Isaac had kissed me.

I’d just kissed Isaac.

Butterflies went crazy inside my tummy, and I felt like a teenage girl who’d just discovered her crush liked her, too.

I had no idea what to do with this feeling, so I just stood there like a freaking idiot in my hallway, staring at the front door.

“Jesus,” I breathed after a long moment. I shook my head to clear my brain of the fog that’d settled there.

I needed to get my shit together, or I’d be in pieces within hours.

I locked the front door so Isaac couldn’t play anymore appearing tricks, then went back into the living room. Lucifer was now curled up in the spot I’d been sitting in, and a glance at the clock told me it was probably a good time to brush my teeth and watch Netflix in bed, because I had nothing else to do tonight.

And absolutely, positively, totally, not sext Isaac.

That was not going to happen.

I turned everything off in the living room and, after checking Lucifer had fresh water, I went upstairs where I went through the motions of my bedtime routine. Teeth, makeup removal, face washing, pants removal…

Climbing into bed, I snuggled under the covers and turned on my TV, then reached for my phone. There was an unread message, and I didn’t need to tap the notification to know who it was from.

No sexting, I repeated to myself inside my head. Keep your hands out of your pants, Hannah.

I opened the text and laughed out loud.

ISAAC: Kissing you wasn’t the best idea. Now I feel like I NEED to sext you.

ME: Not happening, buddy.

ISAAC: I know. Can I come back over?

ME: I thought you were a gentleman.

ISAAC: I am. My hard-on is not.

I laughed again, rolling onto my front so I could type easier without the worry I’d drop my phone on my face.

We’d all done it, okay?

ME: Your hard-on is your problem.

ISAAC: It’s your fault.

ME: Still your problem.

ME: Also, this is venturing dangerously close to sexting. Go away.

ISAAC: You’re a hard woman to please. Do you know that?

ME: I’m actually quite easily to please as long as you know what spot to hit.

ISAAC: Now who’s getting dangerously close to sexting?

ME: Get your mind out of the gutter. I was talking about pizza.

ISAAC: How does what you said even remotely relate to pizza?

ME: It’s all in the interpretation.

ISAAC: And you think I’m difficult to talk to. Bloody hell.

ME: You are difficult to talk to.

ISAAC: You’ve had one conversation with me, and for half of it, you weren’t even talking to me.

ME: It’s a skill of mine.

ME: What do you want me to do? Crawl out of bed and come and have a conversation over the back yard fence?

ISAAC: Don’t be daft.

ME: Don’t be daft? What does that mean?

ISAAC: Fuck me. We’re going to need a translator.