Snippets of what happened last night barrel into my half-asleep brain, painting a picture so vivid it wakes me up faster than my alarm.

It doesn't take long to realize the bed I'm in isn't mine. Mine has a beige comforter and a dozen pillows, two of which are stuffed in silk pillowcases so my hair wouldn't frizz up. It doesn't smell of Sebastian, either, unlike the bed I'm in.

Bast is sleeping with one arm hugging his pillow and the other hanging off the bed. His parted lips are barely a few inches away from mine. I struggle to recall how many times I kissed them, but it clearly wasn't enough.

I watch him sleep for a few heartbeats and roll onto my back. The throbbing between my thighs is another reminder of what happened between Bast's gray cotton sheets. My gaze roams the room, landing on the two empty tumblers, and my stomach twists.

Memories of him telling me he'd never sleep with Elena if he were sober, him staggering on the highway and me getting the drunk Bast into my car, him getting smashed after our first kiss and kissing me after drinking on Brian's birthday appear, making me queasy.

That's what last night was — a drunken hookup he'll regret when he's awake. And I sold myself short, unable to resist him like Elena and who knows how many girls before her. Because the three times and my five orgasms proved he knows what he's doing. Only that he could do it to anyone. With anyone. I was just near.

I slip from under the comforter and search for my clothes. When I locate the pile on the floor, I scoop it up and scurry out of Bast's bedroom, careful to be silent as I softly close the door.

In my room, I grab a clean pair of panties and pull them up my legs. A bra, an oversized sweater, socks, and jeans, and I'm ready to go. Run away. Do the walk of shame out of my apartment.

I slip my feet in a random pair of sneakers, scolding myself for breaking my every rule. My confidence must've stayed in Bast's bed because the only thing I want to do is cry.

And that's what happens once I'm under the hot spray in the fitness center shower on campus. I sob with my forehead pressed to the tiled wall, hating myself for being stupid, thinking with my hormones, and loving every minute. I added one more thing to the collection called "Stuff you can't undo" because the guy I used to hate annihilated my common sense.

Once I've gotten dressed, dried my hair, and applied my makeup, I make my way out and halt at the sight of Drew exiting the guys' locker room. He arches his brow and folds his muscular arms across his chest. "Good morning. I didn't see you at the gym."

Just great. Leave it to me to run into the most perceptive guy I know, who I also had slept with, although it wasn't the same. We laughed it off and had breakfast together. And both of us were sober despite hooking up after a frat party.

"I was going to work out but changed my mind," I say, avoiding Drew's eyes.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. "You. Changed your mind about working out."

"I didn't want to shower at home, okay? I don't want to explain why."

I push past him, tripping on the wet floor. Why do they do the cleaning so early?

"Easy there." Drew grips my elbow. "Tara."

I sigh. "What? Everything's okay."

"What did Bast do?"

I could tell exactly what, how many times, and in what positions, but I'd rather keep those memories to myself and revisit them during my date with Rhett.

"He did nothing," I say. "Really. I just needed to get out of the house."

"I'd grill you some more if I didn't have to hurry to class." Drew winks. "Don't think I'll let you off the hook easily."

"Don't worry about me." I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "See you later, okay?"

Drew zips up his jacket. "I'll text you."

I keep my eyes on the ground as I hurry to the Science building for my first lecture. Thanks to taking too long in the shower, I don't have time for coffee, and my mood deteriorates further. Lucky for me, a sulking student in Accounting doesn't surprise anyone. The class is a nightmare, and just being there is reason enough to sport a sour expression.

When the class is over, I drag my feet out of the lecture hall and linger in the hallway, debating what to do. I could grab a latte. Coffee would help me wake up some, and I need all the energy I can get today. It's my father's fifty-fifth birthday. I have a party I don't want to go to and a guy I'm running from—just another Thursday in Tara's life.

Latte it is. I take off toward the stairs, but my steps slow. Bast is walking in my direction, a scowl on his face. I take a step back, but before I can pivot, he reaches me and seizes my hand.

He steers me toward a hallway on our left and marches past the row of identical doors. With a glance to his left and right, he opens a door and presses a hand to the small of my back, ushering me inside.

As soon as the door closes and I lean against it, he grips my chin, lifting it. "Why?"

Words queue up in my throat, and my traitorous body vibrates from Bast's proximity. He took a shower and shaved, and he's wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt that hugs his torso enough for me to see the outline of his muscles. I look away from his chest, hugging myself.

"Why?" Bast's tone goes from pissed off to gentle, as if he's terrified of spooking me. "Why the fuck did you leave?"

