Jennie

The room spins and blood rushes in my ears.

I blink and expect her to vanish, but Lisa's still here, in this room, still the girl I grew up with, but not a girl at all—the same, but different than I remember. More woman than girl. Taller. Her jaw sharper. But it's still her.

Heat settles low in my belly.

My knees are weak just seeing her.

It's illogical. It's irrational. Years have passed, and other men have followed—men have followed. Not boys. Lisa was a girl when I knew her. This reaction I am having right now, in this moment, is insanity. I am not a seven-year-old in a closet kissing the neighbor anymore. Or even a teen on a porch being sucked into the fantasy of the good-looking girl next door. I refuse to let her get to me.

I rotate on my heel and walk toward the kitchen and away from her, seeking out Solar, or rather the drinks she's compelled me to locate. Lisa's eyes are on me, following me, and I can feel her shock at my departure. No, Lisa, I will not fall at your feet. I will not giggle like a schoolgirl because she stands before me. Nope. Not going to happen. I travel down a long hallway and enter the kitchen. Solar is standing around the island with a group of guys, and none of them are Max.

"I found a drink," she says, holding up her glass.

Before she knows what happened, I'm in front of her, claiming her cup, downing the contents, and choking on the bitter bite of too much tequila and not enough whatever else was mixed with it. I'm in full grimace when someone catches my arm and rotates me. Lisa. "Are we really still doing this?"

I'm already feeling the heat of the alcohol slide over my face. I toss the empty cup at her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She grits her teeth, and before I know her intent, she's captured my hand and she's walking with me in tow. I double-step, trying to keep up, and the room is officially spinning. There's a reason why I don't drink often. I'm a bad drinker. I can't get chill and just enjoy myself. I get awkward and clumsy, and my feet and language skills no longer work. But in my head, I'm still processing enough to know that downing that drink was a mistake.

Especially when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, throws me over her shoulder, and starts climbing upward. There are hoots and hollers, but all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and will this to end. Everything is spinning, and her hand is on my ass, holding my skirt down. Otherwise, it would be at my neck. Her hand is on my ass. This is going nowhere good and I can think of nothing else right now but her hand on my ass and the blood rushing to my head.

I'm aware of us reaching the top level and her cutting down a hallway.

The next thing I know, we're in a room and she kicks the door shut. She lowers me to my feet and I shove against her unmoving chest. "Don't throw me around like I'm one of your dolls to be played with."

"Can you just let it go? We were kids."

"It was only three years ago, Lisa."

"A lot has changed in three years."

"So you're not a player anymore? Because you were a player when you were in diapers. I just pretended it didn't matter." I try to walk away.

She catches my arms, fire in her touch, and when my eyes collide with hers, the hunger in hers eyes steals my breath. "I didn't know if I would ever see you again. I had to kiss you."

"You should have broken up with her first," I whisper, because my fury is gone and all that is left is tequila and this woman. The room is hot and I'm hotter. My knees are weak. I'm weak. She makes me weak and that is not who I am anymore.

"We were always different." Her voice is low, gravelly, weighted with emotion, or maybe it's the tequila making me see what I want to see in her. Maybe all this is about an old friend trying to make things right with me. Which bothers me way too much. I need this to just go away. I need her to go away and stop making me feel whatever this funny feeling in my chest is right now.

"We were kids," I say, and I can barely hear my own words.

She steps closer. My defenses flare and I back up, hitting the wall with a thud. She presses her hands on either side of me. She's close, so close, I can feel the heat of her body in every part of me. My nipples pucker and the sensation in my belly slides lower and lower. "We were always different," she repeats.

My fingers curl into balls by my side, the urge to hit her, touch her—touch her some more—a feeling almost too much to control. And I have no idea what she's trying to say to me or why she keeps driving home the point. I just need her to walk away so I can try and make myself do the same once and for all. It's time to leave my childhood behind. It's time to leave her behind. "If you're trying to apologize—"

She curses and suddenly one of her hands scoops around me, splaying possessively across my lower back, and molding me close. The fingers of her other hand tangle into my hair, a rough, erotic pull to the way she holds me there.

"What are you doing?" I demand, intending to sound indignant, but I sound breathless and aroused even to my own ears.

She steps into me, her powerful legs framing my legs and I can feel the thick pulse of her erection against my belly. "This," she says, "and properly this time." Her mouth closes down over mine, her tongue pressing past my teeth.

I resist, or I meant to resist. I try, but every hard inch of her is pressed to me and she smells so addictively earthy, and she's so familiar and yet different in all the right ways. My fingers curl on her chest, and when her tongue slides against mine, I'm done for. I moan into her mouth and sink into her and the kiss. A low, rough growl escapes her mouth and then we're all over each other, kissing and touching. Her hands are everywhere I want them and have always wanted them. My hands are everywhere, too, all over her body, everywhere I've ever wanted to touch—and never dared—no holding back, thank you very much to the tequila.

We're committed to going all the way with this, at least at the moment—ripping at each other's clothes, uncaring about the consequences of our actions. Are there consequences? That is, until the door flies open. I'm instantly aware of my dress shoved down and my breast in Lisa's hand when moments before I wasn't aware of anything but what I felt, which was pretty much everything. I yank the silk material up and over me, whirling around to find a pretty blonde who looks a bit like Solar gaping at us. Her eyes burn with anger and her cheeks flush red. "Are you serious, Lisa?" She charges forward and shoves her. "You came with me. You are such an asshole."

Tears sting my eyes and the embarrassment is real and biting. I dash past her and head for the door. "Jennie!" Lisa shouts, but I ignore her. "It's not what you think!"

I continue forward, rushing down the stairs and pushing past and through a group of people blocking the way down.

"Jennie!"

I don't turn. I'm working through the bodies now, and when I exit the front door, I keep going. I run right and just keep running until I'm beside another house, leaning against the wall. I sink down the hard surface much like I did that day years back and bury my face in my hands. Never again. I will never let that woman hurt me again. No, girl. She's still such a girl. She will never touch me again.

I'm done with Lisa Manoban.

She can't hurt me anymore.

My schoolgirl fantasy over the girl I swore I'd one day marry is over.