I wake up in a heap of my own sweat, trying to catch my breath while calming the rapid beating of my heart. It lurches inside of my chest, thumping so hard I'm quite certain it'll break my bones and knock itself right out of my rib cage.

My body jerks upright from a surprisingly-comfortable pillow, but when I lay back down on the fabric, the strong smell of peppermint and coffee completely fills my sinuses. I bask in the scent, but only before my eyelids snap open with fear.

This isn't my room.

It's really big, for one, with gray walls and slightly more of a modern touch to it than I would like. It's really clean, too. There's a place for everything, and everything's in its place.

I lift the comforter off my body and take a good look at myself, and for goodness sake... I might as well be naked. All I have on is a pair of violet panties and bra, tucked around my body.

Despite waking up drenched in sweat, there are goosebumps all over my skin and I can feel the echo of shivers crawl up my spine. I definitely had a restless sleep last night.

One of the doors to the bedroom open up, and to my absolute horror... Xavier-Lawrence Parker comes barreling into the room, wearing nothing but gray sweats and a worn out pair of navy blue slippers. His chest is bare, and I can see the thin line of his tattoo stretching across the skin over his heart.

He has a toothbrush lodged in his mouth and a slight ring of foamy paste circles his lips. He looks tired; his brown hair crazily tasseled, insane bags under his eyes, and his cheeks all rosy and warm.

A gasp escapes my mouth, and I cover my half-naked body the best I can.

"She has awaken," he says, his voice slightly muffled under the influence of the toothpaste.

"Oh my God. No, no no no. We didn't--"

Xavier doesn't answer right away, heading back to the washroom to spit out his toothpaste and freshen himself up. He comes back a couple minutes later, his mouth free of foam. "Calm down Flores. You look like a deer caught in headlights." He looks at the covers effectively hiding my body, then smirks. "Relax. We did nothing. You're fine."

"Then why are my clothes off?" I scowl at him. "You took them off, didn't you? You sick freak--"

"I didn't want the stench of that bastard's cologne on my bed. It was all over your clothes," he snarls right back at me.

Bastard? What bastard? Who is he talking about?

"What do you even mean? Who?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his calloused fingers. "Look. The guy was all over you, smashing his lips against yours. You were drunk, and--"

What? I was drunk? Holy shit. Xavier must know everything I did last night. All the stupid things I said too.

"Who was it?" I ask.

"Logan Hill." He looks frustrated, and I have to bite back the words to tell him to calm down. I can't seem to forget about Foster Prince; his secret identity, the boy he isn't but is at the same time.

"Logan Hill? He was kissing me?" I ask, astonished.

He sneers. "He was doing more than that."

My posture currently sucks at the moment, but I can't bring myself to think that Logan Hill had kissed me last night, and done more to me just because I was drunk. Maybe he was sober, maybe he wasn't. But if Xavier knows what happened and he was there to see it for himself, he could answer some of my questions, right?

"He was literally all over you, sticking his squalid tongue down your throat. You were yelling for him to stop."

He knows I like Logan, and that I've had a crush on him for such a long time. I keep trying to avoid the facts, knowing what he's telling me is true.

"He harassed me, didn't he?"

He nervously scratches the back of his neck. I sulk, hanging my legs over the edge of his bed.

I shake my head and wave my hands, wanting to get the distant memories of last night out of my head. "You got a hold of my phone number," I say. "Who gave it to you?"

"I won't throw 'em under the bus like that," is all he says, and I scowl at him.

"You were gonna pick me up from my house? Whoever gave you my number... did they give you my home address too?"

He grins, winking his eye at me. "What do you think?"

"Shut up and tell me." He needs to tell me who that double-crosser is, because they have no right to share personal information about me to anyone. Especially Xavier.

"You called me though. You were going to pick me up at my house. Why? What did you even need me for?"

His expression turns the slightest bit serious before a smile creeps at the corners of his lips. He gives off a satisfied sigh, and angry smoke fumes from my shoulders. "I had a fight last night. Had to bring out Foster, of course." He turns around, his back muscles rippling under his skin as he fetches a shirt from his drawer. "It was over before it even begun."

He looks back at me, holding a thin black shirt in his hand. I think he's about to put it on  but he gives it to me instead. I take it, keeping my eyes locked in a glare with his. I quickly put it on, hoping to hide my exposed skin.

"So, what did that have to do with me?"

He shrugs. "I wanted you to come."

I almost laugh. Was he kidding? Come with him to one of those brawls? No way in hell was I going to do that.

"Why?"

"You're the only other person who knows what I do, besides myself. You might as well learn more about it."

I laugh. Ever since I learned about Foster, Xavier's been tugging on my nerves more than usual now, but I want nothing to do with him.

"I'm never going to one of those death matches ever again," I tell him. He glowers at me, gritting his teeth as I spot the tight clench of his jaw.

"Well then, I guess I just have to tell everyone about your little job," he taunts.

"At least it's better than being a monster for living," I snap right back.

I almost regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Almost.

