I bolt the door. Then I throw on my ear buds and pace around my room while I listen to music on my phone. I can’t stay still. I’m not used to feeling this alive. Dylan’s fingers and his sounds when he touched me are on replay in my head. I want to turn the fantasy off. I need to turn it off. Because this three-day thing I’m in the middle of is just that—a fantasy. Real life doesn’t feel this good.

My favorite song by Tori Amos comes on, and my eyes smart with tears. I feel like a part of every woman’s heart is in her vagina. Lilla says I should use the word pussy. She thinks it’s more sensual. Either way, I think a piece of my heart resides in that part of my body, which is why it’s so important who I allow inside. Because I’ve already made a lot of mistakes in that area. Not in terms of numbers—I’ve only slept with three guys. But all three were missteps. Miscalculations. All three couldn’t give me even close to what I needed. And I don’t want to make another error in judgment. Not with my body and not with my heart. Because for me, the two have always been intertwined.

I go over to my mound of clay and stare at it. Then I kneel on the floor. And I sculpt him. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t get Dylan Wild out of my head. And sculpting is the only way I’ve ever found to stop thinking.

I work at the clay for quite a while. When I’m finished, I don’t think anybody else would recognize the figure as Dylan Wild. Because I sculpt rather weirdly. I’m a weird sculptor. Abstract, I like to call it. When I sculpt with a particular person in mind, I go for their essence rather than their physical features. Something like that.

That’s why I quit art school. I got my business degree to be practical, but I tried art school for one semester in the night program after work. I thought it was just what I needed, but I quit by the end of term. I felt like they tried to change me, tried to change my own unique style so that it meshed with everyone else’s. It felt like taking the best part of someone and trying to squeeze them into a predetermined mold.

I never even opened my first set of grades. I threw the envelope into the trash and took the garbage down to the street immediately so I wouldn’t be tempted. Grades and judgment can be a dangerous game to get hooked on, and I have enough problems as it is.

I’m in the bathroom washing the clay off my hands when I hear—

“Jasalie!” Lilla’s knocking on my door like the hotel’s on fire. “Jase! Are you in there?”

I throw a towel over the sculpture of Dylan and go let her in. “Hey, Lil. Is everything all right?”

“Where have you been?” She throws herself down on my bed. “I need guy advice!”

I join her on the bed. “I don’t think I’m the best person to come to then. My own situation’s a bit of a mess.”

“That’s okay. We’ll talk about you later. Me first—I’m freaking out!”

“Sure, but tonight’s event starts early because they want to finish up by nine-thirty. I need to start getting ready, and you should too, so spill it fast.”

“I think Marcus’s girlfriend is flying in for the team party tonight.” She sits up and pouts.

“Well.” I pause as my own internal warnings about Dylan go off in my head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s still planning to discuss it with you?”

“I doubt it. He’s been totally blowing me off.” Lilla returns to a prone position on the bed. “We had the most passionate night together, but today…nothing.”

“Lil,” I say. “Why don’t you just ask him straight out? You know, rather than worrying yourself sick over it?”

“Good idea! Mind if I use your phone?” She’s already up and crawling toward it.

“Well, actually, I think that’s more of a private thing…” I begin. “And whatever happened to a cell phone?”

She’s already dialing. “I don’t want him to recognize the number. So calling him from the hotel phone is the only way.”

“I’m just going to step outside while you talk.” I grab my phone and run for the door.

“Hi, baby, it’s me. What? It’s Lilla, you dumb-ass!”

I groan as I slip outside the room. I sit down on the hallway floor and wait it out.

Ten minutes go by. I really wish I’d brought a book out to read. I hear some yelling from Lilla, and I’m really glad I’m out here.

“Hey, Jasalie.”

I look up at Colton Wild as he peers down at me. As the team’s star tight end, Colton’s huge—stockier than Dylan and with enormous arms. He’s an impressive figure in the otherwise empty hallway.

“Hello, Mr. Wild.” I jump up.

He grins. “Please call me Colton.”

“Okay.”

“I’m on my way to the ice machine. The one on my floor is broken.” He tips his head at the empty plastic bucket in his left hand.

I nod politely.

“How are things going?” he asks me.

I swallow. “Um…”

He chuckles. “I’m not snooping around for Dylan. Don’t worry.”

I smile. “I know he’s your cousin and your best friend. That’s nice you get to be on the same team.”

“It’s a lifesaver,” he says soberly. “Neither of us would have survived the lifestyle otherwise. Anyway, Dylan’s happy,” Colton says with a genuine smile. “Reminds me of myself when I met Sky. My wife. We’re newlyweds.”

I swallow hard. “Oh. Congratulations on your marriage. That’s exciting.”

“We’ll have to all go out together sometime. Maybe when we get back to L.A.”

I nod politely. But Colton just stands silently, waiting for me to say something.

“Um,” I stammer. “That would sure be a surprise. Dylan and I kind of…”

Colton smirks. “I know about the ‘deal’ you two struck. Dylan can be a stubborn ass.”

“Well, I’m not any better. I realize what we’re doing sounds crazy.”

“Nope. Not to me. I know Dylan better than anyone. I get how guarded he is. And it sounds like he’s met his match.”

I let out a long breath. “Guess so.”

“But agreeing to help so Dylan can land the support he needs for Wild 4 Kids—that’s awfully generous of you.” Colton nods in approval. “It’s an awesome charity. Thanks for doing that.”

I swallow. “Of course. I totally get the idea of art being therapeutic for kids.”

“Well, Sky’s waiting for me. I’ll see you later, Jasalie. Nice to see you.”

“Same here.”

Once he’s gone, a sweaty rush of discomfort washes over me. What if Dylan and I are both in way over our heads?