Jacob ran a hand through his tousled hair and grimaced. “Yeah, right, I see what you mean. Good time for a strategic retreat. You can share my cab. Better still, we could go on to my place for coffee−”

“The cab is good for me,” I interrupted.

He flushed. “Why do you always do that, Ben? Push me away?”

When I didn’t answer, he frowned. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. You’ve told us that plenty of times. Your break-up last year was hell for you, but I don’t see why you can’t think about moving on,”

“He. . . I trusted him.” My voice sounded muffled amongst the celebrations going on around us, but I knew Jacob heard me clearly enough. “You all told me he was a liar and a cheat, and guess what, you were right.”

“We didn’t like doing that,” Jacob said, sharply, though his eyes were gentler. “Telling tales. But we heard things about him you needed to know. You think we wanted you hurt? You think I wanted it?”

“No,” I protested. “I know, I didn’t mean that. That’s what friends do−I appreciated it. But it all made me feel like I’d messed up yet again. Just another bad date; another short, sour disaster; one more spoiled page in my scrapbook of romance.” I laughed, a brittle sound. “It’s just. . . ”

“It’s just. . . ” He echoed. “Yeah, it’s always ‘just’.” He sighed, dropping his gaze from mine. His fingers played aimlessly with the bottom of his shirt.

I got up and stepped down a couple of stairs so that I stood only a few inches away from him. His shoulder nudged mine, and I smelled his cologne, sharp and musky. A stray lock of his hair brushed against the edge of my jaw. I knew suddenly how his skin would taste on my tongue. The tang of saliva stirred in my mouth.

His gaze snapped up to meet mine. “Ben…” It was only a whisper, but that single word sounded full of longing. He looked uncharacteristically nervous, and I wanted to say something−to try to explain things I didn’t really understand myself−but he never gave me the chance. He took my arm and pulled me back into the shadows at the foot of the stairs, then slid a hand around the back of my neck and tugged me closer. Then he kissed me.

His lips were warm and tasted of fruit punch, but only for a second. Then they tasted of him, and only him—a rich and heady flavor. I savored something far more delicious than any alcohol. I’d tasted him once before−I’d dreamt of it many times since. As his tongue teased at me, I opened my mouth and welcomed his kiss.

Suddenly my memories were fresh and focused solely on this evening. I wanted to laugh aloud. I knew what happiness felt like—what it tasted like.

A moan escaped my lips, and I pulled away from him.

It wasn’t for me.