“Nah, I’m good with it.” I share her grin, mine cockier. “I actually like it.”

Resting her pink-manicured hand over her Twisted Fox tee, she pouts. “Are you going to ask if I have a boyfriend?”

I hesitate, my voice turning strained. “I think me asking that is dangerous.”

If I don’t know, I can convince myself she’s taken and off-limits. Technically, she is off-limits. There’s a no fraternizing policy here—which no one obviously takes seriously—and Cassidy is my brother’s employee. Not only that, but she’s also younger than my usual taste.

At least, I think that’s what my problem was. Back then, as hard as I tried, there was no connecting with women my age. Maybe it was the chicks in my circle, in my world, but I never found anything in common with them. Cassidy, on the other hand, is proving every she’s too young for you theory wrong.

There’s this electricity between us that’s zapping me to life.

“Why is that dangerous?” She makes a hmm noise in the back of her throat.

“You’re trouble.” It’s a statement. A fact. A motherfucking warning to myself.

She rests her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with trouble?”

I gulp. “Trouble leads to more trouble.”

I know that from too much experience.

Chapter Four

Cassidy

“Trouble leads to more trouble.”

If that’s not the understatement of my life.

Trouble finds me and then becomes a domino effect.

If I ever became a reality star on The Real Housewives, I’d make that my tagline.

After Lincoln calls me trouble, he hastily shifts our conversation a different route. While cleaning, we talk about customer reactions to tonight’s disaster. Lincoln muffles out laughter at my jokes here and there, but my commentary isn’t where his head is.

It’s on his brother.

There’s nothing sexier than a man who cares about others. That attraction is deeper now that I’ve had my fill of dating one of the most selfish men on earth.

Good-bye, self-absorbed men.

Hello, selfless ones.

Lincoln offers to walk me out when we’re finished cleaning. “From now on, park in the employee lot in the back. You don’t need to be walking through a parking lot where drunk people might linger. We always walk the female employees out after their night shifts.”

I salute him, a sense of security hitting me. “Got it.”

This man could tell me never to eat chocolate again, and I’d do it.

Okay, maybe I’d do it for a month.

A girl has to have her s’mores frapps in the fall.