My cock twitches.
Stop,I order it, mortified.
But she said sex,it answers back.
I turn toward the window. Voice low, I answer her question. “I’ve never had a serious girlfriend.”
“You haven’t?”
I hear her surprise but don’t look back.
“I mean, I’m not totally inexperienced,” I add quickly. “A few short flings. Nothing that stuck.”
I shrug, embarrassed. “Then work took over. Routine got comfortable.”
I sigh, that admission landing harder than I expected.
“I guess I stopped trying,” I say quietly. “It was easier to observe. Watch everyone else live without risking anything myself.”
Hannah nods.
And I know she understands.
Hannah
“We’re here,” I tell my neighbor. A stranger, but not as much as he was an hour ago. I think back to our conversation in the car. It was strangely…intimate, but not uncomfortable. He’s easy to talk to, I realize as I search for a parking spot.
“Um, I feel like I should have said this sooner, but I’m Hannah.” I spin the wheel and expertly parallel park on a side street across from the restaurant where my phone tells me Marco is at. The same restaurant he was supposed to take me to tonight.
Maybe Marco got confused. Thought we were supposed to meet here.
I discard that idea fast, before hope can take over. I’m not that naïve.
I turn to my neighbor. He gives me a small nod of approval.
“Nice parking job,” he says.
My chest warms. I duck my head, embarrassed by how much that tiny compliment affects me.
“Damian,” he says, sticking out his hand like he’s about to shake mine. He lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry. I probably should’ve introduced myself before barging into your car.”
I take his hand. His palm is rough. Warm.
“I already know your name,” I admit. “Damian Salvanti.”
His brows lift as he tilts his head.
My cheeks heat. “It’s on your mailbox.”
He chuckles. “You’d make a good detective, Hannah Johnson.”
My breath catches when he says my name. Not from the words, but how he says it. Soft and careful. Like it’s a spell or a prayer.
“It’s on your mailbox, too,” he adds softly, and my breath catches.
Did he look at my mailbox? Wonder about me the same way I wondered about him?
He’s still holding my hand. He releases it when I glance down, and I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.
