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“Me? He’d go crazy on me?” Khaos chuckles. “All the more reason to wear it.”

“Didn’t he already talk to you once?”

“What would he talk to me about, Silver? Huh? About how his girl was aching to have my lips on her last night?”

“There was no aching,” I inform him shortly and somewhat truthfully. There was an ache, but only after he described what he wanted to do to me. His words created an image I could see vividly. “I only offered what you really wanted as an incentive.”

His scoff isn’t all that believable either.

“But it doesn’t matter because I knew you wouldn’t anyway.”

“Wouldn’t what? Mark every part of your body as mine using only my mouth?”

This is why he’s so confusing. That sounds like a promise, not an empty threat.

I hate that I like it.

That ache returns, causing me to shift in my seat.

“That’s, um, no.” I face forward with a sarcastic smirk. “I meant swim. Because you don’t know how.”

“Take the fucking hoodie.”

“I told you. I’m not—”

Something soft hits the side of my face, and by the time I turn my head, Khaos is already walking away, his hoodie in my lap.

“I’m gonna burn it!”

Khaos spins around and, walking backward, says, “Do me a favor. Put it on first.”

My stepbrother’s back to wanting me torched. Awesome.

We exchange middle fingers in the sincerest go-fuck-yourself way possible.

I wait until I’m at the end of the driveway to bring the hoodie up to my nose. It smells just like him, that fiery-sweet combination of his cologne. What am I supposed to do with this? I can’t wear it to school. I can’t wear it around the house. I can’t wear it ever.

I should light it on fire and send Khaos the video.

But I don’t have his number.

I should throw it in the forest and forget all about it.

But I don’t want to litter.

After another inhale, I pop the trunk of my Lexus, get out, and stuff the hoodie in my cheer bag. I’ll figure out what to do with it later. Right now I have to get to class.

“About tonight…” Guy says as he sits on my bed.

We just got done sharing a clam pie at our favorite pizzeria, and now I’m flitting around my room, tidying up. It can never be clean enough I swear. Something about it being free of clutter keeps the nightmares away. Helps keep the nightmares away. There’s no guarantee I won’t have one. Even having Guy next to me doesn’t always work.

“I could go for something low-key,” I tell him, hoping he’ll take my suggestion.

“How low-key?”

“Yeah, like…nothing.”

“Nothing-nothing? So stay in?”