When Juliette and I spent that weekend in the Keys, when I took her virginity, when I stared into her eyes that night I finally told her how I make money, I made a silent vow to be better.

More honest.

More authentic.

More real.

I promised myself that I would only give Juliette the best of me. Not the fucked up me that sells drugs and fucks women without knowing their eye color, last name or, hell, first name on occasion. Not the badass who drives around the beach in his half million dollar Porsche or the one who pistol-whips DJs who don't do what I want.

A better man.

But goddamn, Juliette is testing me now with these questions about Victoria. My brain is telling me to lie. My heart is telling me to rip it out of my chest and set it at Juliette's feet and beg for mercy.

"Well?" she asks accusingly. "Have you?"

"I've known Vee since we were seven," I say slowly. "She's been through a lot. We've done a lot together."

Juliette blinks and folds her arms over her chest. I stand up and begin to pace the deck.

"I know you're nervous because you're running your hands through your hair."

It's as if we're in tune with each other's emotions, feelings, actions. I can sense hers, she can sense mine. After just a month together. It's usually pretty amazing and cool. Usually. Not tonight, because I sense she's pissed.

I stand with my back against the balcony rail. Juliette's legs and arms are crossed. Closed up. Walled off. Probably because she knows the truth.

"Vee and I have a history. It's true." I shrug. "We've been together a couple of times."

"How can you make it sound so casual?" The look of genuine confusion on her face strikes at something in my heart.

I sigh. "I care a lot about Vee."

When Juliette rears back as if I've slapped her, I hold up a hand. "Not like I care about you. Nowhere near what I feel about you."

Her rigid body softens.

"Vee and I have been through a lot together. She was a real tomboy in elementary school. She'd beat guys up if they fucked with me. It was hilarious. And I helped her in school, because she was dyslexic. And as we got older, we became buddies. I thought of her just like I thought of Ash..." At the mention of his name, my voice trails off and I'm awash in memories, of Ash and Vee and I skateboarding near the abandoned mall, of us playing video games, skipping school...

"Things changed when we got to high school. Vee became interested in guys and guys were interested in her. I wasn't though. We were still buddies. But then her mother's boyfriend raped her, and she turned hard. Shut down. To everyone but me." I sit next to Juliette. "And yet, she still helps her mother, still is a loyal daughter. She's difficult. But deep down, good."

"What does all of this have to do with my question? I mean, I'm sorry that happened to her, but, you still haven't answered. And if she's so great, why aren't you with her?"

"I'm giving you context. When Vee started to work for me after high school..."

Juliette frowns and looks around, probably wondering what the fuck she's gotten herself into.

"Yeah, she occasionally, ah, handles some sales. Anyway, we were in our early twenties, maybe four or five years ago, when it first happened. We were together a few times over the years." Christ, it's hard looking at Juliette while talking about this. I don't want her to know any of this, but I can't stop telling her the truth.

"But why? I don't understand."

Something in me snaps and so does my voice. "We were both horny and lonely."

Julitte's jaw drops and the disappointment in her eyes feels like a stab to the heart. "Oh."

"I never said I was a saint."

Silence.

"You need to know that I've done a lot of things, especially when I was younger, that I'm not particularly proud of. Especially when I'm around you."

"But if you cared about Victoria, why did you treat her like that? I don't understand."

I sigh. Juliette is maddeningly logical at times, especially for someone so dreamy. She's also a romantic, and naive. Fucking to sate a base, primal urge isn't something she'd ever dream of, probably.

"I can't answer that. It's one of those things that, now I'm talking about it with you, seems shitty. I care about her as a friend. Like I do—did— with Ash."

Juliette blinks fast, as if trying to process how that could even work.

"From your perspective, it sounds crazy. I get that." My chest is tight with guilt.

"Well, yeah, because I assume neither you nor Vee were hard up for companionship."

"I wanted someone familiar. Something familiar. I know, it's fucked up."

I sigh and rub Juliette's bare knee, which is smooth and velvety, like the skin of a peach.

"But that was all before you. All in the past. So I don't want you to worry or feel jealous or anything. Please? Vee and I are over in that way. I hope you can accept her as a friend, though. Because she's been loyal, more than anyone other than Zoe. That means everything to me. And she said she wants to get to know you."

"Great. Did you ask her to be my friend? Like I'm a pathetic toddler?" she rolls her eyes. "Do you want me to be more like her? Flashy? Flirtatious? Wild?"

I shake my head slowly. "It's not like that. And not really."

"What do you mean, not really?" She mocks my tone.

"Vee doesn't let the world get to her. She doesn't let anything stick. She hides her pain and struggle well."

