The week crawled by as if it were baiting me on purpose, but by the time I finally reached Friday, I was a mess of contradictory feelings. A not-insignificant part of me thought this was a crazy decision — one that would inevitably lead to trouble and heartache. I had only just decided to really try to move on from Micah, and here I was agreeing to a date with some alpha I’d met exactly twice? An alpha who’d lied to me from the first second we met, no less?

Sometimes I came close to canceling. A couple of times I headed to bed convincing myself that I’d call him in the morning, but then my head would hit the pillow and I’d close my eyes, and his handsome face would grin out at me from the inside of my eyelids, burned into place — calling to mind the memory of his scent, and how it reached some sensitive place beneath my skin.

I could cancel, sure. Maybe it would be wise to. But somewhere deep down, I didn’t want to. Not even when I got out of the car on Friday evening and locked the door behind me, heart pounding as loud as my footsteps on my way to the tattoo parlor. I was more nervous than I had been in years. I kept feeling as though I’d forgotten something important. Of course, the most important ‘thing’ was Josie, and she was already taken care of; she’d be spending the night sleeping over at Uncle Brandon’s place. She’d be having a whale of a time with her cousins.

As for the rest? Well. I was washed and dressed. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to choose between my shirts. In the end I had discarded the final contender, a light blue floral print, in favor of a lavender-gray long-sleeved shirt in low-sheen silk. Simple, but well-cut — and left unbuttoned, the collar lay open just enough to spare Jack a glimpse of my collarbones. There wasn’t much about my appearance that I actively liked, no matter how much I cultivated it, but that part of my body had been a hit with past boyfriends. I remembered the way Micah liked to bury his face, there and…

No. Not tonight.

I felt like a teenager heading into SeaTac Tat, wrapped up against the cold in a simple black cashmere-blend peacoat. I fiddled with the sleeve as I waited at the desk, concerned that I had overdressed. Jack didn’t seem like the type to dress up.

“Hey. You’re here.”

At the sound of his voice, my head turned — and my breath caught. I was wrong. Jack had dressed up, at least a little more than the t-shirt and jean combo I had seen on him twice before. The skinny jeans remained, but today he was wearing a short-sleeved black button-up. At first I thought it might be two-toned, but then I noticed that the lighter panels were in fact slightly sheer. Even without the heart-stopping treat of that peekaboo fabric, there was still plenty to treat my eyes. The shirt’s revere collar hung open wide, and with at least two buttons unfastened. I had a fight on my hands to draw my eyes up from the smooth view of his chest to his handsome face.

The wolf within took the reins. Lust curling in my stomach, it took me a few beats to remember I should probably speak.

“...Hi.”

Jack grinned, dashing my hopes that my reaction was in any way subtle. He was even more handsome with that wolfish smile on his face, tugging his features into a picture of playful power. God, I had missed the way it felt to be looked at like that — to see his attraction to me, and his confident understanding that I was attracted to him.

“You look great,” he said at long last, taking pity on me. “You do something different with your hair?”

“No,” I lied. He didn’t need to know that my twenty-minute hair routine had expanded to a full hour in preparation for this date. I may have been out of practice, but even I knew that was giving too much away. “I don’t think so, but… thank you. You look great too.”

“Oh, this old thing?”

He held his arms out, giving a playful turn. Across the other side of the studio, one of the other artists — the other Not-Mark — gave an appreciative whistle.

“You shut up,” said Jack, with no force whatsoever. Then, he turned his attention back to me. “Is vegan food okay?”

“Oh. Sure. Are you…?”

Across the other side of the room, Not-Mark snorted.

“Yep. Let’s go?” Perhaps sensing a good time to escape, Jack lifted a hand to guide me out of the studio. Remembering the torture of the similar gesture last time, when he had guided me out of the room out back, I inhaled — only to be rewarded with actual contact this time, the palm of Jack’s hand warm and strong on the center of my back.

Sure, I may have been out of practice, but I sensed that Jack would have been able to melt me down with a touch like that regardless.

“Yeah,” Jack continued, as soon as the glass door swung shut behind us. Even once he dropped that hand, he stayed close — a welcome warmth in the cool Seattle night air. “I’m a vegan. Have been for… oh. Something like 25 years, now? I was ten.”

I blinked, processing the information. A vegan alpha. That wasn’t something you heard of every day. “Wow. Long time.”

“Sure is,” he said. “But it’s easy, really, once you know what to avoid.”

I glanced sideways at him, sure that I’d spotted something contradictory. Sure enough, there he was slipping his arms into a leather biker jacket.

“But...”

“Faux leather,” he said. “Every chair in STT is, too. And all the inks.”

