A lot of skin. So much gloriously curvy skin is on display. She’s wearing dark-green boy-short bikini bottoms and a fitted white T-shirt that flirts with the edges of those tiny Lycra shorts, taunting me with potential glimpses of more smooth, dusky skin.

I swear to all that’s holy my knees go weak. I bobble a step and try to play it off as due to exhaustion instead of sheer fucking lust. “Damn, I’m beat.”

Her expression is wry as she hands me the glass. “North going easy on you again?” she teases.

My hand shakes as I take a long drink. Whatever she’s concocted tastes creamy and spicy, like cinnamon oatmeal cookies laced with coffee. It hits my system with a welcome kick and runs icy cold down my parched throat. I set the glass on the island counter with a sigh and then run a hand over my face.

“Easy?” I repeat with a snort. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought while whimpering like a small child on the floor.”

“At least you admit to crying.”

I flash a quick, tight smile. “I was clinging to his leg, pleading for my life.”

Evilly, she laughs with glee. “What happened to manly stoicism? Sucking it up and all that.”

I give her a look of mock outrage. “And where would that get me? Alone? In pain? Without you to wipe my fevered brow?” Please come up to bed with me and wipe my brow. I’m so damn fevered.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” She’s clearly trying not to give in to another round of laughter.

“I’m a lit major,” I say easily, even though we’re standing so close my shoulder is rubbing against hers, and it’s distracting as hell. “I have an endless supply of melodrama stored in my brain.”

Despite my attempt to put her at ease, Delilah edges away and cleans out my glass. “You should probably take some ibuprofen and a shower.”

I don’t want her to go yet. Seeing her makes my day brighter. Desperate to keep the conversation going, I set my hand on my heart as if struck. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What? Did I forget your birthday?” she quips, biting back a smile.

“I’m in serious pain here. Where is my sympathy, woman?”

A laugh bubbles over her lips, and I feel like I’ve won a damn medal. “Fine, then,” she says, looking up at me with a patronizing expression. “Poor Macon; want me to kiss your boo-boos and make it better?”

You have no idea how you tempt me, woman. “Would you?” I’m not above fighting dirty. I reach for the hem of my shirt and start pulling it up, exposing my abs. “Because I have this spot here—”