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loose inside of her. We would have enough to think about after this… we didn’t need a pregnancy to further complicate things. I hated having to be on guard in this moment, but I guess that was the nature of cheating. Even though Marissa wasn’t technically my girlfriend anymore. I just couldn’t help feeling like a scumbag anyway.
    Before I had the chance to bask in my guilt, Riley turned around, still straddling me, and rested her head in the crook of my neck.
    She let out a sigh, and then I thought I felt tears. “I’m a horrible person. You have a girlfriend. What was I thinking?” Her shoulders started to shake—she was definitely crying. What a turn of events. This couldn’t be happening—but it was, and I understood why.
    “Please don’t cry,” I said, caressing her naked back and hugging her against me. “It’s not like that. I promise you, it’s not. Let me worry about… her.” I couldn’t even say her name. It would hurt Riley more if she heard it. And if I knew one thing, it was that I didn’t want Riley to hurt because of me. “Riles, please, babe. Don’t cry. Let’s not ruin this.”
    She sat up, looking into my eyes. “Ruin what? Are you telling me this wasn’t just some ridiculous one night stand, Beck? You have a girlfriend. You don’t want me.”
    In the midst of all the guilt, lust, tears, and questions, the craziest thing was that I did want her. I wanted to be with her again. I maybe even wanted to be with her on more than just a sexual level. “I don’t regret one second of tonight, babe, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s late, you’re still a little drunk, and we shouldn’t talk about this now. Let’s go to sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”
    She perked up again. “Wait. You’re staying? Won’t she be looking for you?”
    If we lived together—like I’d asked her to—she’d be looking for me because she’d be home waiting for me. But that wasn’t the case.
    Pulling her closer to me with my hand at the nape of her neck, I whispered against her ear. “No, she won’t. Can you show me to your room now, sweet thing?”

 
     
     
    Beck’s phone ringing woke me up from a dead sleep. When I looked at the clock, I realized we’d slept for a pretty long time, considering all the times we wound up screwing around last night.
    That first time on the couch just wasn’t enough. We made our way up to my bedroom sometime past one a.m., after scarfing down half a pint of ice cream. After another glorious round of orgasms in my bedroom, we moved to the shower to clean up and indulge in some orally stimulating activities that had us wrinkled like prunes and the water running cold by the time we were moaning out each other’s names.
    There was no denying, after that first time, I felt like a home-wrecking whore. But Beck helped me believe it wasn’t me who was at fault. Yes, I’d slept with him knowing his situation, but there was obviously something wrong in his relationship with Marissa if he was willing to go through with it.
    I’d known Beck for a long time—as a cute child, through his gawky pre-teen years, his glorified high school quarterback days, and now his responsible adult days. He was a good person—not as reckless as my brother, taking random girls to bed all the time. Beck had morals and a conscience, so he had to be feeling like shit about now.
    “B, your phone’s ringing,” I said, nudging his shirtless body.
    He grumbled, pulling the covers over his head.
    Oh, no, don’t do that! I was admiring the view. I’d probably seen him shirtless millions of times, but this time—with him in my bed—it was so different. I’d always thought Beck was a good-looking guy, but suddenly I was more appreciative of his sexy dark features, his well-defined six pack, and those delicious, magical lips. God, I was swooning over Beck Matthews. What the hell was wrong with me?
    Before I could wipe the drool from my lips, Beck was out from under the