"And this is a good thing? And I don't hide my pain well? Maybe you don't know about all of my pain yet, or what sticks. If I recall, I'm the one who moved out of my mom's house on three days notice, while Vee's still living at home, at least sometimes. Let's not talk about struggle, or how difficult the past few weeks have been for me. Have I said one word?"

I sweep a lock of Juliette's hair out of her face and think about how we kissed in back of that grocery store. How she took what she wanted from me and walked away. How she hasn't complained once since moving out.

Hasn't shown one iota of fear.

Maybe she's right. Maybe she's more like Vee than I ever considered.

Fierce and tough, but in a quiet way.

"When was the last time you were together?" Her voice is cold and pointed.

Juliette Phillips, my eighteen-year-old girlfriend, might be inexperienced, sheltered and innocent. But she's not a fool. She has the intuition of women twice her age. She must have smelled Vee's latent possessiveness.

I lick my lips. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"We hadn't been together in a year or so, until..." I need to keep my fucking mouth shut.

Juliette leans toward me and tilts her head. "Until?"

"It was that day I first saw you in the diner." I can't raise my head to look at her.

"Before or after?" Juliette whispers. A delicate shimmer of sweat has formed on her forehead. I hate myself for making her feel uncomfortable and a pang shoots through my heart when I look into round, sad eyes.

I'm hoping my long pause reveals my answer, but Juliette's searching eyes are imploring me to say the right thing. But because I made this fucked-up personal vow to always be honest with her — well, as honest as I can be, without jeopardizing her safety — I have to tell the truth.

"After."

She sinks back and closes her eyes. "I know we weren't together and you were free to do whatever, but...it makes me feel weird. Jealous. And I don't want to be jealous of her because I kind of like her. Even though I probably shouldn't. I feel like you used her."

She's worried about Vee? God, Juliette's too good. I run my hand over her smooth calf. Why can't we be kissing and laughing right now? If only Vee hadn't come over when she did. Christ. "No. It's not like that. We used each other. And it's not reflection on what I thought of you that day, or how I feel about you now."

"It feels wrong. I'm not sure if I'm the one for you. Maybe you should be with Vee."

"I don't want to be with her."

"But you want to keep her around." Her glare is so defiant I can practically feel the anger radiating off her body.

Oh, fuck. When Juliette begins to stand, I grab her wrist. "Come here."

She plops down next to me with a sigh. The way she's avoiding looking me in the eye isn't good.

I cup her cheeks as tenderly as I can, even though all I want is to drag her into me and hold her tight. She screws her eyes shut.

"Look at me," I say fiercely. "Open your eyes."

She does, and there's liquid brimming at her bottom lids.

"That day, after I saw you, I had to visit her for business. She sat on my lap."

A fat tear rolls down Juliette's cheek. My thumb instinctively brushes it away.

"While she was ... while we were ..." I can't find the best words to use here. Fucking? Having sex? Screwing? Boning? Using each other because we were bored and horny and it was a better way to spend an hour than watching some bullshit on YouTube? "Together. While we were together, I thought about you."

Juliette recoils, her body sagging away from me, but I inch toward her. "I'm not proud of that. But I'm not going to lie to you about this, or try to gloss over the truth. I fucked Victoria while thinking about you. That's the hold you had on me from the very moment I saw you. Don't you get it? I didn't think I could ever have you, but I could fantasize about you."

Her eyes are the color of frost on grass in the fall. "That's kind of sick."

I let go of her face, wondering if I've ruined everything with my stupid fucking vow of honesty.

Juliette jumps up and walks quickly into the condo. I follow.

Please don't leave. Please don't. I need you.

Jesus, should I tell her that? Tell her how much I need her? Or will that scare her away even more?

She's twisting the strap of her purse in her hands and glancing at the door. I stand next to her and slowly, hesitantly, wrap my arms around her.

She doesn't move. Thank God she doesn't move.

"I'm not a good person, Juliette. But I'm trying to be, for you. Because now that I know you, I can't imagine life without you."

How could he? How could he screw Victoria right after seeing me that day? Is that what guys do? God, I wish I could call Allison right now, but I know she's up in Orlando, moving into her dorm early.

Or call my mother, but she's been working long hours in her new job. She'd be appalled by this whole situation and tell me to get out of Miami move to Jacksonville. Which maybe isn't a bad idea.

It hits me that I've become so isolated in a short period of time. I don't even have a girlfriend to talk stuff over with. Who can I turn to? Victoria? Zoe?

Yeah, right.

Griffin's become my best friend. One who's being brutally honest with me, and I don't like it at all.

He extends his hand. I take it and he pulls me toward him. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his body and rest my face on his chest. He's stroking my hair in that slow, sensual, reverent way. As if I'm a fragile piece of crystal.

And I won't lie: a part of me feels some satisfaction that he thought about me while screwing Vee. Gloating's not a pretty emotion, though.

