The girl who’s had everyone meets the boy who has no one.

For Bella, the sweet-talking, free-loving, hip-checking student manager of the Harkness men’s hockey team, sex is a second language. She’s used to being fluent where others stutter, and the things people say behind her back don’t (often) bother her. So she can’t understand why her smoking hot downstairs neighbor has so much trouble staying friends after their spontaneous night together. She knows better than to worry about it, but there’s something in those espresso eyes that makes her second guess herself.

Rafe is appalled with himself for losing his virginity in a drunken hookup. His strict Catholic upbringing always emphasized loving thy neighbor—but not with a bottle of wine and a box of condoms. The result is an Ivy League bout of awkwardness. But when Bella is leveled by a little bad luck and a downright sinister fraternity stunt, it’s Rafe who is there to pick up the pieces.

Bella doesn’t want Rafe’s help, and she’s through with men. Too bad the undeniable spark that crackles between the two of them just can’t be extinguished.

“Your job tonight was to make my life less embarrassing. Not more.”

“I am. Because we’re going to be the best looking dancers on this floor, and everyone in this mausoleum is going to wonder how I got so lucky as to be here with you. Now listen to this rhythm, okay? Just step to the beat. And let your hips absorb the motion.” I began to step in place, moving to the music. The merengue is a Dominican dance and every kid in my neighborhood can merengue before his fifth birthday. It’s just not that complicated.

With nervous eyes, Bella began to move.

“Use the hips,” I prompted, tapping a finger to the silky fabric of her dress. As I watched, she loosened up a tiny fraction. I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You look amazing in this dress. Now move those hips a little more and you’re there.”

Biting her lip, Bella moved with me.

“See? Nothing to it. Now here’s the final touch — step forward towards me, then back again.” I guided her close to my body. “See? Now you like me…” I let her fall back. “Now you don’t. Just like in real life.”

And, just like that, we had a proper merengue going on. “There. I knew you could move.”

Bella pouted. “We’ve seen each other’s moves, Rafe.”

She lifted her eyes, and the heat in them went straight to my dick. Jesucristo. That was the trouble with getting too close to Bella. I was always going to be susceptible to her. Anything she did to remind me of that night was always going to knock me right over.

Sarina Bowen writes steamy, angsty contemporary romance from Vermont’s Green Mountains. (Her ancestors began logging and farming Vermont during the 18th century. These were rugged, outdoor types without benefit of a laptop or a good latte. It boggles the mind.) Sarina enjoys skiing, skating and good food. She lives in Windsor County, Vermont, with her family, eight chickens and too much ski gear and hockey equipment.​

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