Less than a week ago, I was doing shots with my sister and bragging about my ability to keep my attractions to people totally in the moment.

It’d been a day since I’d last seen Dean, and I was wearing a hole in the rug from nerves alone. I’d been undone by a hug. A hug between two friends. Well, Dean’s thumb didn’t help either. The one he’d used to brush sugar from my lips all while gazing longingly at me like I was an ice cream cone he desperately wanted to lick. That moment alone had me blushing myself stupid all day long.

Stepping into Dean’s open arms and wrapping mine around his neck was somehow even more blush-inducing. He radiated a powerful strength, body warm, smelling like woodsy soap and clean clothes. There was nothing contrived or artificial about Dean Knox-Morelli, and I doubted he’d ever worn cologne. He didn’t need it. I already wanted to nip at his skin and taste him.

We’d embraced for ten seconds, maybe less. There was nothing outwardly sexual about the act itself, merely the combination of a dozen tiny movements that left me with a pulse of desire between my legs. There were too many sensations happening at once to focus on—his large hands sliding down my back, his breath caressing my neck, his mouth moving through my hair. We’d been balanced on a tightrope, frozen in motion. Waiting. Wanting. If Rowan hadn’t shown up I would have fisted my hand in his shirt and kissed him.

Telling Dean that he could knock on my door last night if he needed a friend wasn’t some sneaky come-on. I would have gladly stayed up late with him watching movies or dragged him out for cheese fries or, really, whatever brought him comfort. He didn’t knock though. And I hadn’t seen him all day.

Granted, I’d been holed up editing hours of film so I could create the fundraiser for the pocket park. But my craving to see him far outstripped any other fears some very dusty corners of my brain were trying to remind me of.

I dialed his number, chewing on the end of my thumb.

“Are you pacing back and forth over there?” Dean said in greeting.

I stopped, one foot hovering off the ground. “Y-yes, I was. Why, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can.”

I forced myself to stand still. Cool. Casual. That was me. “I know it’s a little late, but are you free right now to have some fun with me? It doesn’t involve food and/or drink this time.”

“What does it involve?” The husky edge of his tone gave me goose bumps.

“It’s a surprise. But wear your workout clothes and your running shoes. So, basically, wear what you’re always wearing.”

“Is it outdoors? Because it’s supposed to storm.”