The first person she’d ever kissed was Greg. The last person she’d ever kissed was Greg, and that had been two years ago. She’d never kissed anyone else and she often wondered if she was any good at it. Kissing Greg had been exhilarating at first—and wet—but over time their kisses had gone from long and passionate tongue sessions to quick, perfunctory pecks on the mouth. Maybe that was her fault, but after a while she hadn’t enjoyed kissing him any longer. He’d always smelled like his dinner, or he’d been too aggressive with her mouth, and she’d always been the first one to pull back. She’d thought it was just part of the relationship changing as they’d matured.

Now she wondered if it had been a warning sign she’d deliberately ignored because she was so focused on Greg being “the one.”

Sometimes she really could be so stubbornly dumb.

Still, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be nervous about kissing another man. Kissing was intimate, and while she’d been intimate with Greg plenty of times, she felt like she was starting over.

That was one reason why under her cute, flirty A-line pink dress, she was wearing her oldest pair of granny panties. It didn’t matter how good a kisser he was; she wasn’t putting out on the first date. Period. Those awful panties would remind her not to get undressed at all.

But because she wanted to be pretty, she’d also worn her tallest pair of fuck-me pumps and dangly earrings. She’d painted her nails a shell pink to match her dress, and she’d debated endlessly over perfume before deciding to skip it.

And then there was nothing to do but wait. Becca paced near the front door, doing her best not to peek out onto the storefront porch that she shared with her hair salon. She didn’t want to look too eager. Too nervous. Too excited.

She was all those things, but she didn’t want to look them. Heck, Becca wasn’t even sure if she liked the man. Sometimes he made her breathless, and sometimes she wanted to choke him. He rarely said anything to her. He glared a lot. He was far too tall and hairy for her.

But she’d asked him out, and he’d finally said yes, so she guessed they were going out, and she had no idea why that made her so damned nervous. After he’d turned her down, it had been easier to just think of him as a friend, and now she was thinking of him as date potential again, and it was . . . odd.

The doorbell rang, jarring her out of her thoughts, and she peeked through the curtains at the man on the porch.

Her heart fluttered again.