Fisher stepped right next to me. My attention shifted between the two men. I anticipated Fisher saying something, but he didn’t. Instead, he sipped his drink like a ten-year-old who just got his favorite beverage and couldn’t stop nursing it.

“I … uh … have plans already. But thanks.” I pressed my lips together so Fisher didn’t think I was flirting with Jeremiah.

“Maybe another time?”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I nodded just before Jeremiah took off with the bags of food for the crew.

“What are your plans?” Fisher asked, taking a two second break from his straw.

“What are you doing here?”

“Working.” He shrugged, taking a longer break from his drink. “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering lunch.”

“Did you bring me lunch?”

I shook my head. “I can get you lunch. What do you want?”

“You.”

On a nervous laugh, I glanced around to see if anyone heard him. “I don’t think I know what that means.”

“I think you do.” He brushed past me to the crew sitting along the side of the house in the shade, eating their lunch.

I didn’t move, mostly because I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to head back to the office or get him lunch … me … which … yeah, I had an idea of what that might have entailed. But it wasn’t on the menu. However, just thinking about it, made me feel an unfamiliar need, a foreign feeling between my legs, and the recently new wet feeling that wasn’t a bladder issue.

It had to be better than men getting untimely erections. After all, I could hide it. Still, I felt like everyone who looked at me somehow knew.

As Fisher chatted with his crew, inspected their lunches while shaking his head, I thought long and hard about the definition of sex and temptation. I tried to make a case for sex being only intercourse. That left a lot of options.

“Let’s go.” Fisher strutted toward me, sipping his red drink.

“What is that?” My nose scrunched.

“Fruit punch and iced tea.” He held it out for me.

I eyed the guys eating their lunches, making sure they weren’t watching us before I took a sip.

“Don’t do that.” Fisher grimaced, taking his drink and crossing the street toward his truck.

“Do what?” I followed him since I was parked behind him.

“Lick your lips like that.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t lick them like anything. Why?”

“Because I’ve been dealing with a fucking hard-on since you climbed into my truck this morning.”

Fisher … so uncensored.

He had no idea—or maybe he did—how much it thrilled me to know that I could slowly unravel him in that way. It made me feel powerful, yet incredibly weak at the same time because I had no clue what to do with my accidental sorcery.

“Do you need a formal apology?”