My gaze snaps up to his. Hurt swims in his hazel eyes, and he drops his hand from my face.

"I thought..."

"You thought?"

"I thought you'd regret it when you woke up. I didn't want to stay there and watch you act weird, so I left first."

Bast rakes both hands through his messy hair, making it more disheveled. "Why would I, huh? Why would I regret anything?"

"You drank."

An incredulous laugh flies out of his mouth. "One drink? Okay, one and a half. Do you want me to give you a play-by-play of last night? Because there's not a fucking thing I've forgotten. You came five times, Tara Van Doren. Three on my cock, two on my fingers. This morning, it could've been two more. On my tongue. But you chose to leave, and you're giving me a shitty excuse now."

"You regretted your past drunk hookups." I clasp my hands and study them. "How was last night different?"

Bast groans, locking his hands behind his neck. "I don't know how it was different, Tara. It just was. I wanted to wake up next to you. Don't we owe each other a good morning kiss or, I don't know, breakfast and a conversation?"

"It was important to you." I didn't mean to say the words, but they tumbled out on their own accord.

Bast presses his palms to the door on either side of my head and edges forward. "I haven't drunk anything today. Not even coffee. And all I've thought about is you. So, what happens now?"

My muscles relax in surrender. I cup Bast's jaw, and his lips come crashing down on mine. I open my mouth. His tongue teases mine, rubbing its tip, and the throbbing between my legs I felt in the morning returns, except now it's stronger and not painful.

I want him. And when he slowly grinds his hips against mine, I realize he wants me too.

"Does it feel like regret?" he rasps, running his fingertips through my hair.

I shake my head. Bast circles my shoulders with his arm and presses me to his chest. "What are you doing tonight?"

"It's my father's birthday party."

"On a Thursday?"

I inhale the scent of Bast's cologne and wrap my arms around his torso. "He always celebrates his birthday on the same day he was born, even if it's Thursday. I'll be home late."

"Speaking about late. We'd better hurry. Dr. Garcia started the lecture five minutes ago. Unless you want to skip..."

"We can't," I mumble into the cotton of Bast's shirt. "He'll give our next assignment today."

"Let's go then." Bast squeezes my butt. "You could also ask him how ethical it is to leave a guy in bed. My guess is not ethical at all."

I kiss his jaw. "You'll survive, Sebasti."

♡♡♡

When I'm ready to go to my father's place in the evening, Bast comes out of his bedroom and pauses in the foyer doorway, watching me.

"You look beautiful. I didn't realize the party would be big." He points at my black satin dress and black stilettos.

"The usual." I shrug. "I'm sure I don't know most of the people my father invited."

I open the closet and pull out my black coat. Bast takes it and stands behind me. As I shove my arms in the sleeves, he presses his lips to my cheek. "Drive safe, okay? Call me if you need me to pick you up."

"I'm not going to drink, but thank you. What are you going to do?"

"Draw." Bast hands me my clutch purse. "No dicks this time. Just a cute family portrait. I also need to study."

"Good luck."

I place a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and exit the apartment.

Bast doesn't leave my mind on the drive to my father's place. That he doesn't regret the night we spent together makes me feel both relieved and anxious. Our relationship is uncharted territory I'm navigating without a map in the dark.

As soon as I unlock the gate to the mansion and drive through it, I spot an array of luxury cars. I park next to a black Lexus and fetch the bag with my father's gift from the back seat.

Where is Cara when I need her? Mingling with a bunch of boring dudes and listening to their blabbering with a smile is the least appealing thing I can imagine, and as my heels click on the paved walkway leading to the mansion entrance, I plan excuses I'll use to leave the party as soon as I can.

I unlock the door with my keys and step into the epicenter of birthday festivities. Waiters carry trays with champagne and appetizers, tux-clad men talk while much younger girls in cocktail dresses hang on their arms, eagerly listening to the conversations that sure as hell don't involve them or anything they'd be interested in.

Nobody pays me any mind, and I rush to the kitchen, where I hope to spend an hour before I can leave. I'd have to find my father first. Hopefully, his guests will keep him busy, and he won't have time to talk to me.

I shrug off my coat and walk into Cara's sanctuary, closing the door behind me. Her recipe notebook is on the counter. I rest my coat and the present on a stool and sit on another one so I can flip through pages.

The sound of footsteps outside the kitchen rises over the muffled noises of music and laughter.

The door opens, and my father's lips split into a grin. "Rick told me you were here."

I stand. My father walks up and throws his arms around me, squeezing.

"Happy Birthday," I say. "I have something for you."

