The problem with nightclubs is that you have to endure a hundred pervy guys for every cute one.

I reserved Saturdays for dancing my face off, like Pam suggested. I made a few friends — ones I wouldn't have to pretend to care about during the rest of the week — but I became good at slipping away if any creeps became too persistent.

Though I tried to avoid it, I compared everyone to Jay. I wished I'd never let him get away from me. The flames cooking the sky that night had nothing on the spark between us.

Then, one spring Saturday as I walked into the Tap Room, his presence engulfed me like a layer of skin. I smelled him.

I caught sight of him at a booth, wearing a black leather jacket and looking even more handsome than I remembered. I turned away. Should I wave? Go up to him? What would I say? We'd met months ago. He probably wouldn't remember me, and then I'd look like an idiot for thinking otherwise.

But I felt his eyes follow me to the bar and then back to the dance floor. If he recognized me, he didn't come over. Two hours went by. And then I saw him chatting up the tattooed brunette sitting next to him. Who were those people he was with? They looked older.

In my effort not to look at Jay, I made eye contact with a military buzzcut at the pool table. He waved me over. He and his friends were a foot taller than me, with overtrained arms and necks like tree trunks. They were probably part of some sports team — or gym rats pretending to be.

I decided to go for it, if only to stop freaking out over my non-conversation with Jay.

Buzzcut looked way too excited as I approached. He glanced to his friends as if to say, "Are you seeing this, guys?"

"Hey, mister," I said over the booming music.

Jay was watching. I felt his gaze as though he was right behind me, breathing on my skin.

"That shirt looks good on you," said Buzzcut. "You know, it would look even better off you."

I wanted to say, "It would look even better rammed down your windpipe."

Instead — because Jay was watching — I laughed. If I'd heard that fake trill coming from another girl, it would have made me want to punch her in the throat.

"I'm Kurt," said Buzzcut, leaning on his pool cue.

"Harley."

I'd been giving the nickname to strangers. In class, I was Harleen, and I wore pencil skirts and a bun and carried a laptop. On weekends, I was Harley, and I wore hair extensions and contact lenses and jean shorts that showed too much ass.

"What are you drinking, Harley?"

"I'm good for now, thanks," I said, swirling my G&T.

"We're headed to the bar," said Kurt's friend. "We'll grab you another."

"No, thanks." I didn't fancy drinking something these frat boys brought me.

"Get her a martini," said Kurt.

He leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. I slammed my hand over two balls, stopping him.

"I said I don't want one."

Kurt faltered. He glanced up at me, cleared his throat, and said over his shoulder, "Just a beer."

I scanned his perfectly ironed shirt and plucked eyebrows. Mama's boy. Probably still lived with her.

Kurt composed himself and took the shot, sinking a ball.

"So, Harley, what do you like to do for fun?"

"I'm a student. My only hobby is studying."

"Let me guess: English major."

"Psychology."

"Ooh," he said. "So you can read my mind?"

I gaped at him. Was this guy for real?

With his chiselled face and biceps, I entertained the idea that he would be more useful stuffed, or mounted on a wall.

Common American Jock, the plaque would say. Ensnared in his natural habitat.

"So, what sports team are you boys—?" I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Kurt peeled his gaze away and raised his perfect eyebrows.

"That's my girl you're sweet-talkin'," said a husky voice.

An arm slid firmly around my waist. My breath hitched as Jay pulled me to him, our hips touching.

Kurt glanced between us. For a moment, I thought he was going to call bullshit. He had several inches on Jay in every direction. But he stepped back.

"Sorry, man. I didn't know."

I met Jay's piercing green eyes. Beneath a hardness, I caught a glimmer of amusement that I tried to return with the hint of a smile.

In my peripheral vision, Kurt glanced around. He caught sight of his friends — or at least pretended to — and disappeared into the crowd.

"I ain't your girl," I said to Jay.

He kept holding my waist. "Yes, you are."

His breath tickled my skin. Inhaling became difficult.

