“Brad said we could use theirs, and think about all the time and money we’re going to save.”

On my knees in the living room, I throw our dirty laundry into a basket and turn to my sister. “Brad? Since when did he go from Bradley to Brad?”

My sister’s fake golden locks shift as she shakes her head. “Since I refuse to call him Bradley.”

I can’t help but sigh. “I don’t know. It feels weird.” Sure, in any other world, being offered the free use of a washer and dryer would be a blessing. But in this world, where the washer and dryer belong, in part, to a boy whose name I moaned when I was two fingers deep inside myself... yeah, it’s a catastrophe waiting to happen. What’s worse is that I haven’t seen Noah since last weekend, since he stood just outside my glass sliding doors once the yard was clear of partygoers and waited until he was sure my door was locked before offering the slightest of smiles and a head nod as a parting gesture. It’s not to say I haven’t thought about him. I have. Every time I saw his car in the driveway, I’d wonder if we’d accidentally see each other. I almost hoped Miles would be home so he’d throw another party and Noah had a reason to save me again. Neither of those things happened. And when his car wasn’t there... I found myself wondering where he was. Who he was with.

Ugh!

The blushing heart-bandit next door has taken my mind hostage.

“What’s wrong with you?” Milky asks, eying me sideways as she throws an oversized shirt over her body, or maybe it’s a short dress. I can’t tell. She adds, “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“I am,” I assure her. I just wish it didn’t come with a six-foot-two price tag.

“Maybe that cute, shy one will be home. I love teasing him.” She smacks my ass as she passes me and heads for the door. “Let’s go.”

Milky bursts through the boys’ front door with confidence I can only dream about. I stop just inside, taking in my surroundings. Clearly, Milky’s been around before, but I haven’t. The entryway is small, just wide enough for a small table, and the hall leading down to the rest of the house is only a few feet long. The first floor is open—kitchen, living and dining all in one space. Milky’s the one to reveal my crush’s presence when she says, “Hey, playboy, looking good.”

I cringe at her teasing, or flirting, whatever, and grip the laundry basket tighter as I follow her into the house.

Noah’s standing at the kitchen island, an assortment of sandwich fillings spread out in front of him, an already-made sandwich gripped in both hands raised halfway to his mouth, a mouth that hangs open at the sight of Milky. He’s wearing jeans, a plain white T and a gray NC State cap pulled down to his eyebrows. I don’t know how long I stare at him while he stares past my sister, but he hasn’t moved. Hasn’t noticed my existence.

Milky says, “Brad said we could use your washer and dryer. Hope that’s okay.” She motions to me. “Andie’s going to do it, which leaves me all alone.” Milky giggles at his silence and drops her voice to a husky whisper, stepping closer to him. “You want to fool around?”

Vivid blue eyes shift to mine and then away again so fast I would’ve missed it if I wasn’t slightly obsessed with staring at him. His gaze moves to Milky’s feet, head shaking quickly, side to side, cheeks almost as red as the time he said I was all soft, feminine curves and perfection.

A door opens, and Bradley’s voice cuts through the tension. “It’s the comeback queen!” he shouts.

Noah drops his sandwich. “Fuck off.”

“Who’s the comeback queen?” Milky asks.

“Your—” Bradley starts to answer, but Noah cuts him off with a “Shut the fuck up.”

Bradley chuckles. Milky skips over to him and says, “You’ll do.” Then she drags him by his shirt back to the room he just left, slamming the door shut after them.

Noah stares at the door as if it’ll lead him to Narnia.

“Milky’s um... confident,” I say, my voice struggling to get through my nerves.

His eyes slowly move to me. Then he blinks, dark lashes dusting his still blush-colored cheeks. “Here,” he says, taking the basket from me and settling it on the kitchen island. He points to the assortment of fillings in front of him. “You hungry?”

I am. I skipped breakfast and lunch, planning to spend the few dollars we had left at the laundromat. “Are you sure?”

He nods, not once making eye contact. “I can, um... I can make you something.”

I sit on a stool on the other side of the counter. “I can do it.”

