He took more time thinking it over than she’d expected. Finally he rose from the bed and jerked his T-shirt over his head. “I need a shower. If you’re still wearing that towel when I come out, lose it.”

She didn’t like this. Not the fact that he intended to shower—she knew exactly how grimy they were from their long bike ride—but she didn’t like having more time to think than she wanted. Was this the best way to move on from Ted or the worst?

The bathroom door banged shut. He’d left his phone behind, proof that he’d wiped it out again. She made a call. “Meg …”

“Luce? Honey, are you all right?”

“I’m … fine.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because …” Lucy paused. “Would I be … like … a total skank if I slept with another guy now? Like in about ten minutes?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Do you like him?”

“Kind of. He’s no Ted Beaudine, but …”

“Then you should definitely sleep with him.”

“I want to, but …”

“Be a skank, Luce. It’ll be good for you.”

“I guess if I’d seriously wanted to be talked out of this, I’d have called somebody else.”

“That tells you a lot, then.”

“You’re right.” The water shut off in the bathroom. Panda had taken the fastest shower on record. “I have to go,” she said in a rush. “I’ll call when I can. Love you.” She hung up.

The bathroom door opened. Now there were two of them wrapped in threadbare towels, Panda’s draped so low she could see the entire plane of his stomach … and the bulge beneath.

He held his discarded clothes in one hand, his hair a long wet tangle, his lips thinned in something approaching a scowl. Water beaded on his chest and on his bare legs, which were—no surprise—free of any disfiguring scars. What was surprising, considering the lack of sunlight they received, was how tan they were. Even more surprising was how foul his mood seemed to be for a man about to get lucky.

He cocked his head in the general direction of her towel.

“I’m still thinking,” she said.

“No, you’re not. You made up your mind.” He yanked his wallet from his jeans pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out a condom. “I only have one of these, so you’d better be good.”

“Might be. Might not be,” she said. “It depends on my mood.” Her words exhilarated her.

He dropped his clothes, walked over to her, and dipped his index finger into the fabric between her breasts. With a single tug, the towel fell to the carpet. “Time to taste the forbidden fruit,” he said in a barely audible rasp.