Okay, she was attracted to him. Even if she tried to convince herself otherwise, one look at Hank sent Becca’s pulse to hammering. He was everything she said she wasn’t attracted to—tall, rough, hairy—but, damn, he really did something to her. She gazed at the broad spread of his shoulders in the plain, dark button-down shirt. He practically bulged out of it. He wore jeans that showed off a rather tight butt, and his legs were long and strong and just . . . gosh. What would it be like to be kissed by someone like him instead of slender Greg?

Her mouth went dry at the thought.

Hank scowled at the porch and then rang the doorbell again.

Oh. Right. Here she was staring at him through the window instead of answering the door. Becca smoothed her artfully loose chignon, took a deep breath, and then opened the door. “Hey, Hank.”

The big cowboy said nothing, just looked her up and down. It made her nervous . . . but it also made her squirm in a lot of good ways. “Is this okay?” she asked, gesturing at her dress. It was pale pink and sleeveless, above the knee, and it toed the line between cute and flirty and too summery.

He dragged his gaze away from her legs, paused at her boobs, and then clenched his jaw and gazed up at her face. “What?”

That was flattering. Becca found herself smiling. “Is this okay for where we’re going?”

He grunted.

Becca resisted the urge to smack him in the stomach to get an answer out of him. A grunt was not a damned answer. “Where are we going?”

Hank gazed down at her, and she noticed his cheeks were slightly flushed and he was sweating. Was he nervous, too? If so, that was cute. To think she made a man this intimidating-looking anxious. It made her feel a bit more like a femme fatale—something she’d never been. Becca was always the sweet one, the cute one, the dependable one. Never the vixen.

Tonight, she kinda wanted to get her flirt on and see where it would take her.

“Dinner.”

She gazed up at him. “I know that. I mean . . . where?”

“Steak.”

Now she was the one clenching her jaw. The man was impossible. Was this how the entire dinner was going to go? Nervous or not, he had to talk to her.

Didn’t he?

But it was a silent ride in his truck as he drove them two towns over. They stopped at a familiar steak house, one that she’d seen and heard about but that Greg had never taken her to. By that time in their relationship, they’d been together for so long that dates pretty much just involved getting together and having sex . . . and then she’d clean his apartment and cook for him. Yeah, she was an idiot.