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action film. She had always been a tomboy, even in eighth grade. While most girls had their little bitch fits in the cafeteria, she arm wrestled anyone willing to take her on. Most of the time, she won.
    Just as the movie started—sappy music and all—the door to the movie room swung open and banged against the wall.
    “Whoops, sorry,” said a high-pitched voice, followed by ear-piercing giggles.
    “No problem, babe. I’m sure worse has been done to the walls.”
    Ugh. Andrew.
    Another giggle that registered on the spectrum between drunk, squealy sorority girl and dog whistle rang out.
    The girl laughing was definitely not Payton. It was Mandy, one of his call girls. Meaning, he called them and they came running like his dick was made of a never-ending supply of chocolate. Why was he messing around with her when he said he was interested in Payton?
    “Ouch. Blake, that hurts.”
    I looked down at my hand gripping Jules’s thigh. Her skin had turned a funky shade of white around my fingertips. I released my hold. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was squeezing your leg.”
    Damn, cool it, dude. I counted down from twenty, concentrating on keeping my emotions in check. I needed to focus on Jules, not my ex.
    Andrew led Mandy up to the first row, right in front of me and Jules. She bounced on the leather couch and immediately latched onto his neck. Her blond hair fell in her face, blocking the view of her hickey fest.
    I worked my jaw, finding it difficult to resist the urge to pull Andrew off the couch and create a new dent in the movie room wall with his head.
    Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
    This made no fucking sense. I wanted to be over her. Why couldn’t I be over her?
    Seventeen. Sixteen.
    But I couldn’t. Not with everything too fresh for my liking. Damn, Hiller, don ’t be a vag.
    Jules must have been in an Oreo coma, because I doubted she would have been so relaxed after seeing her roommate’s love interest making out with some other chick. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d let that shit fly.
    She nestled her head into the side of my neck and kissed the sensitive spot behind my ear. Her soft lips ran across my lobe, and my shoulders tensed, the whole thing off. I didn’t know how to explain it, but something about it was wrong. And not the so-wrong-it’s-right way.
    Why couldn’t I enjoy a date with this hot, Oreo-gorging blonde? I smoothed my hands through her hair, forcing myself to get past the unease in my stomach. But her hair didn’t feel right—not curly enough, and not the right color.
    Shit . I did it again, just like with every girl after Payton. Why did my mind have to perform a mental checklist, seeing if my dates measured up to her? They never did.
    Rustling came from the couch in front. The leather creaked, and Andrew let out a low growl as Mandy straddled him, facing me and Jules. Her eyes had a predatory look about them, the screw me now smolder. I’d seen that glint in many girls’ eyes as they ogled him. Funny, because as much as Payton had her hands all over him at Heaven and Hades, she didn’t have that look. And I spoke fluent Payton-ese, especially her screw me now look.
    Damnit, stop thinking about her sexy, screw me now face.
    I should have stopped a long time ago, but now was my chance. Jules provided the perfect opportunity to forget. But even as her hand roamed across my chest, I thought about the time at Payton’s house when we watched Lord of the Rings with her dad. He was too busy quoting Gandolf to notice us fooling around under the blanket in the dark room.
    Another grunt came from Andrew, bringing me back to the present when I heard the distinct sound of a fly coming undone.
    Fucking awkward. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take this to our room or the sleeping porch. I mean, sure, feeling up a hottie on the couch was one thing, but this drifted quickly toward touchdown category.
    Jules smoothed her hand across my chest again and worked it down my stomach.