I drained my G&T.

"Then as my man, are you gonna let me stand here with an empty glass?"

He motioned towards the bar, thin lips pulling into that mischievous smile. I led the way. Facing away from him, I tried to compose myself. The feel of his hand on my waist had sent my heart into a frenzy.

He bought me a double, and a whiskey on the rocks for himself.

While we waited for the bartender, he leaned in.

"When my friends invited me to a birthday party tonight, I expected balloons and cake."

The feel of his breath on my face dizzied me. Then a drunk guy bumped into us, hollering about a round of shots.

I sighed. "There's still time to play pin the tail on the jackass, if you want."

Jay grinned.

The drunk ordered two dozen pudding shots. Jay snatched a couple from the tray and offered me one.

"Cheers, Mister Jay," I said.

We slurped them back. I licked the vanilla flavor from the inside — then caught Jay watching me and blushed.

"Never thought I'd be jealous of pudding," he said.

I dropped my gaze, my face positively on fire.

We pushed back through the crowd with our drinks and found an empty cocktail table.

"Harley, you ever think about the night ACE went up in flames?"

"Yes," I said breathlessly. "Always. I'm so glad you—"

"I did some digging. I found out what that guy was after."

"Oh." Hoping he didn't catch my stupidity, I added, "What'd you find?"

"The guy was yelling about his rights as an American, yeah?"

I nodded.

"What right do Americans viciously protect?" he said.

I looked around, thinking. My eyes landed on the bouncer near the door, biceps bigger than my quads and an expression like he was ready to shoot someone in the skull.

"Guns," I said.

Jay leaned in. "ACE is developing the best the world has ever seen."

My eyes widened.

"I want these guns," he said. "We're American citizens. We have the right to them. Don't you think, Harley?"

My stomach fluttered when he said my name like that. Harley. It rolled off his tongue so smoothly.

I nodded slowly. Maybe he was right. This private research facility was violating our rights by withholding these weapons.

Jay drained his whiskey in one gulp.

"This tastes like batteries. Another round?"

"Nope."

I slurped the rest of my drink and stepped away from the table. Jay raised an eyebrow.

I backed onto the dance floor. "Dance with me, Mister Jay."

His mouth twisted into a grin.

I moved my hips, pretending not to notice the way his eyes traced over my legs, waist, and chest.

He stepped closer and extended a hand. I took it. He pulled me towards him. I pressed close, inhaling his scent of whiskey, leather, and that hint of something sweet, like chocolate or butterscotch.

He spun me, then pulled me in so my back was to his chest. I swayed with him, leaning my head against his neck. His warm hand slid around my waist and pressed against my stomach. Everything inside me tingled. His other hand clasped my wrist firmly, like he would never let me go.

Too soon, he spun me away.

I was at arm's length when someone's fingers clamped around my tush. I let go of Jay and whirled to see a pencil mustache and sunglasses standing behind me. It was one of Buzzcut's friends.

I snarled. "Watch your hands, mister."

"One dance, sexy." His voice was a drunken slur. "You're not getting away from us that easy."

He grabbed my waist, pulling me in, breathing stale beer on me.

Without thinking about it, I punched him. Jab, cross, POW! Something cracked. He went down. The nearest people stumbled as he fell into them.

His friends saw. One of them stormed towards me through the mess of people. Jay was there in two steps. He punched the guy in the nose, sending him crashing backwards into the crowd.

Though the music blared, the people around us had fallen silent. Arms wrapped around my waist, and someone lifted me off my feet and threw me away from the dance floor.

"Get out!"

It was the enormous bouncer. I raised my hands in surrender.

Another bouncer grabbed Jay by the arm and the two of them hauled him towards the back door.

"Wait!" I ran after them.

They kicked open the door and shoved Jay into the alley. He stumbled, but regained his balance.

"Get out of here, assholes," said one of them.

The door slammed, plunging us into silence.

