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“Right! Sorry.” Charlie spun around so fast it was practically a hop. “This way.”

She followed him up the winding staircase, ignoring his frequent backward glances. What did he have to worry about? Jean wasn’t the one who made a habit of disappearing.

When they reached his door, Charlie stood aside to let her enter first.

Jean was glad he couldn’t see her face as she got her first look at his childhood bedroom. Not because it was horrifying—the aesthetic was lonely science nerd, as expected—but to keep him from realizing how curious she was about his past.

“I thought you’d have one of those beds shaped like a rocket ship.” She leaned on the corner of his queen-size mattress with the heel of her hand, bouncing a little like she was testing the springs.

Charlie blushed. “I never wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Snakes, snakes, and more snakes, huh?”

“I guess I’m predictable that way.”

She sniffed, moving to the other side of the room to inspect his bookshelf.

Lots of nonfiction, the bright yellow spines of National Geographic almanacs and junior encyclopedias interspersed with more serious reference books.

Unless he had a stash of comics and dirty magazines under his bed, predictable was not the first word that came to mind.

Where other guys might have hung a band poster or something from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, Charlie had an old sign for Reptile Gardens Wild Animal Park.

He straightened from checking behind the curtains, watching her pick up a plastic trophy with a plaque at the bottom engraved with the words, The Hurricanes, Peewee Soccer .

“You played?”

“I was on the team. Technically. Everyone who registered got a trophy.”

Jean was going to ask why he was still hanging on to something that didn’t seem to hold much meaning for him when Charlie spoke again. “My dad was the coach. He thought it would be a fun thing for us to do together.”

“Ah.” Setting down the golden cup, she inspected a Rubik’s cube, a Lego minifig dressed all in green, and a plastic dog that looked like a kid’s meal prize.

A rolled sheet of paper caught her eye, tucked behind a set of plastic binoculars.

Jean started to reach for it, pulling her hand back when she recognized the Dolphin Bay letterhead.

It was her treasure map. Another souvenir of an encounter that meant about as much to him as a four-pack of chicken nuggets.

“It’s kind of a museum,” Charlie said from the other end of the room. He brushed a layer of dust off a high shelf, then wiped his hand on the back of his pants. “I don’t usually live here.”

“Oh?” She pitched her voice like it was a polite response, not something she was dying to hear more about.

“It’s a pretty out-of-the-way place, as you probably noticed. Good for hiding out—until things die down.”

In what universe would people ever stop caring about Adriana Asebedo’s love life? Unless he planned to lie low at his parents’ house forever, Charlie must have weighed the loss of privacy and decided his sexy songbird was worth the sacrifice.

Jean liked to think she could take Adriana Asebedo in a fair fight.

(For Charlie’s affections, that is—everyone knew the singer studied Muay Thai.) But surely there was more to life than being glamorous and jaw-droppingly successful.

Jean had plenty of things to bring to the table.

She was unpredictable, for starters. Full of sudden impulses.

“I already checked under the bed,” Charlie said when she headed in that direction.

“What about in the bed?” Jean kicked off her shoes before throwing back the neatly arranged covers. Dropping onto the mattress, she pulled the sheet over her head. It took some writhing, but eventually she managed to pull her dress off and shove it to one side.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked, as she divested herself of lingerie.

“I need your help.” She raised the edge of the sheet. “In here.”

Jean couldn’t see his expression, but his lower body quickly moved into view. “Take your shoes off first,” she ordered. “And your outside clothes.”

“Oh.” He hesitated only briefly before stepping out of his pants.

“Glasses,” she reminded him.

“Right,” he said, in a silly me tone. Charlie climbed under the covers, scooting down until they were both hidden beneath the top sheet.

“We’re not wearing clothes,” he said when the rustling subsided, like he needed confirmation.

“Fewer places for a snake to hide.”

“Ah. Do you think she’s in here?” he whispered.

“I sure hope not.”

“Should I get a flashlight?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Pit vipers are really good in the dark.”

The blood in Jean’s veins turned to ice chips. “Are you telling me Emma is a viper?”

Her question seemed to amuse him, which made one of them. “Oh no. She’s a corn snake. Very sweet. Loves to burrow.”

Slowly, Jean drew her knees into her chest, removing her vulnerable toes from the darkness at the bottom of the bed.

“It’s just an interesting fact about certain types of snakes,” Charlie continued, like they were standing in front of a display at a nature museum. “Boas and pythons do it too—hunting in the dark by sensing the body heat of their prey.”

