I still had no idea who it was, or how I could be so weirdly aroused at a moment like this. I flashed on dancing with Bryce Tripp last night, and lighting my cigarette from his, and his icy blue eyes, and I wondered if only someone as confident as he was could do anything so audacious as this.

And then I remembered something else while still trying to slow my car down without wrecking it. It hadn't been Morgan who'd talked Ian into having one more shot with us, like I'd thought earlier. It had been me. Morgan had been goading him, but it wasn't until I'd spoken up that Ian finally glanced in my direction, and, for just a moment, he gave me this accidental look that seemed to say I'd do anything you ask me to do, anything at all. Then he drank down his second shot.

I took my hand from the gun.

Instead, I clutched the fabric of Ian's hoodie in the seat beside me.

Whoever it was in the back seat of my car right now, trying to reach into my pants while I tried to keep the car on the road, it was probably more likely that it was anyone in the world other than Ian.

And yet no matter how well I knew it couldn't possibly be him, for a moment I hoped somehow that it was.

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