A moment passed where Jay and I stood in the empty alley, staring at the door. My heart hammered. I wondered if Jay would ever want to see me again after that.

After a hesitation, I met Jay's gaze.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the dark street, breathing fast. In heels, I ran to keep up — and even then I was always a step behind him, watching the back of his neck. The feel of his smooth palm against mine did nothing to calm my pulse.

"Are you angry?"

Jay didn't respond.

"We can go to a different place, if you want. I hear Iceberg is fun — but maybe a bit swanky."

Still, he said nothing. We kept walking down the empty street, me breaking into a run every few steps. The street swam in front of me, my heels suddenly too high. That pudding shot followed by a double highball had been a bad idea.

We reached a block with an old highrise and Jay turned towards it. I followed him up the steps.

"Where we going, pudding?" I said teasingly.

He glanced back, then, and grinned a little. My stomach flipped.

Jay stopped outside the glass doors and fumbled in his pockets with the hand that wasn't grasping mine. Our palms were slick, and he was gripping tightly enough to numb my fingers, but I held on, not wanting him to let go.

"Is this your apartment?" I said.

He flashed a key over the black box beside the door, and the lock clicked. He wrenched the door open and I jogged in after him.

He rammed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately. We stepped inside.

As the doors closed, Jay let go of my hand.

I clenched my fist, fingers tingling. He turned. His green eyes bored into me. My breath hitched.

He shoved me against the wall and kissed me hard. One hand reached around the small of my back and the other pushed into my hair.

I moaned. His forceful hands and open mouth and body against mine was too much to process. A warmth rose in my stomach and worked its way to my fingers, and then my toes, and then my brain, dizzying me.

The elevator doors opened and Jay pulled back. I gasped.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me out. His door was the first on the right. In the time it took him to unlock the door and pull me inside, my brain finally registered what was happening.

"Jay—"

The door slammed behind us and he kissed me again, pushing me down the hall. I knotted my fingers in his hair. His hands slid around my lower back and travelled downwards. I pressed my hips into his. He picked me up. I wrapped my legs around him, feeling his body against mine.

I held his face between my hands, working my tongue over his, then leaned down to kiss his neck. I only got two pecks in before he threw me onto the bed.

He removed his belt. I watched him, breathing fast.

He nodded to me. "Undress."

"Yes sir," I said, and then wondered where the sir had come from.

I stalled as he peeled off his shirt. His chest and abs were more chiselled than I'd given him credit for.

"Harley," he purred, sending a tremor through me.

I bit my lip, and removed my shirt slowly. I played with my hair. Then I unclasped my bra. His eyes never left me. I stripped off my shorts, and my underwear.

He crawled on top of me, pushing me against the pillows. I tried to grab him and roll him over, but he wouldn't let me. He pinned both my wrists above my head.

What followed was the best night of my life. We had sex five times. I had to give Mister Jay kudos for stamina. I didn't care that he stayed on top each time, or that his mouth didn't travel anywhere but my lips. I'd never wanted anyone so badly. I could have kept going.

His bedroom glowed faintly in the sunrise as we lay catching our breaths.

"So, where did Harley learn to punch like that?" he said. "I think you broke that guy's nose."

"I kickbox four days a week."

He chuckled. I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. I considered the ways I could keep him here forever — bribing him with food and sex, or sewing him to the bed.

I began to wonder if Jay had fallen asleep when he said, "You'll come with me, then?"

I traced my fingers over his chest and across his jawline.

"Where?"

"To ACE. To get those guns."

"Puddin', you know the man they were dragging out of there was probably nutso."

"He wasn't. He knows something we don't. Imagine what could be in there, Harley."

In his excitement, his arm tightened around me. I snuggled closer, wanting to be a part of that passion. I could be, if I wanted. He was asking me to join him.

The prospect of the two of us breaking into the research facility sent a thrill through my veins.

"You're saying it's our right to own whatever weapons ACE is making," I said. "America just needs someone brave enough to go in there and get them."

He kissed the top of my head. "Exactly."