“Teddy, you’re one amazing dude, you know that?”

He stared at the wall. “So are you. You’re amazing, but not a dude.”

I laughed out loud. “Was that a joke?”

He smiled shyly. “Yeah, how was it?”

“Awesome.”

“You can’t make someone love you.”

–Nora Blakely

AFTER VIXEN’S PARENTS picked her up and Teddy left with his sister, Sebastian asked me to stay for dinner. I’d had plans to eat a sandwich and soup at Aunt Portia’s, so I called her and told her I was eating with Sebastian. She was relieved, I think, because it gave her reason to go ahead and head off home. I knew she loved me and wanted to help me, but I hated to disrupt her life.

It might be a little weird to hang out with Leo, but I was adamant about getting over him. Plus, things seemed to have smoothed over a bit at practice. He’d offered me the job, and my gut sensed he genuinely wanted to help me.

Was it possible for us to be friends?

I think we had to try if I wanted to hang out with Sebastian.

Because I’d gotten sweaty playing piano, I took a quick shower first at the gym and then walked back over to my attic space. I changed into a pair of jeans and a halter-style red shirt that was part of some new clothes Aunt Portia and I had gotten over the weekend. It felt good to wear something I’d picked out. I put my hair up in a high ponytail, slipped on some leopard print ballet flats and headed out the door. Mila called on the way over to the gym to say that Sebastian had invited her, too.

When I walked back in the loft, Sebastian was nowhere to be seen, but Leo was pacing around the kitchen, getting ready to cook. He’d taken a shower, and his blond hair was still damp and curling around his ears. He wore track pants that hung low on his hips and a Club Vita muscle shirt that showed the definition in his chest. The long body of his dragon was visible, and I wanted to stare at it, but I tore my eyes away. Some of the tension between us seemed to have lessened, and I didn’t want to bring it back.

“You’re not going to hit me with that are you?” I asked him ruefully, eyeing a pan he’d pulled out of the cabinet.

“Only if you refuse to help me cook my famous spaghetti sauce,” he said with a hesitant grin.

He waved me over. “Come on and help me cook.” His eyes flicked down the hall. “Sebastian’s in the shower anyway.”

I walked over to the counter where he’d set out items to make a red sauce. “Homemade, huh?”

He nodded.

I picked up the sugar he’d set out. “Sugar in spaghetti?”

“Everything needs a little sweet in it,” he said, staring at my mouth.

“I’ve never had homemade,” I said.

“How does your mom make hers?” he asked me, starting to chop the tomatoes. He slid the oregano over to me and handed me a small cutting board and a paring knife. “Here, be useful.”

I chopped. “My mom doesn’t cook. Now, if you asked her to organize a charity dinner for five hundred people, she’d do that in a snap.”

“What charities does she promote?”

I kept my eyes down. “Whichever makes her look the best.”

“You never said why you moved out,” he said quietly.

I flinched, and he stopped chopping to look at me. “I’m not letting you eat until you tell me and that includes dessert, Buttercup.”

I blinked at his teasing. This was a big leap from the day before when he’d given me the Paris book. That whole conversation had been strange. But if I wanted us to be friends, I had to get past the fact that he didn’t want to be with me.

I smiled. “Hmmm, I guess it depends on what’s for dessert.”

He smiled back. “It’s a surprise, so give me the deets.”

I shrugged and gave him the G-rated version. “Mother found out I dropped most of my classes and extracurriculars. Appearances are important to her. She flipped out.”

A few seconds ticked by, and I admitted, “She may have found some cocaine in my purse . . .” I held my hand up at Leo’s suddenly very angry face. “I didn’t snort it, Leo.”

His mouth tightened as he attacked the onions and garlic he’d put in the sauté pan. Wanting to explain more to him, but scared of the questions it might raise, I tried to ignore him. I reached up to the pot hanger above the island and took down a stock pot to boil the noodles.

His silence was killing me.

“I’m not a druggie,” I told him after I couldn’t stand it anymore. Cocaine had been a stupid idea. When Finn had forced me to take it, I’d been a zombie.

He stared at me, his eyes disappointed.

I sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to promise me you aren’t going to do drugs or anything else on that shitty list.”

“I’ve dyed my hair and got a nipple piercing. So what?”

“Yeah,” he said, gazing at my chest.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. Don’t even think about it, mister.

“What else have you done? Random sex?” he asked, standing there motionless, not paying any attention to the hot pan sizzling on the stove.

I shrugged, deciding to not admit I’d abandoned my list. Why did he care if I had random sex with someone?

“Cuba’s willing,” I said.

“What do you mean Cuba’s willing?” he said, slamming down his cooking utensil.

“He wants me, and maybe I want him. He is hot. And I love his hard body,” I piped up, embellishing the story a little. “Of course, I gotta work out the whole ménage thing. I tend to want all the attention.”

Leo’s nose flared. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, he wants to.”

“Stay away from Cuba Hudson,” he snapped at me.

“Why?” I said. “Because you’re jealous? Because you won’t have me, so no one can? It doesn’t work like that, Leo.”

He stood there with clenched fists, and I just didn’t get his reaction. He claimed he didn’t care about me in a girlfriend way, yet he was angry.

Seeing his tense stance reminded me of the tiger in him. With a name like Leo you’d think he’d be the lion type, but he wasn’t reticent enough. Lions are a bit on the lazy side, basking in the sun, expecting the lioness to drag home the kill and let him eat first.