“Awesome.”

“It really is. The theory is that they use the pit organ—” He broke off when Jean’s questing fingers found his mouth. “Too much snake talk?” he mumbled into her hand.

“It’s the context.” She removed her hand. “I don’t like thinking about deadly creatures that hunt in the dark when I’m in the dark.”

“Don’t worry. You’re much more likely to run into a rattlesnake around here.”

He couldn’t possibly mean that the way it sounded. “You have a rattlesnake in your room?”

“No, I meant it’s the only venomous snake in South Dakota. The prairie rattlesnake, to be more specific. Crotalus viridis viridis. ”

Although hearing Charlie speak Latin usually did it for her, this was not how Jean had envisioned the scene playing out. She slid her hand across the sheet until it hit flesh. A little more poking identified it as an arm.

When she ran the pads of her fingers up to his shoulder, he stopped breathing.

“Charlie.”

“Yes?”

She wormed closer, hips then shoulders, straightening her legs to press her whole body against him. “You’re into me.” There was no mistaking the evidence.

“Yes.” He inhaled, deep and unsteady.

They stayed like that, breathing in and out, his chest expanding against hers. It felt like wave after wave washing over her, the sensation of being skin to skin with Charlie. What was the plan again? The strategic part of her brain had turned to white noise.

The bed shook as he scooted down. Jean sensed his mouth seeking hers (and thought briefly of pit vipers) as his breath fanned her lips.

“Wait.” She flattened her palm against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. “Are you seriously about to sleep with her?”

“Who?”

“Eve.”

He hesitated. “Not if she doesn’t want to?”

“But you would if she’s willing.” She bucked her hips against his. “That’s pretty obvious.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Or we could just be here together and talk.”

“Since she’s not good enough to be your sidepiece?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pretty sure you did.”

“But I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So what, Eve is like number four on your list?”

“What list?”

“Of people you’re sleeping with.”

“How can it be a list when there’s only one person on it?”

“Then what do you call this?” She grabbed his hand, dragging it down her chest from collarbone to belly button.

“Uh, you mean the sternum? Or I guess you could say sagittal plane.” He hesitated. “Unless you were talking about the breast… er, the right breast. No, left! Sorry, I got my directions reversed. It’s hard to think when I’m touching you.”

“I’m talking big picture, Charlie!”

“The torso?” he ventured, sounding profoundly uncertain.

“You can drop the act. We both know what this is about.”

His hand was still pressed against her stomach, long fingers nearly spanning the distance between her hips. “I might need one more clue.”

“There’s a naked woman in your bed.”

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, like he was afraid to wake himself from a dream.

“But she’s not the only one burning up your sheets.”

“You mean because there are two of you?”

The confirmation stung, but Jean pushed past it. “Uh, duh . At least. Starting with Adriana Asebedo.”

“I’m not sleeping with Adriana Asebedo.”

“Not yet maybe, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you get back together, honey baby .” She removed his hand from her body, letting it flop back onto the mattress. “And then there’s the other one,” Jean continued, before he could deny it. “How long have you and Margaret been a thing?”

“Margaret?” He sounded genuinely confused. “You mean Mugsy ?”

It was a good thing Jean was lying down because her head was spinning. “Wait. You’re telling me Margaret is Mugsy?”

“Mm-hmm. Mugsy is a nickname.”

“Huh. It suits her.” Better than Margaret, anyway. Mugsy the babysitter. No wonder she acted like she was in charge of Charlie. Jean closed her eyes, hoping that would slow the flood of irrelevant thoughts. “And Emma? The human one?”

“Oh, no. I would never. And neither would she,” he added.

Somehow, his excuses made Jean angrier. She didn’t want to be rational or understanding. Charlie owed her something , and even if she wasn’t sure what that was or how to ask for it, Jean was spoiling for a fight.

She grabbed his hip, squeezing hard. “What about me?”

“Which you?”

“The one in front of you right now.”

“My one and only.” His hand cupped her cheek.

She shook him off. “Meaning Eve.”

“If you prefer.”

“So you’d cheat on me with her?”

“That’s hard to say.” He was clearly trying to avoid incriminating himself, whether he meant it or not.

“And yet here you are,” she pointed out, “in bed with her.”

“But Jean, sweetheart, I know she’s you. Or you’re her. Both, I guess.” He traced the shape of her ear, following the line of her jaw to her chin.