He was definitely the kind of person I’d pop a few crotch goblins out with.

His dark hair was the thing of dreams. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through it and stroke it until my fingertips were raw, and I kind of wanted to rub my cheek against his stubbled jaw.

There was just a hint of it. The stubble, not his jaw. It cast a little shadow along the sharp, square shape of his chin.

His eyes were bright. Green and shining and alive. I could stare at them all day if it meant he was the one I was looking at.

“You’re staring at me, Reagan.”

I snapped my head away to stare out of the window. I guess my glance was longer than I’d assumed.

Way longer.

Swallowing, I gripped his sweater. It completely swamped me, but it was a little like wearing sweatpants or an oversized t-shirt. The comfort it brought was crazy.

“So.” Noah turned the truck onto my parents’ street. “Was that better or worse than you thought it would be?”

I fought a smile. “Better.”

“Always a plus.” He glanced over at me with a small smile before he pulled up outside the house. “What do you think my chances of a second date are?”

I unclipped my belt and turned in the cab. “Pretty good.”

“I can take that.” His lips curved to one side and he leaned over, wrapping one hand around the back of my neck.

His lips covered mine. He kissed me slowly and deeply. It was the kind of kiss that held promises of things to come, of things that would go much further than kissing in the front of his truck or near the beach.

Things that shot through my body with the anticipation of something more.

More than this.

Something that was deeper and more carnal than just a kiss in the front of his truck.

But this was the first date.

Did the first date matter when you’d been talking for days already? When you’d had lunch? When you spoke for hours every day? When he’d literally carried you out of a fire?

No.

None of that mattered.

Who cared if it was morally right or wrong? I knew Noah. He wasn’t a stranger. I knew so much about him that I wasn’t sure I’d ever known about my ex-boyfriends.

More than anything, I knew that I was comfortable around him. I was happy around him. He made me laugh. He made me smile. He made me fucking happy.

More than anyone else ever had.

And I wanted him.

I wanted to be with him.

I wanted to kiss him against a door. I wanted to run my hands over his shirt and fumble with his buttons. I wanted to fight with his belt. I wanted to strip all his clothes off and climb on top of him like he was a mountain and I was conquering fucking Everest.

I wanted to screw his damn brains out.