I yanked a brush through my hair once I let it down and then opened the closet door to check myself out in the mirror hanging on the inside. Giving myself a quick cursory glance, I thought I looked comfortable. Okay even. My hair fell to my breasts, and due to twisting it while still wet, it had messy waves in it. The outfit was laid-­back, but flattering. Not like I was trying too hard or expecting anything. That was good. I think.

What was about to happen could end in so many different ways that I wondered if my parents ever had to worry about the many stages of possibly dating when they met. Tonight, Reece and I could hook up and it could just be a one-­night stand. Or it could turn into the casual booty call—­the one that only took place at three or four in the morning. But that could also progress into the friends-­with-­benefits stage or the “I think we’re dating, because we’re going out and doing things that don’t always involve sex but nothing has been established” stage. From there, we could end up dating or going our separate ways. We could end up married with babies or we could just fade apart from one another. I doubted we’d be friends with benefits, because Reece knew my family and I knew his, so that could just get awkward.

There were so many different ways this could end that I was starting to stress myself out.

I wasn’t going to overthink any of this.

Sticking my tongue out at my reflection, I stepped back and closed the closet door. Taking off my glasses, I placed them on the bedside table and then headed out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar just in case we needed to make it back to the bedroom with a quickness.

I flushed, because I’d totally do him on the couch, floor, kitchen counter—­wherever. A bed was not necessary.

I was going to be down for whatever happened tonight.

Chapter 10

Reece was sitting on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, feet kicked up on the coffee table. The TV was on, volume down. For a moment, all I could do was stare at him as my stomach fluttered madly and dangerously, because I could . . . I could get used to seeing him sitting on my couch, waiting for me to get off work. Me waiting for him. Preferably naked.

“Um.” He looked up, brows raised. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I stiffened. “What?”

A slow grin crossed his face. “Your toilet seat lid was up.”

“What?” I repeated.

“When I went into your bathroom, the toilet seat was up. I was wondering if there was something you weren’t telling me. Like if you were trying a new method or something,” he teased.

What in the world? The only time I’d ever accidentally left the toilet seat up was when I cleaned it. My mind raced to find a plausible explanation to how the seat lifted up by itself. Poltergeist. It was official. The Victorian was built on an old Indian burial ground. We all were screwed.