“I need to get to work!” I blurt, blowing him a kiss as I leg it to the door. I don’t stop running until I’m down the street, and realize, I’m already late.

Dammit.

“So, what you’re saying is you spent all night having spectacular sex, and then you woke up this morning and bolted.” Lorelei leans against the makeup counter and arches her expertly darkened brows.

“No!” I protest. “I mean, not exactly. I, um, ate one of those cinnamon-crunch bagels he grabbed for us first.”

She laughs. “You ate the breakfast he so thoughtfully provided and then did your best impression of a sorority girl slinking out of the loser frat house. You’re right, that’s so much better,” she smirks

“Oh god, it does sound bad, doesn’t it?” I drop my face into my hands.

“I mean, not if the guy is just in it for a hookup. Otherwise…”

My head pops up. “That’s just it, though! I don’t know what’s going on. We have insanely good sex, but apart from that, I still have no idea where I stand.”

I’m too restless to sit still so I grab a spray bottle and start wiping down the counter. In my absence, absolutely nothing at Fleishman’s has changed. Same twenty-square feet of counter space to sell. Same athleisure-clad ladies browsing $300 face-creams on their lunch break.

Same Lorelei, giving me a look like she knows exactly what’s going on in my Dash-addled brain.

“Okay. And from this sudden display of cleanliness, can I assume that you’d like this to be more than just sex?”

I shrug and rub the glass harder, but Lorelei isn’t fooled. Her tone softens. “If that’s the case, why don’t you just ask him?”

Horror shoots into my fingertips like an electric shock. “I can’t ask him yet, we’ve been doing this… thing for less than a week. Four nights, if you count from our first hookup at the gala. Which I do!”

A week? I almost can’t believe it, but the calendar doesn’t lie.

“I’d sound certifiable,” I continue, spritzing harder. “Gee, Dash, we’ve been having wild sexy fun for like, eighty hours, but how do you feel about being exclusive and locking this down?”

Lorelei shrugs. “Why not? You guys skipped the shallows altogether and jumped right into the deep end. That whole fake-dating thing should count for an extra month at least,” she proclaims this with her usual confidence.

“How do you figure? Did you consult an actual rulebook with a fake-to-real-dating conversion scale?”

“Everyone knows.” She grins.

I wish I possessed a tenth of her confidence right now, but I don’t. I shake my head, the morning-after glow receding as I remember that stocked bathroom drawer and everything it says about Dash’s revolving door of women. “Even if I do have feelings, how do I know if this is just another one of Dash’s casual flings?”

Lorelei rests her chin on her hand. “Hmm. If only there were some magical way of finding out what Dash really thinks. Like, say, a conversation?”