Please be here.

But then I felt our invisible rope, loose around my neck, and knew, without even opening my eyes. He was no longer tugging.

“Remember this game?” Knight’s husky, gritty voice boomed in the air.

My eyes snapped open. The planes of his deity-like face registered, and, like all the other times I’d seen him, my heart flipped in my chest, nosediving to my stomach like an Olympic diver.

He was sitting with his long legs crossed, a lemon cut in half between us. I looked down at it, realization sinking in. I smiled.

“Fair warning: I practiced all day.” Knight grinned, his eyes raking up my body until they met mine.

I tried to swallow the ball of excitement in my throat. He was so beautiful. And so here. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions: Why was he here? When had he landed? When was he going back? What about Poppy?

But all I could do was shrug.

“I have a good track record of winning. What are we betting on?”

We used to play this all the time when we were kids. There was always a bet involved. He’d always let me win—a mischievous smile playing on his lips as I shoved the victory in his face. He was going to let me win this one, too.

Knight stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“If you win, I promise to leave you alone,” he said gravely, holding my gaze, letting his words sink in.

“And if I lose?” I croaked, ignoring the pain dull in my chest.

“If you lose…” A boyish, devastating grin found his pink, full lips, making my knees stutter, bones hitting bones. “I fuck you.”

Lethal silence. I didn’t know what to say. That’s what he’d come here for? To screw me?

Distress, anger, and lust warred inside me. I opened my mouth, choosing my next words carefully, reminding myself this was Knight. That he had a special flair for self-destruction, and when he felt wounded, he fought back. I reminded myself that Knight always let me win this game, despite his poker face.

“Are you still with Poppy?” I asked.

“No.” His eyes didn’t waver from mine.

I let out a shaky breath. “No?”

He shook his head slowly.

“She finally dumped you,” I tested the waters.

He gave me an exasperated look. “Sure. That’s what happened.”

“If we sleep together, will you tell people?”

His facial muscles didn’t move an inch. “Not even gonna answer that question.”

For all his foul play, Knight wasn’t like Josh. He never kissed and told people about it. Never confirmed his Casanova status. And, until mere weeks ago, he had remained a virgin. For me.

“I would like to negotiate the terms of my win.” I cleared my throat.

“I’m listening.”

“If I win…” I bit my lower lip. It was impossible to say this without sounding patronizing. “If I win, you stop drinking and start attending AA meetings.”

He didn’t even blink. “I agree to your terms.”

“I’m not some prize,” I added, scoffing as an afterthought.

“You are to me,” he said frankly, his tone void of emotion.

“And I’m not a whore.”

“I’m well aware. I’m not buying you, Luna. I’m merely making a point.”

“What is the point?”

“That once you’re with me, you won’t be able to touch anyone else. Want anyone else. Feel for anyone else.”

I already know that, you fool.

I took a deep breath, leaning forward and snatching one half of the lemon. It was cut precisely in the middle. He always played fair. Knight took his lemon. Our eyes met, and we shared an identical beam.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. A quiet, tiny part of me wanted to lose, but my competitive streak wouldn’t let me. And Knight would protect me by losing, anyway. Not to mention, he’d make love to me if I asked him to, bet lost or won.

“Whoever flinches first, loses. Ready?” He tapped my nose.

“Ready.”

We bit into our lemons at the same time. The bitter, sour juices exploded in my mouth, making my eyes water, but I schooled my facial expression as best I could, my eyes roaming Knight’s face as he nonchalantly took bite after bite of the lemon’s flesh, his eyes dead on mine, as if he were eating an apple.

I took another tentative bite from the lemon, panic trickling into my gut along with the sour tang of the fruit. He should start making a face right about now. He always made a face. Then he’d secretly eat the entire thing, unflinching, after I did my victory dance.

Knight took another bite, his entire demeanor teetering on the verge of indifference.

What was he doing? Why wasn’t he wincing? The rule was, if neither of us recoiled, whoever ate the lemon more quickly and thoroughly won. Knight had only won one time, when he’d wanted to take me to prom and I’d insisted I didn’t want to go. He’d cared so much about giving me this high school experience that he hadn’t allowed me to win. This, I was beginning to understand, was his second strike.