“God, I didn’t expect Kash to kiss me like that,” I mused, brushing my fingertips to my lips, the ghost of his kiss still there.

“Like what?”

“Like I knew the second his lips touched mine that he was about to ruin me. Ruined. I’m going to be ruined for life.”

“So … you’re not dating?”

“If by dating you mean doing, then yes.”

She gave me a look.

“First of all, Kash doesn’t date. He does. And secondly, I don’t even have an actual bed to sleep in, never mind being stable enough to get into a relationship.”

“Maybe he doesn’t date because he hasn’t found the right girl.”

“Every woman’s excuse to date every player ever.”

“Kash isn’t a player,” she insisted, but before I could ask her to tell me why, she said, “And … I don’t know. I’m curious. Could you ever see yourself with someone like him?”

I blinked, opening my mouth before I realized I didn’t know how to answer. I liked Kash, genuinely and deeply, which I suspected was what’d made our romp so utterly perfect. He made me laugh just as easily as he made me orgasm, which was saying something. Kash made me laugh a lot.

But date in a permanent way? I hadn’t considered it. He was the polar opposite of Brock—happy to be in the background, comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans, deferential and respectful. And for all those reasons, I wanted to say yes.

Of course, I didn’t know him, not really. Not yet. And I wasn’t ready to date, not with Brock barely behind me. Really, he was still in front of me and would be for a little while yet.

And so, rather than commit to either, I said, “I need easy and fun, and Kash has offered his services to the cause. Past that? Well, I can’t even see past that. All I know is that was the most fun I’ve had in ages, and I feel like I just won a beauty pageant.”

“Which is funny because you look like shit.”

I pinched her arm with a laugh. “Hey. Kash said I was beautiful.”

She yelped and rubbed the spot. “Well, he was blinded by the afterglow. You look like a high-class hobo. That’s not Armani, is it?”

I sighed, not wanting to think about how I’d defiled my clothes. Worth it. “Barney’s. Definitely could have been worse.” I brushed a hand down my scuffed-up thigh. “My dry cleaner is going to make his rent on me now that I’m sleeping with a gardener.”

Ivy laughed but watched me—I got the sense to see if I was being snobbish.

“I don’t mind it,” I clarified, “not even a little. There’s something about a man who works with his hands, you know?”

“Oh, I do.”