Mostly.
Because heaven help me, he wasgorgeous.
I never meant for it to go as far as it did. I really didn’t.
But the way he’d pressed me against his door, how he kissed like he needed to shut me up, how his voice went low and gravelly when he asked,You sure about this?
“Holyhell, you’re blushing.”
I jerk back to reality, burning my tongue on the coffee I’d forgotten I was drinking.
Dee’s staring at me over the open fridge door, eyebrows raised and grinning like a damn raccoon who found the cookie jar.
“No, I’m not,” I say quickly, trying to cover my cheeks with the mug.
“Oh, sweetie, yes, you are.” She shuts the fridge with a thump and leans against it, arms crossed. “Who is he?”
“There’s nohe.”
“Mm hmm.” She narrows her eyes like a bloodhound sniffing out scandal. “So you’re sitting there, staring into your coffeelike it told you a dirty story, looking like your whole body just remembered what good sin feels like, and it’snotabout a guy?”
I glare. “Could we not do this before I finish at least one cup of caffeine?”
“Not a chance. You came home glowing. Like, soap commercial, post orgasm, ‘I just made a very bad decision and it was so worth it’ glowing.”
“Dee,” I hiss, trying not to laugh as I glance toward the hallway. “Mom’s literally ten feet away.”
“She knows what sex is,” Dee says with a shrug. “She hadus.”
Mom snorts from the stove. “I plead the fifth.”
“Fine,” I grumble, slouching down in my seat. “I met someone. Kind of. It was a one-time thing. That’s it.”
“A one-time thing,” Dee echoes, mock pouting. “Was itthatbad, or are you terrified of seeing him again?”
Yes.
“No,” I say instead.
Dee arches a brow. “Which ‘no’ is that?”
The one that means I can still sense the scrape of his stubble on my inner thigh. The one that means I can’t stop replaying the way his mouth found every place I didn’t know I wanted kissed. The one that means I woke up the next morning, his sheets tangled around my legs and his scent still clinging to my skin… and I bolted.
Because if I’d stayed, I might’ve actually asked him for breakfast. For his number. For a reason to see that look in his eyes again, the one that said maybe he felt it too.
But I didn’t.
I left.
And now? It’s over.
Right?
I mean, I have way too much to do to get my life in order to add in complications.
Moose lets out a groan from beneath the table, rolling over onto his back, paws flopped like he’s emotionally exhausted by the entire conversation. I reach down to scratch his belly and pretend my face isn’t on fire.
Before I can respond, the front screen door creaks, followed by the unmistakable shuffle thump of Dale Rucker’s boots on the porch.
