I shook my head. Impossible. “No. Don’t love me, Spider. Because I can’t love you back. Not like that.”

He grabbed my chin. “Remember who I am,” he muttered and kissed me, this time forcefully, his tongue invading my mouth uninvited. Our teeth knocked together, and I snapped back, but he followed, backing me up against the wall, his hips pinning me.

But I wasn’t afraid because sometimes a woman just knows things. It’s an innate sense given to us at birth, maybe because Mother Nature felt sorry for us, bestowing most of the physical strength to men. As females, we know when other girls don’t like us even when they pretend to; we know when a boy doesn’t love us anymore; we sense when a guy is inherently bad or good. And, Spider was not evil. He’d never hit me or make me bleed like my father had done to my mother.

Sure, a gentleman would have graciously let me go when I asked, but I never said Spider was a gentleman. He’s not. He’s messed up with internal secrets, but he is my friend and I’d never had many. Maybe people would say I’m too accepting of his faults, but the truth is, with the way I grew up, Spider didn’t seem so bad.

And so, I stopped struggling, softening my hands as I clasped his shoulders.

His hold on me eased. He trailed his mouth down my neck, his fierceness losing steam, his common sense catching up with his outburst. He stopped kissing me and hung his head down over my shoulder, his entire body vibrating.

“I’m sorry for calling you Cuba,” I whispered in his ear. He muttered and started banging his head repeatedly against the wall behind me, making the pictures on the wall bounce.

“Spider, don’t hurt yourself.” I skimmed my hands over his bare chest, wanting to comfort him.

He flinched, his body heaving with emotion. “Don’t touch me.”

“Spider, wait—”

His face was drawn in tight lines. “I can’t bear to look at you, Dovey. You’ve got me all jacked up because you don’t know if you’re coming or going. And I’m sick of it, sick of you. I want to forget I ever cared for you. Just get the fuck out,” he said his voice low. Final.

I guess he pretty much covered it all right there.

I slipped around him as he took his fist and slammed it into the spot where I’d been.

I put my jacket on, still hoping maybe he would turn and talk to me, but he didn’t. The cold beckoned and I answered, walking out of his apartment and into the night.

“Sometimes being a dandelion blows.”

–Dovey

COLD.

The icy wind pummeled me as I headed for my car. My feet pounded into the sidewalk, automatically knowing where to go, taking the side streets that led to the main part of BA’s quad and parking area. I burrowed deeper into my coat, pulling the top of it over my mouth.

Like a true Texan, I wasn’t prepared for these freezing temps.

The world was dead-quiet and frozen, and the bleakness of it ate at my gut. Pulling out my cell, I stared at it, but there was no one to call.

I was alone.

Spider had been my one constant, but he’d tossed me out of his apartment and into the cold.

I clutched my dandelion necklace, remembering another time when Cuba had brought me to his house. And I hadn’t been alone. I’d felt good and warm and loved.

My throat thickened at the beauty we’d shared, and I crouched over in the snow, gasping, trying to stop the memories from taking up residence in my head.

But, like the falling snow, the past fell all around me…

A few weeks after Vespucci’s, Cuba and I walked out of a late movie. It was our fifth date.

He stroked my palm with his thumb. “Come home with me. We have a guest bedroom, and my parents won’t mind. It’s too late for you to drive home tonight anyway.”

Sarah wouldn’t mind. I stayed with Spider all the time.

“Are you sure your parents don’t mind?”

“Positive. And if they’re up, I want them to meet you.” He gave me a long look. “I think they’ll love you, Dovey, especially my dad.”

We reached his house, and pulled into a long winding drive that led to a mansion, its exterior reminding me of a castle in Europe. He let us into the darkened house by a side door next to the kitchen area. My eyes adjusted, taking in big pieces of fancy furniture and heavy draperies. We made our way upstairs, and he showed me his room, a spacious blue and white themed space with a king sized bed.

“What happened to the guest room?” I asked, arching a brow.

“I promise to be good,” he countered, shuffling his feet.

I remembered his reputation and my doubts came back. “Was this a ploy so you can have sex with me?”

He crossed his arms. “Stop putting yourself down. And insulting me. I brought you here because I don’t want you out of my sight.” He shrugged. “And if I wanted to have sex with you, I’d tell you up front.”

But I wasn’t sure, and I had his parents to think about, so we decided on the bedroom across the hall from his. Decorated in sage and ivory, the new bedroom was beautiful, like something out of a magazine.

“Your mom has great taste,” I murmured, running my hands over the damask bedspread.

“She didn’t do it. Some decorator did.” His voice sounded off when he talked about her.

“Goodnight,” he told me after we’d kissed, touching my cheek briefly.

And then he walked out. Just like that.

Five minutes later, I practically ran from the room, the door banging against the hallway as I popped it open.

He opened his door and my mouth dropped. He stood there in a cocky way, shirtless in just his track pants and nothing else. I mean, I’d touched him everywhere on top of his clothes, but I hadn’t seen him bare-chested yet. I swallowed.

“Dovey? You need something?”

“You,” I said. “Sleep only though. No sexy stuff. And you gotta put some clothes on.”

He smiled and led me back to his room. After watching some mindless television together and cuddling in his bed, I grew sleepy and decided I’d shower. I’d spent three hours in the studio today and going without one seemed wrong.

So, I went into his bathroom and took a fast one, anxious to get back to him. Then, I dried off and put on one of his football jersey’s he’d given me.

The door opened, and he stepped inside the steamy bathroom.

I froze.