“When’s your birthday?”
“July 16th.”
Arizona turned back to me. “Nine months backward from July is October. Can you remember who you were with thirteen years ago from last October?”
Tugging on the back of my neck, I shifted on my feet. “Honestly? Not really.”
A sound of disgust spilled from her lips. “Not sure why I’m surprised.”
“Judge me all you want, but I was nineteen, living on my own with more money than any kid that age should have access to, and women were literally throwing themselves at me.”
Folding her arms, Arizona arched an eyebrow. “Right, because you’ve maturedso muchsince then?”
“Maybe I have,” I retorted.
There was a loud scoff. “Please. Do you really expect me to believe you haven’t found your way between the legs of half the female population of San Diego since you moved here two months ago?”
“You want the truth?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Not particularly.”
I stalked toward her slowly, getting close enough that I could dip my head and speak directly in her ear. “I haven’t been with anyone since I laid eyes on you.”
Her sharp gasp of surprise was music to my ears.
To drive the point home, I added, “That’s how badly I want you.”
Arizona was literally panting, her ragged breathing fanning my cheek. Yeah, she wanted this too. So why did she keep fighting it?
“We can’t,” she breathed out before correcting herself. “I can’t.”
My fingers trailed a path up the long column of her neck, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface.
“That’s too bad,” I purred. “Because if you’d let me, I could make you feel so good.”
“Levi.” My name came out on a moan when I tugged her earlobe between my teeth.
Lust swirled so thick in the air it was hard to breathe, and I could feel her resolve crumbling as she practically melted in my arms.
Then, like a baseball thrown through a window, the moment was shattered by a shout of “Holy shit! What happened to your leg?”
We broke apart suddenly.
One look at the regret written across Arizona’s face, and I knew I might never get that close to her again.
Damn cockblocking kids.
That’s when Austin’s words finally registered, and I stormed out of the kitchen, shouting, “You don’t get to ask her that!”
Arizona was hot on my heels. “Austin! That was beyond rude!”
The wide-eyed teen held up both hands. “Whoa, chill. I wasn’t pointing out that she’s missing part of it, only that the stump looks angry.”
Stepping around him to get a better view of Maisie, I saw she had removed her prosthesis. Austin’s assessment was spot on. Her residual limb was visibly inflamed, the skin dark red and covered in blisters, some of which had already broken open.
I found myself repeating his earlier question, “What happened?”
Maisie tried and failed to hide a wince as she rubbed the appendage. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I walked a lot today—from the bus stop to here—and my prosthetist was still fine-tuning the adjustments on the fit to eliminate pressure points.”