"Have you been with anyone else since that day?" I say, my voice muffled by his t-shirt. Do I want to know? My stomach gurgles from the wine and the angst.

Griffin leans back and his gaze slides from my eyes to my lips. "Only you. Only you since that night at the club."

"Even during that month we didn't see each other?" I shouldn't sound so skeptical, because I trust him. Despite everything, I trust Griffin.

And I love him.

The depths of my love for this flawed, beautiful man makes my eyes brim with tears again.

"Even during that month. All I did was mope around and look at your sexy photos on Instagram." He draws me in for a hug and adds in a low voice, "Okay, I didn't just mope. I also romanced the bone a little."

I pull away, frowning. "Romanced the bone?"

Griffin chuckles and traces my mouth with his thumb. While looking into my eyes, he hums, then murmurs in a low voice. "Jerked off."

My jaw drops and I giggle. The thought of him doing that while looking at my Instagram is both silly and super hot. My giggle turns into a fit of laughter. Which makes Griffin laugh. And then he's kissing me, ravenous, right there against the kitchen island.

This kiss seems more serious than others. Less playful and more raw. Explosive. I slide my hands under his shirt and my fingers skim over the hot, muscular skin of his stomach, then I impatiently try to pull the shirt up his chest.

He strips it off while backing me into the living room, in the direction of the sofa. When we're standing next to it, he turns me around.

"How do I get you out of this one-piece thing?" he says, running his hands over my shoulders.

"The zipper." I point toward my nape.

He sweeps my hair away, wrapping it around one fist in that motion that I love. As he trails kisses down my neck, he attempts to lower the zipper.

He fumbles a little, and by the time it's undone, I'm positively shaking with need.

He slides my romper off my shoulders, then down over my hips.

"Kneel on the sofa," he commands.

When I start to turn around, he stops me. "With your back to me."

I kneel on the sofa and he leans into my ear. "Spread your legs."

I do, and the position makes my ass stick out. He slips the shoes off my feet and leans in to gently bite one of my butt cheeks. I yelp.

Because I'm so unsteady with desire and all that emotion from talking about his past, I lean forward slightly and grip the back of the sofa.

He's at my side, pressing his hardness into my hip while nuzzling my ear and the tender space underneath. As his right hand slides down the back of my white lace panties, his left skims down my stomach under the front waistband.

I gasp when he simultaneously plunges two fingers in me from the back and rubs my clit in circles from the front.

"Don't you get it, angel?" he growls into my ear. "Don't you understand that I love you and that I only want you?"

I don't understand a thing because he's fingering me with such rhythm that I'm moaning and whimpering. But I can't come. I'm too nervous, too keyed up. And this position, while hot, is uncomfortable.

I twist my head in his direction and he kisses me. "Griffin, I need you on top of me. In me."

It takes about two seconds for him to flip me onto my back. I wriggle out of my panties and bra, aware that he's taking off his jeans and sheathing himself with a condom.

Seeing him fully erect makes me even wetter, and an insistent throbbing has overtaken my clit. Maybe now I'll be able to orgasm.

He doesn't have to ask me to spread my legs. I'm open for him already.

With his cock in hand, he guides himself into me, pushing hard.

It causes me to gasp and I expect him to slow down or ask if it hurts like he has in the past, but he doesn't.

Not this time.

"Juliette, I love you. Don't you ever fucking forget that." He's pounding into me and I wrap my legs tight around him, feeling a twinge of pain and that seductive sensation of satisfaction.

"Did you come?"

I whimper a no. "I'm so close, though."

"Want to be on top?"

I shake my head.

He stops thrusting and sits up a little, allowing enough space between our bodies for me to side my hand between my legs. With a gossamer touch, I circle my own clit.

"Slow. Go slow."

He shudders in a breath while eyeing my breasts, then my hand. Easing out of me, he slides back in with control. "Fuck," he whispers. "I want this to last forever, you feel so good. I want us to last forever."

Forever. Me too, Griffin. Me too.

I find the right rhythm on my clit, in time with his thrusts, and I finally climax. It's as if I can't contain the pleasure in my body, and I let out a loud cry while grinding against him.

"That feels good, doesn't it, angel?"

"Faster," I demand while reaching for him. All I can do is meet his hips with mine, rake my nails down his back and open my legs wider.

"I love you." I'm half sobbing, half-panting now.

When Griffin explodes into me, he groans loud and then lowers his voice to a whisper. "You got me, Juliette. You got me good."

And the satisfaction I have from his words is better than any orgasm, better than any credit card or condo.

Griffin Davis — drug dealer, deeply flawed man, the kindest person I've ever met — is all mine. Not Zoe's. Not those random women in all the clubs of South Beach.

Not Victoria's.

Mine.

____