He rages first, lodging both his hands in his hair before furiously tugging them forward. I couldn't care less about his chest right on display, or about the detailed tattoo glistening on his skin. It's the way he's shaking that captures my full attention. He looks like a balloon that's just about to pop.

"I didn't ask for this," he barks. Xavier marches closer to me, so close I can feel his breath warm on my face. "I don't fight for a living."

I gulp, forcing a few regretful words down my throat. "Then why do you do it?" I ask him. "Why hurt others? Why hurt yourself?"

I can tell that he's thinking, the way his lips press to a thin line  and the hard furrow of his eyebrows. Now that I've seen what he's capable of in a ring like that, I stress about whoever's going up against  Foster Prince. But that doesn't mean Xavier obviously doesn't get hurt in return. So why does he even bother doing it?

"I can't tell you that," he shrugs, walking away from me and heading to his drawer again. He doesn't say another word, I watch him as he tosses me my pair of jeans and my sweater from last night. "Here. Take those."

I barely catch them as he whips the clothing at me. "Thanks," I say, but he doesn't say anything back. "How did I get here?" I ask him. I remember finding out last night that Logan is neighbors with Xavier, but I don't remember how he brought me home, that's for sure.

"I carried you," he told me.

I must've been so extremely drunk that I couldn't even keep myself steady on my feet. All I recall from last night is hanging out with Logan in his basement, then the world just turned hazy from there. I hate that I don't know what I did, what I said or how I acted. One thing's for sure: I'm never drinking ever again.

"You should really get changed," he says.

I decide to walk inside the closet to get changed, throwing Xavier's black T on the floor and putting my own clothing back on. When I walk back into the bedroom, Xavier's gone and the bedroom door is all the way open, revealing a rather vast hallway.

Of course his house is going to be big. He lives in a mansion, just like Logan.

I find the steps and start to walk downstairs, feeling the luscious carpet beneath my feet. The house is big and empty. My mind is still foggy and I know my hair must be a mess, but I don't bother checking anywhere for a brush.

"Xavier?" I yell, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Where are you?"

"Here!" I hear him reply, although his voice is faint, and it seems to echo through the house.

"Where?"

"Kitchen!"

Is he kidding me right now? I don't even know where the front door is. If I tried finding my place way back to his bedroom, I don't doubt I'd get lost. How does he expect me to find the kitchen?

"Um, I'm having a hard time navigating myself around this place. So I'm just going to go--"

"I'm here," he says. He comes out from one of the hallways on one side of the room, still wearing his gray sweats and navy blue slippers.

"God  Mister Promiscuous. Put on a shirt," I say, trying to avert my eyes from his body.

"What? Am I too marvelous for you?" he smirks.

"Okay  I'm leaving. Where are my keys--"

"The car's at home. I drove it to your house last night."

"You what?" How did he get back then?

"I drove it to your house, dropped it off, then took the bus back home." He shrugs it off like it's no big deal, and I guess it isn't. But he drove my car, my father's car, without my permission.

"You drove the car to my house? Why would you do that?"

" 'Cause. While you were drunk last night, you told me your dad wanted the car home by eleven. It was only ten thirty, so I dropped you off at my place and sped the thing to your house."

Oh no, by 11 p.m.?

"No. What time is it?" I place my palm over my forehead, feeling a slight headache coming on.

"Eight in the morning."

"Xavier, I have to go." I wonder why he didn't just bring me back to my place. Maybe my parents would've been asleep by then, and I could've snuck back in the house without them knowing I was drunk. But the thing is I was totally intoxicated. Of course they would've been awake on a Saturday night. It's the "no work" weekend.

"Have some breakfast first--"

"I have to go." I interrupt.

"Fine. The door's this way."

He leads me through a couple of hallways before we reach a set of large doors on one wall of a foyer. It's massive, with metal bars forged into curling vines, and patterns of leaves are molded on the glass. Xavier opens one door  and I walk through it, barely noticing he held it open.

"Your kindness really touches my heart," he lets out sarcastically.

I flip him the bird, but all he does is laugh and walk outside with me, locking the door behind him.

"I will never understand you, Delta Flores," he tells me.

I spot his bold red Chevrolet impala parked in the driveway, and I storm to it with my arms crossed tightly over my chest. I need to get home, and talking with him is only going to slow the process.

All this shit he's doing for me, I don't understand it. It makes me angry, how nice he's being. Every drop of blood in my veins boils with frustration. Without thinking, I turn around and point a finger at him. "Did you forget the time you called me a bitch?"

"Do you remember the time you were a bitch?" he asks me in return. "C'mon, Flores. I offered you a ride in my car, and you were an absolute nightmare."

I can't argue with that. I definitely was being a bitch, but I had every right to be! He's the kind of person you don't want to flatter, and I know that for a fact.

"Just get me home." I walk away from him and towards his impala  and luckily for me, he doesn't say another word. We get into the car and drive off like we didn't have one of the most awkward mornings in the history of our lives, because I know I did. Maybe to him it's normal for things like this to happen. He's probably used to seeing girls early in the morning, anyways.

And leaving them wanting more, too.