctive desire to reach out and run my hand between her legs. It takes everything I have to keep my hands off her. Oh, she would be murderous if I ever did that to her in public.

  I clear my throat and discreetly adjust myself as I sit back up, opening the packet and dumping it into my cup. I may or may not have an addiction to sugar; part of my overall addictive personality. And sugar and Mica are on the top of that list. Among other things.

  She fidgets uncomfortably and finally sighs in resignation.

  “Fine, I’ll help you,” she says as I practically drag her across the table in a bear hug. “On one condition.”

  She accentuates this point by lifting her index finger in the air as I let her hand go, wondering what she’ll request, hoping it’s sexual favors. Fuck, I’d get down underneath this booth right here and now if she wanted me to eat her out. Give her a thousand orgasms a day if that’s what she wanted.

  I blink away my pornographic thoughts as she rights herself against the back of the booth. Placing her hands on the table, her fingers play with the tiny wooden mixing stick from her coffee cup.

  “Anything,” I promise.

  She sighs as if it’s a monumental request. “No drinking. You need to be sober when we study. I’m not going to waste my time if you show up drunk or high and don’t take this seriously.”

  I’m a little stunned at her comment. I hadn’t expected her to say that.

  That wasn’t what I’d hoped she ask me. But her help is the only thing that will get me through this, so I tell her the lie she wants to hear and hope she can’t see through me.

  A lie that I hope I have the strength to commit to.

  “I swear. Scout’s honor.”

  4

  Mica

  It’s been two weeks since I agreed to help Lance with his Spanish studies. Honestly, when I initially agreed, I lacked the faith that he’d take it seriously and put in the work.

  It’s not that he isn’t smart, because he is. And he can do anything he sets his mind to. But over the last year, I’ve learned that Lance is often committed more to basketball and partying than he is to his studies. Or graduation. He doesn’t seem to take life seriously.

  That’s one of the many differences between us. Maybe it’s what complements us both. I’m not sure. Where I have a reputation of being too serious and one-track minded, Lance is notoriously flippant and irreverent.

  So, to say that his dedication and follow through so far has surprised me is an understatement. Our study sessions during the weekday mornings have been productive and he’s kept the goofing around to a minimum. And that’s saying a lot for Lance, because he is the biggest goofball I’ve ever met.

  As I stare at him now across the café table in the student center, I remember the first time, last year when I met him. Ainsley and I were studying in this very spot. It was in that moment that I knew I was going to have it bad for Lance Britton.

  “Hey, what answer did you come up with for question four? Is it Admitting and Discharge or Admitting diagnosis?” Ainsley asks, using the pencil eraser to tap against her bottom lip in thought.

  I peek up from my notebook and consider the question.

  “I think it’s diagnosis. Those two acronyms are so confusing because they look so similar…but-” I’m unable to finish my response because Cade, her boyfriend, sneaks up behind her and covers her eyes with his hands.

  Ainsley shrieks in fright and practically jumps from her chair as she whirls around to find Cade behind her. And then before I know it, he’s leaning down and covering her mouth with his in a very public display of affection. In fact, there are a bunch of catcalls and whistles around the student café from other students, and I turn my head in embarrassment, blushing from the intimacy of the scene.

  While they are absolutely adorable together, it
feels like I’m a voyeur in a very private moment. I would never feel comfortable with that level of PDA.

  Before I can focus my attention elsewhere, the chair beside me is pulled out and a very large body drops in it with an exaggerated flop.

  “Fuck, dude. Get a room,” he says, his voice low and booming. Then he turns to me, as if we’re in cahoots. “Right?”

  I can do nothing but just stare at him because I’m speechless. It’s one thing for Ainsley to be going out with Cade – the hot shot basketball player at ASU – who everybody knows and worships. But to have his friend and teammate, Lance Britton, speaking directly to me like he knows me is something else entirely.

  My eyes find his – as I crane my neck, the back of my head practically hitting my shoulders – and I’m immediately ensnared in the warm swirl of his gray irises. The amusement in his gaze has me flustered and I quickly look away, my shyness taking over.

  I glance down at my book and notebook, picking up my favorite lip balm and slather it on my lips.

  And then in an instant, Lance’s face is right next to mine and he’s sniffing me. Like I’m some sort of scented candle at the mall shop.

  “Mmm. Strawberry. I love strawberries,” he casually, yet sensually, comments. “They’re my favorite fruit.”

  My head snaps back and his look of surprise suggests he’s not used to having a girl flinch around him.

  Lance snickers and then leans in to grab the tube from my shaking hands. I watch as if it’s in slow motion – as his shoulder brushes my left breast, his fingers unfolding mine and the freshly showered scent of him – it’s all overwhelming.

  As if in a trance, my eyes remain locked on him as he uncaps the balm and sniffs it again.

  He tilts his head toward me, smiles coyly and says, “Now I’ll always think of you when I eat fresh strawberries.”

  He reaches for my hand and places the tube back in my open palm. The current of electricity runs through my veins and up and down my spine, detonating along the way. I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. His touch is that potent. That electric.