He lay there a long time-minutes, hours, he didn't have a clue-staring at the indistinct patterns in the ceiling of this strange room, sensing her next door, swearing to God that he smelled honeysuckle through the barely open window, and knowing that if he didn't get out of this house and this town, he'd lose his mind.

Charlotte.

He'd found her.

Joe clenched and loosened his fists as they lay at his sides, wondering for maybe the thousandth time in his life whether he'd taken her virginity that day. It had always bugged him. Not because she'd been hesitant or unsure of herself or afraid, but because she'd been so incredibly snug. And at one point, after making her come with his hand, he'd seen bright red blood streaked down the length of his fingers.

But here's what had forever baffled him-what would a virgin be doing acting like a wild thang? Why would a spectacularly beautiful woman who'd held out to the age of twenty-two suddenly decide to give it up to a stranger on the side of the road? It made no sense, and he'd never been able to figure it out.

Joe rubbed his entire face and sighed. If, in fact, he'd been her first, it was something he needed to know. Because that would mean she'd given him the most precious gift imaginable. And his mama had taught him to always say thank you.

Besides, if he was Charlotte's first, that would mean she would always remember him-right? It would make him special to her, if solely for that one reason… right? So if he walked over to that cute yellow house and knocked on the door with the wreath on it, she'd answer, smile at him, and know exactly who he was.

Wouldn't she?

The only person he'd ever told about Charlotte had been Steve Simmons, his partner and the best friend he'd ever had. Joe grinned in the dark, remembering how Steve had helped him in his attempts to find her, the mystery girl in the 1992 Mariner Blue Mazda Miata with Maryland tags.