*
I shoot Court, who's now standing at the side of my bed, one of my meanest, lip-snarled looks. To which she responds with an undeterred grin.

My phone lies flat on the mattress, and I confirm the vid chat has ended. Better close the app. Actually, let's go ahead and power this thing off.

After my splendid friend had informed us of our new weekend plans, I'd jolted up abruptly and succumbed to one of the worst stutter-bug infestations on record—yes, I understand karmic acts. It's not that I don't want to see him. Of course I do. But tomorrow?

I fall back into my bed, still in a state of shock. "Don't you think... Wasn't that a bit..." I drag my eyes to meet hers as she slugs a swig from the almost empty wine bottle. "Maybe a little too forward?"

Court made quick work of booking a nonrefundable ticket. She said Heath, her husband, had a couple appointments in the morning but could give me a ride to the airport. She may have some of the fastest and most skillful texting fingers north of the Mason-Dixon. We know who holds that rank on the southern side. Not that he texts fast, I wouldn't know. But I'm talking about... never mind.

It's like she predicted any and every excuse I'd try to come up with before they pieced together in my racing mind and exited my mouth.

I'd offered to search for a hotel, being last minute and whatnot, while struggling to ignore the herd of hummingbirds in my belly. Court saved me from my incessant stammering, suggesting Trey could handle the bedroom arrangements. She concluded with a double wink, which he returned with a laugh, gesturing his agreement.

Why's he so much more chill?

We ended the video call with both of us appearing bewildered on the screen. Yeah, it was just me. Talk about being put on the spot. I caught a hint of excitement—I'm hoping—when Trey said he'd be there at six and would meet me at the arrivals area.

Before I could backpedal or produce an acceptable excuse, Court announced I had to go. That her clock was ticking, and we'd have plenty of time to play this weekend.

"Please." She smacks her lips. "All you were doing was going backwards. Someone had to advance the pussy-footing.. And since we're discussing pussy."

"We're not."

"I am," she says, peering down at me sprawled on my bed. "Because I'm suspecting your depilatory neglect extended to other areas."

"Not happening," I mutter, knowing damn well the overgrowth will require multiple blades.

Court nods in an oh-it's-happening way. "Time to weed your lady garden."

"Disturbing."

"Let's give your downstairs a shine up."

"Not today, you fucking sadist."

She pings a finger in the air. "We gonna trim this motha-fuckin' quim." Theres a second of deliberation before she appears satisfied with her word-smithing.

My disgusted facade fades, and I can't fight a smile. This crazy ass is humorous—gotta give credit where it's due. Then it dawns on me. "Now I know where I get it from."

"You're welcome." She curtsies before sashaying from of the room. An actual ballet sashay.

I remain in my current state of bamboozled, mentally flinging clothes from my closet, plotting which outfits to bring. What will show off my best... assets? Not that it matters. No, absolutely not. I'll be going there to help him. To grow my portfolio. That's it.

That's not it.

But what if he's seeing someone? What if he's had sex with someone? Not that I can say boo, but ugh. Also, maybe he hasn't. Was I really only his second? Why didn't he try to reach out? I did tell him to take care. Did he experience that strange sappy kind of connection, or was he being nice? I mean, I know he likes me, or he used to. But what if I put too much—

"Get out of your head!" Court snaps. My gaze narrows as I move to sit cross-legged on my comforter. "What?" she asks in a mock-angelic voice, spreading her stuff out on my bedside table. When she plugs in the small crock-pot thing, a disturbing giddiness contorts her features—I swear, she enjoys inflicting pain.

"I can't just take off." My hand flips out to the side, fingers struggling to count the reasons. Because there's really nothing I need to do.

"Yes you can." She pulls her shoulder-length hair into a low pony. "You can do whatever you want."

"I have a..."

Dark eyebrows pinch over her hazel glare. "A house plant? I'll water it."

"I was gonna say a job." I recall the fleeting flash of alarm in Trey's eyes when Court delegated him to figure out sleeping arrangements. It seemed as if there was something—I won't overthink it. Yes, I will. But he said he'd love to see me. Love? No, he probably said like.

Ew, brain. Stop. It!

"Lucky for you"—she spins the wooden stick in her vat of torture—"you're only a puny assistant."

"That's mean." I scoff. She's not wrong, though. Once I'm selling, it can be any day of the week. But for the time being, while I'm the team's gofer girl, I'm working a regular nine to five. Well, seven to three—but you get it.

"I'm supposed to hit the gym on Saturday." Pathetic.

She knows it. "Go twice as hard on Monday. Anything else you wanna throw at me?"

"Guess not." I sigh, glancing at my hands.

"Listen, Bri." She sits next to me, and grabs one. "We haven't been around each other for years."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I shoulda made it a point to check in. To try harder."

