“Were you friends?” I ask, not caring but knowing it’s my turn to say something.
He goes on and on about the classes they shared and the time he got to see them in the talent show and how he went to one of Adam’s parties his senior year. I’m mentally plotting my escape when the guy’s eyes flit over my shoulder and open wide, sending untamed eyebrows jumping up into his forehead. His hand latches onto my forearm like a lifeline, and I turn my head just in time for my lips to brush Joel’s cheek. “Is this guy bothering you?” he questions in my ear, his blue eyes turning to read mine before narrowing on the guy’s hand, which recoils from my arm even though the rest of the guy looks totally dazed. With his wide eyes and unhinged jaw, he’s so starstruck that I can’t help but cast a quick glance at his lap to check for a man-for-man hard-on.
“You know Joel Gibbon?” he gasps, startling me from my detective work.
“Who, him?” I ask, pointing a lazy finger at the boy standing behind me. Inside, I’m giddy as hell that Joel came to find me. Outside, I’m mildly bored and totally unfazed.
“Oh my God,” the guy says. “I’m such a huge fan!”
“You apparently went to school together,” I add without turning to face Joel, who loosens up behind me even as his both of his heavy arms come to wrap around my shoulders. Since no one else has popped up at my sides, I’m guessing the rest of our group stayed backstage to watch the closing band perform.
Joel’s chuckle rumbles against my back. “Oh yeah? What year were you?”
The guys talk and I tune them out until the hot fanboy eventually gets a picture with Joel and leaves. And then Joel’s suggestive voice is in my ear again.
“Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Are you ready to stop being a man-whore?”
He has the nerve to laugh. “Why, are you jealous?”
Insanely. “Why would I be jealous?” I peel his arms away and turn on my stool to face him. “I’m the one you always go home with.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” he muses with an agitating glimmer in his arctic-blue eyes.
Joel usually begins the night with someone else—or a few someone elses—and on nights I’m not around, he goes home with them. But on nights I am around, I always end up winning his attention—through exhaustive effort that I’m really getting tired of exerting.
“If I say no, what will you do? Go home with one of them instead?”
“You won’t say no.”
I scoff at him. “Shows what you know.”
When I spin away from him, he squeezes up behind me again and presses his lips against my ear. “You won’t say no because you know all the things I want to do to you.”
He starts telling me exactly what those things are, and my toes curl in my peep-toe pumps. Goosebumps spread from my ankles to my ears, and I abruptly hop off my stool.
“Where are you going?” Joel calls after me.
“To see if you’re a man of your word!”
Acknowledgments
MAYHEM IS MY debut novel, which means that the people named on this page took a chance on me and on this story, and for that I’m saying thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my three best friends—Kelleigh McHenry, Rocky Allinger, and Kim Mong—for being the most phenomenal critique partners and cheerleaders I could have asked for. Kelleigh, thank you for making T-shirts with my characters’ names on them long before this book was published. Rocky, thank you for loaning me the first romance novel I ever read, which forever changed my life. And Kim, thank you for encouraging me to try my hand at creative writing back before it was something I ever thought I’d be good at. Without you three (and our emergency Panera dates!), this book might still be just a dream.
To my mom, Claudia, for always believing in me. Your lifelong encouragement of my dreams—even when they were crazy—is why I’m accomplishing them today. Thank you for your unconditional love and unwavering support—and for reading my drafts even when the dirty scenes made it weird.
To my husband, Mike, for putting up with the mood swings that went along with me living inside Rowan’s head. You’ve supported me throughout this entire process, and I love you more than words can say.
To my agent, Stacey Donaghy, for always knowing when I need a laugh, a phone call, or a glass of wine. Thank you for being Type A right along with me, and for being the best advocate for this story I could have asked for.
To my editor, Nicole Fischer, for helping make my dreamiest dream a reality. Thank you for giving this story a home, for loving Rowan and Adam as much as I do, and for making sure I didn’t skimp on the naughty parts.
To Liis McKinstry for looking out for Adam’s rep. To Amanda Bergeron for seeing the potential in this story. To everyone at HarperCollins for working their magic. And to everyone else who has supported me—because there are a lot of you and you know who you are—
Thank you for being rock stars.
About the Author