His lips form a smile, but his eyes don’t follow.

“So...” I say, grabbing two slices of bread and trying to edge toward some more clues to his mystery. “What’s the deal with the comeback queen?”

He shakes his head, his gaze on my shoulder. “Nothing important.” He clears his throat. “Your sister—she’s kind of wild, right?”

Shrugging, I take one of everything on the counter and build my sandwich. Then I glance up at him, only to see him look away the second I do. A smile pulls at my lips. I try to force it away. “She is.”

“How do you feel about what she does?”

“What do you mean?”

“Stripping for money? It’s kind of an odd choice for a career.”

The heaviness of my heart triples, my chest no longer able to hold its weight. It dips to my stomach and is anchored there, pushed down by the choices she’s made for me. “You can judge as much as you like, but Milky—she’s the realest person I know. And she’s headstrong, you know? There are so many girls out there who become victims of society or relationships... to guys,” I choke out. “Milky knows what she wants, and she takes no prisoners.” I shrug. “I admire that about her.”

The silence that stretches is deafening.

“I’m sorry, Andromeda,” Noah finally says, the sincerity in his apology slicing through my thoughts. “I didn’t mean to offend. Honestly.”

“I know,” I say quickly, looking up at him.

His eyes hold mine.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four.

They don’t veer away, and my smile returns, widening when he delivers his own heart-stopping one.

I grab the bottle of mustard and ask, “How are classes going? Picked a major yet?”

His shoulders relax, his exhale audible. “They’re going fine, and no. I think I’ll be forty by the time I decide.”

“You’ll get there. You’re still young.”

Nodding, he runs the backs of his fingers across the stubble along his jaw. “Listen I—”

“Oh fuck, yeah! Baby, right there! Fuck me right there!” Milky’s voice and her words have my eyes widening, my body tensing, my hand forming a fist around the bottle of mustard, squeezing, causing a stream of yellow sauce to fly through the air, across the counter and... right onto Noah’s bright, white shirt.

I gasp.

He laughs.

Milky says, “Oh yeah! Fuck fuck fuck. Yeah!”

Jumping off my stool, I try to fight the embarrassment of my reaction and race around the counter toward him. Clearly, my brain’s stopped working because my hands are fisted in his t-shirt, trying to yank it off him so I can add it to my laundry while he spins in circles, arms raised, trying to brush off my hands.

“I’m so close! Oh God!”

“Take it off!” I shout.

“What?” Noah huffs.

I hold his arms at his sides, forcing him to stay still. “Take it off!”

“Why?”

“So I can wash it!”

“Oh” is all he says, but he doesn’t move.

I grasp the hem and lift, revealing the band of his boxers peeking above his jeans. My mouth goes dry at the smattering of hair below his abs, and I moan—out loud—completely out of my mind with desire. No longer in control, my hands have a mind of their own as they lift his shirt higher and higher, Noah’s arms rising to accommodate my crazy task.

His chest comes into view, my knees buckling at the sight of him.

It’s been so long.

Too long.

My fingers ache to touch him.

His arms are free now, but his cap catches in the neck hole, and my hot-as-hell neighbor’s struggling, laughing, having no clue to the meltdown I’m experiencing, and Milky shouts, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Give it to me!” I yell, hand out to take Noah’s shirt, cringing at the sounds of the bed creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall.

“Oh God, Brad!”

“It’s Bradley!”

“I don’t care!”

The second I’m in possession of the mustard-stained garment, I throw it in with the rest of our dirty clothes and head for the laundry room off the kitchen. I dump the clothes in the washer and then... I stare at the machine because it’s all lights and buttons, and I realize I have no idea what I’m doing.

Heat presses against my back, Noah’s arm reaching around and above me to get the washing detergent off a shelf I wouldn’t have been able to reach without him. He makes quick work of getting the washer started. Then he leans against it, his arms folded across his broad, bare chest. His gaze takes me in from head to toe, over and over, and I swallow my lust. “What?” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine, holding them captive.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” he says, leaning forward, his mouth to my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re fucking incredible, Andie, and I can’t not look at you.”