"No." She gives my hand a squeeze. "That's not what I'm getting at." Another squeeze has me leveling with a sincere stare. "What I mean is that we haven't been around each other—in person. So I couldn't see your reaction when you talked about any of the guys you met or were dating. But I can now."

"What if he's not into me?" I project my insecurity into the universe.

"Come on." Her body shakes, along with her head. "I could see his face too."

"He's Chaz's friend." I'm not sure why I'm so focused on derailing a train that's still in the station.

"Fuck Chaz. You need to do what you wanna do. Spend the weekend ogling that gorgeous man who gets you looking like this." Her finger taps my lips.

Just the mention of Trey stretches my smile further. Maybe she's right. As weird as it is, there's something about him that makes me feel... accepted.

"Just go." Her voice is endearing. "Live it up, and don't put pressure on it. Soak in some rays and let loose. I can tell you've been stressed."

I run my fingers through my hair. Spur of the moment decisions have never been my jam—besides the whole mid-bang decision to up and make a cross-country move, leaving my comfort zone behind. And where'd that get me? Right back at home under my parents' thumbs.

"Seriously." Court's grip tightens. "Fuck Chaz and whatever moronic garbage he said to you."

A breathy laugh flits from my nostrils. "It's not even about him, it's just..." I've been trying to forget, because he doesn't need more messy in his life. That's much too depressing of a statement. Instead, I settle on an other truth.  "He makes me nervous."

"Duh," she says, abandoning my hand to stir the wax. "Did you see him? He's fucking hot."

He most def is fucking hot.

Pleased with the glittery gold consistency, her attention swings back to me.  "But so are you, Briar. And this is your life, your story. You decide where it goes. Nobody else."

"Minus the friend who booked a flight to the destination of her choosing?" My eyebrows wing, but her words hit.

Why not go see him? Why keep convincing myself it was all nothing—a dream? Why not take a chance?

"Whip out the Briar gusto I know you've got in there," Court says, recognizing my lessening apprehension. "Go have a banging weekend. Do you. Please do him. Let yourself be wild, free and completely..."

As her gaze bounces around my room, I rewind to the handful of days we had together, remembering how free it felt to do and say what I wanted to. No judgment, no demands for me to act any certain, appropriate way. Wasn't it Trey who told me not to change in the first place? That he liked me that way?

"Uninhibited," we both supply the word that seems to fit the bill in unison.

"Yeah... okay." I fall into the nod she's coaxing from me with her own.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," my slow-clap of agreement

"There she is," Court says.

"Here I am," I reply.

"That's the spirit." She does some sort of celebratory dance then points at me. "Now lie back, you beautiful ho-bag. Before you go to Georgia, you're going to Brazil."

Before I'd said goodbye in New York, I couldn't help watch Briar sleeping so peacefully. She's a perfect amount of angel, with a sizable splash of devil added in. Not in a bad way. But she's got an undertone of mischief, and a magnetic personality that sucks you in. She was exactly what I needed.

At the time.

Leaving her there was like a dropkick to the junk, because she'd changed her from being this dream girl—which she still kinda is—to a human. One with flaws, who is imperfectly perfect.

And I felt it. That feeling. I've had it before, though in that instance, it was ten times as strong.

All that happened was I got way too invested in someone who wasn't into me. And no matter what, I won't do that again.

Briar's the myth, the fantasy that became a reality. And thank God I could get my mind to drift elsewhere for a few seconds, because I almost blew it when I sunk inside her and transcended into another realm.

That would've been embarrassing.

When I'd boarded the plane back to Georgia, I decided on several things. I was gonna take a page from her playbook and stop giving such a fuck. Do whatever felt right, say what I wanted—within reason—and quit being the guy everyone wants to hook someone up with because they're stable and sweet. I was going to live life and finally have some fun doing it.

I'd almost faltered when I messaged her two days after that night. Chaz congratulating me for sleeping with her was... uncomfortable. My heart skipped a beat when she replied instantaneously. Her response to "take care" was a staunch reminder of our agreement. And of what it meant to her.

So, Ive put myself out there, letting my sister, Tara, set me up with a work friend. Nothing serious, only a few dates, just wanting to forget about her.

Briar coming here will help me get on the right path to solidify a good look for my club. And getting to shack up in a hotel—I'm gonna have to charge it, not like she can stay with me in my current living arrangement—is a win-win.

It's her and that unrestrained mouth that gave me the push to run with this new attitude, and I gotta admit, it's a good time.

I've resolved myself to viewing Briar as a fuck buddy—a superiorly hot one. Someone, when given the opportunity, to have fun with.

And nothing more.

A/N: Trey!?!?! Where are you? Thanks to so many of you reading. Rereading. You are so appreciated.