I was nervous as hell. My stomach was roaring with butterflies that felt like they were ten times bigger than normal, and I’d rubbed the goosebumps off my arms at least fifty times in the last few minutes.

Hannah Anderson was dreadful at dating.

It was why I didn’t do it—at least not often. The only thing I had going for me right now was that I’d already arguably gotten the worst of the whole dating thing out of the way.

The ‘what do you do,’ the ‘meet my family,’ and the ‘fuck me until tomorrow morning’ parts.

So by that logic, this should have been a walk in the park.

Also, I really needed to find out if he had a green card or if he was still here on a work visa. The last thing I needed was to fall in love with a guy who was going to get deported.

I didn’t like him that much.

Kidding.

Maybe.

I perched on the edge of the sofa and gave Lucifer some love. The little brat had really grown on me, and I’d meant what I said to Immy: there was no way I was giving him up now. Even if he was a dirty little ankle biter. I’d just have to train him out of that, because I much preferred my ankles without little puncture wounds from tiny little teeth, thank you very much.

Lucifer purred beneath my hand, and I smiled. He certainly livened my house up a little bit, and I was definitely happy that the little turd had wormed his way into my life the way he had.

A knock at my door pulled me out of my thoughts, and I peered out of the window. Isaac’s car was pulled up against the curb, and I shook my head.

He’d actually done it.

Laughing to myself, I stood and picked up my purse. I gave my trusty red dress an extra smooth down—and I’d actually sourced some red, lacy panties per our first text conversation.

You know, just in case.

I had to be honest and say the cotton cartoon panties were way more comfortable than these things.

Not gonna lie, I had a red pair of my regular panties in my purse. There was a chance I wasn’t going to last all night in these boner-makers.

Then again, he’d still fucked me after my old cherry panties, so maybe he wasn’t a fussy guy.

I pulled open the door and my heart skipped a beat. He was standing there beaming, looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him. His white shirt was tucked into a pair of black dress pants, and the bottoms of those brushed against shiny, black shoes. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and I suppressed a groan.

It’s like he knew.

White shirt.

Rolled sleeves.

British accent.

Boom.

Goodbye, panties.

That was it, basically. The magic formula. The only thing that could make this better would be if he put on grey sweatpants after.