Dental hygiene is a total turn-on.

I wonder if he would taste minty if I were to press my lips against his, maybe dip my tongue in his mouth. With me in my heels and him leaning toward me, the destination isn’t that far away. I could slide my hands up his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck. He’d hug me to him, and as we kissed, I’d experience the warmth of his body all along mine, building enough heat until clothes wouldn’t seem necessary anymore.

“Holly?” Ben gazes down at me with curiosity.

I realize I never answered him and that my eyes have probably glazed over as I was daydreaming about mauling him with my mouth.

“Drink. Yes. I would like one.” And, now, I’m talking like Yoda.

Ben nods but doesn’t move away from me. “What were you thinking about just now?”

Shoot.

I made a big deal about honesty, and now, he’s asking for something I just can’t give him. There’s only one option, but I’m not sure it’ll get rid of the subject.

“I’d rather not say.”

A look of mild frustration crosses his face, but then he nods. “Let’s go get a drink.”

He let it go. What could have been awkward and uncomfortable just became a passing moment because Ben understood what I meant when I promised him honesty.

This guy just keeps getting more attractive. I certainly like the way he looks with his ruddy hair, easy smile, lithe and tall body with whips of muscle. He wears his clothes with precision, no wrinkles, well matched. Somehow, he makes his denim shirt look like business casual, tucked neatly into his deep gray pants.

He places his hand on my lower back and guides me through the cluster of strangers.

The kitchen is cute with white cabinets and colorful appliances. The counters are completely covered with food and what looks like the same amount of alcohol I have behind the bar at work. If I thought the artsy crowd was any less boozy than the frat crowd, I now know better.

“Don’t worry. There’s water in the fridge,” he says with utter surety.

I can’t help but note how familiar Ben seems with this place. The result is a slight twinge in my chest.

Could it be? No, please tell me I’m not … jealous.

Dagnabbit, that’s exactly it.

As Ben opens the refrigerator door, I lean back on a cabinet and try to sort through my feelings. I bring up a murky image of Annabelle in my mind, but I don’t feel any animosity toward her. So, what is it then?

Ben straightens, a water bottle in each hand and a triumphant smirk on his face.

That’s when it clarifies. I imagine him in my apartment. Right now, he’d be a stranger there, likely uncomfortable in the new setting. But I don’t want my place to be new to him. I want Ben to confidently walk through my front door and scrounge around my tiny kitchen, looking for a few drinks.