He stepped one foot inside, lips curving into a smile that was almost rakish. “I find that very hard to believe, Tabitha.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Butterflies began playing a rousing game of badminton in my stomach, and I was literally speechless.

A few seconds passed before I was able to yell out a shaky sounding, “Good night!”

I might have gotten a grunt in response, but then I checked the time and let out a stream of curses so filthy I half expected Alice to come by and hush me.

Inside, I threw off my crop top and pulled on the one button-up shirt I owned, wrinkle-free thanks to Linda’s ironing board. I opened my laptop at the tiny kitchen table and checked the time. I had five minutes, thank God, so I fiddled with my hair and threw on another coat of mascara for good measure.

Notebook in front of me, I sat down and prepared to wait for Meghan and her team to call in. I opened a few extra files where I’d been compiling ideas and research for the promo video we’d be shooting together. I scanned the screen to get reacquainted with my thoughts and had to breathe through a flutter of unease when I realized how uninspired they sounded.

Filming videos about hotels—even ones on the forefront of ecotourism—wasn’t always the most inspiring. But still, I was usually a little bit excited about new projects. Even the boring, corporate ones, where the story I needed to get across was come visit and give us your money.

I tapped my pen against the table. Two more minutes to go. I heard the distant sound of a faucet running. Footsteps on a staircase. These were sounds I now associated with Dean heading to bed. Where I assumed he’d be stripping his shirt off. Stretching his long, muscled arms out across soft, cottony sheets. Looking sleepy and adorable when he woke in the morning.

One minute left. I checked my appearance with my laptop’s video camera and cringed at my pink cheeks. It was super obvious—to me and probably to Dean—that my crush on him was gaining mega-crush status. As in, feelings I normally could get my arms around and cinch tight were growing cumbersome.

I didn’t think it would be a problem though. Based on his reaction on the stoop, he wasn’t a temporary hookup guy. That made it highly unlikely I’d ever experience the pleasure of being kissed by Dean…or any of the other filthy acts I’d been dreaming about. This morning I’d woken gasping from the most vivid sex dream I’d ever had—of Dean lifting me onto the kitchen counter, ripping off my clothes, and fucking me with my knees wrapped tight around his waist. I remembered every detail, from his hand covering my mouth to the cups and dishes clattering to the floor.