“Blake,” I concede a bit too softly. I swear his breath wavers, but it’s probably just static in the phone connection, right? There’s no way he can be into me so quickly, can he?

Still, I can pretend that it was my saying his name that had that effect. It’s a dangerous game to play, but as long as it’s just between my imagination and my pussy, there’s no harm, no foul. I clench my thighs together, wishing for more friction.

“Other than dropping your dinner, what are you doing tonight, Zoey?” Blake asks, more casual now that we’ve established there are no bears in my living room.

My right brow jumps up of its own volition. I might not date, but I know what late night calls of ‘what’re you doing?’ mean.

“Is this a booty call?” I bite out. “Your Netflix broken, and you need to chill?”

It sounds harsh and bitchy. The truth is, I shift again in my blanket nest, actually considering it. A one and done, scratch that itch situation might be okay. I’ve never tested it, never even thought about testing it.

But surely, Blake would be okay, as long as I never saw him again?

Or you’d just never know about the zoo-escaped lion that ate him as a midnight snack when he tried to save it . . . here, kitty-kitty-kitty-style. I argue with myself on the odds of a lion on the loose.

“No! No, of course not,” Blake assures me, sounding startled and maybe just a little guilty. “That’s not what I meant.”

I have my doubts that it’s true. At the same time, though, to be thought of that way . . . it’s been a long time, and I’ve got needs too.

“Mr. Life Insurance, what are the odds of death by lion mauling?”

He doesn’t even pause at the turn in conversation. “Uh, in the US or Africa?”

My lips quirk as I try to hold back the laugh I wasn’t expecting. “Do you know the answer either way?”

“Yep. In the US, about one in a billion, and that’s including mountain lions in the calculation. In Africa, odds are about one in two hundred, though that can be lessened by staying out of game reserve areas.”

I can’t help it, I laugh at his utter shit statistics. Still . . . one in a billion?

Is it worth the risk?

Is he worth the risk?

Something hot and liquid in my belly says one hundred percent yes.

“Not a booty call, you said? Too bad.” I tsk sadly, promises laced through a follow-up sigh.

“Wait. What?” Blake asks, sounding dizzy. Probably is, the way I’m fucking with his head. “A second ago, I’m pretty sure you were trying to not answer my call, and now you sound like you want me to be calling for a hookup?”