I reach for the bag with his gift and thrust it into his hands.

"I'm happy you're here," my father says. "You didn't have to give me anything. Dinner will be served shortly, but I need to have a word with a couple of people first."

I smooth my dress. "Sure. Is anyone I know here?"

"Only Rick," my father says. "It's a boring event full of boring conversations. It's quiet upstairs in case you wanted to be there."

There's only one place I'd rather be — home with Bast, watching a movie, or talking. But I nod. My father pats my back and leaves the kitchen. It's for the best—it was me who hoped we wouldn't have to talk.

But it takes a glance at Cara's recipes to remember other birthdays and the chocolate cake with raspberries on top I baked for Dad each year and sitting on my father's shoulders as he ran around the garden faster and faster just to make me giggle.

I dash out of the kitchen and duck my head on my way to the front door.

Outside, chilly air nips at my bare arms, but I'd rather be cold than stay at a party where I don't belong. Once upon a time, I had a family. Not anymore.

I walk along the driveway. More vehicles joined the ones I'd already seen.

One, a Benz, is familiar, except it can't be. A lighter clicks behind me, and a rake of shivers crawls up my spine.

And then it's the smell of tobacco and woody cologne with undertones of leather. And the deep, raspy voice. "Atla."

I turn. Ian freezes, the lit cigarette wedged between his fingers. "It's really you, huh? How long has it been? Two years? Three?"

"What are you doing here?"

He takes a drag and blows out the smoke, steely gray eyes not straying from mine. "I could ask you the same. What's a good girl like you doing with those people, Atla? Wait, it's not Atla. It's Tara. Tara Van Doren. Vincent's daughter. Tell me something, does he know? Because someone could tell him and ruin his party."

My belly becomes a sinking stone. Shame and regret flood me, but I square my shoulders and take a step toward Ian. "Go ahead. Tell him. Right now, if you want."

Ian stubs out his cigarette. "Not yet. Maybe one day. I'll let Vincent enjoy himself tonight. See you around, Atla. Don't disappear on me again."

He pivots and marches toward the mansion. Just as tall as he used to be. Just as strong at his thirty-five. Just as secretive.

What's he doing here? How does he know my father? What the hell does he want from me now?

The first tear falls. I wipe it with the back of my hand and hug myself.

I can't be here. Can't risk running into Ian again. And the only way to enter the house unnoticed is by using the back door, assuming it's unlocked. I survey the area to make sure nobody sees me but notice someone behind the fence.

Mav's face looks pale under the streetlight. He's staring at me as if he forgot I live here. I run to the fence, not caring that the heels of my stilettos sink into the freshly mowed lawn.

"Mav!"

I come to a halt and run a hand across my forehead, panting. "Hey. What are you doing here? Have you been waiting for me?"

Mav lowers his gaze to the ground and turns.

Bile rises to my throat. "Mav."

He ignores me and keeps walking until he's nothing but a barely discernible silhouette among the trees.

♡♡♡

I could be drinking something disgusting, but money means quality and Vincent Van Doren doesn't keep cheap liquor in his home office.

I take another swig of Armagnac from the bottle and groan, throwing my head back.

It's almost two a.m. I've been in the garage for over an hour, and it's time to go home to Bast because my head spins and my phone is dead. Sleeping in my Maserati isn't my idea of a good night.

I leave the bottle under the seat, take off my heels, grab them and the clutch, and get out of the car. The elevator ride to our floor seems neverending, but the heavy door finally opens, and I pad to our apartment.

Two walks of shame in one day — yay me. Please be asleep, Basti. I don't want you to see me like this.

I rummage in my clutch and fish out the keys. The apartment is dark save for the foyer light Bast must've forgotten to turn off. I blow out a rush of air, but my relief is premature — my roommate materializes in front of me. Tall, sleepy, and delicious.

"For fuck's sake, Tara. What the...Where's your coat?"

He looks confused. Worried. But he doesn't know. And he needs to find out from me before Ian ruins everything.

I press a finger to my lips. "Shh, Basti. Listen. I have a question."

Bast puts his hand on my bicep. "Questions can wait. You're freezing. Let's get you to bed."

"No. I'll be quick. Have you ever wondered how much someone's virginity costs? Of course, you haven't. I'll tell you. It's enough to pay for a year of college, so you don't need to use your father's money. Enough for a girl to be free. And when you're not even sixteen? Well, make it three years. I told you money wasn't everything, Basti. Guess what? I lied."

I'm back with more Tara and Basti. Tell me your thoughts. Theories. Wishes. Are you surprised? Shocked?

Love,
Alwyn