“That’s a lot of commitment.” I considered all the animal products I encountered in my everyday life. Even just this morning, Josie’s breakfast had included eggs — and of course, there was the milk in every coffee. There, down on my feet, were leather shoes. “Hey, um...”

“No,” he said, cutting me off with a knowing smile. “It doesn’t bother me that you’re not. Now, if you could be persuaded to try it...”

“Well, we’ll see how tonight goes first,” I said, forcing myself to look where I was going. It would be altogether too easy to walk into a lamppost from staring at him too much, and then I’d never be able to see him again out of shame alone. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a vegan restaurant before.”

“You’re in for a treat,” he said. “Menu’s gonna look a little intimidating, maybe, but… if you’re willing to be adventurous, I have recommendations I can give you.”

“I’m wide open.”

His smile widened. I tried to ignore the innuendo I’d created and buried my hands in my pockets.

“So, where are you taking me?”

Our path led us down to an intimidatingly cool-looking place called V’Gan. Dark, smooth wood bordered the entrance, forming a modern contrast against the intense white of the LED lights in the restaurant’s name. As we waited for a server to seat us, I read the panel on the wall, describing how 90% of the wood in the restaurant was reclaimed.

“They’re going to refuse to seat us,” I warned. “I’m not cool enough to be here.”

“I have a cool surplus,” said Jack, winking down at me. “I’ll cover you.”

“Very generous.”

Of course, his cockiness was all part of the appeal, not least because it came along with a healthy dose of self-effacement. Obviously, Jack didn’t take himself too seriously. Nobody who did would pretend to have a unicorn tattooed on their ass — or actually have one, in the unlikely event that it was true. Even so, I felt distinctly out of place as the server offered to lead us to our table.

Less so when Jack took my hand to guide me there.

He’d already held this hand several times. He’d tattooed it; his lines were permanently etched into my skin. Still, this time there was nothing professional about the contact. It left a buzz on my skin when he let go, and a lightness in my chest and my head as he pulled out my chair for me.

No doubt about it. I was in deep trouble with this alpha.

As the server stepped away with our drinks order, Jack shifted his chair around the circular table to be closer to me. My sharpened wolf senses could sense him from further away, but the closer he got the more intense it was — the heady, sexy scent of an alpha that wanted me. It made it difficult to concentrate on the menu, even as he pushed his between us and pointed out a few specific options.

“This is amazing. I’ve had it before.”

“Kale chips…?” I looked up at him, trying hard not to be too spellbound by the brightness of his smile. It was a losing battle.

“You’ve never had kale? Okay, total beginner,” he said, finally dropping his eyes from my face to look down at the menu again. “Scratch that. These pasta dishes are all top-notch. Nothing scary about them.”

“I’m not scared,” I insisted, but nodded after a short pause. “They… do look really good.”

“It’s a good starting point,” he assured me, shifting back to his own seat. I missed the strength of his presence already, and wondered how obvious it would be to ask to be moved to a booth. “And… y’know. With any luck, over time I’ll have you back here more than enough to build you up to seitan and cauliflower steak.”

I blushed, grateful for the low lighting as I ducked my head down and read over the pasta options again. “Well, yes.”

“Anyway,” he said, sitting back. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I still don’t really know anything about you, so… I’ve been making a few guesses. Can I try?”

I forced myself to sit up straight in my chair, struggling under the intensity of his gaze. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention any more, especially not from such a handsome alpha. From somebody with the spark of sexual potential that was growing between us, furtive and fluttering in my chest. “Sure. I’m curious.”

“Alright,” he said, fingers pressed together in a steeple. “There’s one thing that has me really curious. You… flowers. I can smell flowers around you. Real strong.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to feel self-conscious at the thought he’d been paying such close attention. If he’d noticed that, he certainly hadn’t missed the attracted pheromones that had probably poured out of me every time we’d been close.

“So… you either live with flowers or you work with flowers. Or both. Am I along the right lines?”

“I’m a florist.”

He tapped the table with his palm. “You’re a florist. That makes sense. So… you work in a store, or…?”

“I own a place. Blessings, on Constitution Street. Near the intersection with 3^rd.”

“Outside this little patch, my geography is terrible,” Jack admitted. “I know this area like the back of my hand, but beyond that...”

“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s only a little place. We make enough to get by. Just me — no employees or anything.”

“Are you any good?”

I flushed, flustered by the question, but decided to be honest. “Um… yeah. I think I am.”

“I like hearing that.” He leaned over the table a little, hands folded tightly together. “I mean… modesty’s cute and all. But if it’s your passion… well, you deserve to be proud of it, you know? And if you’re running your own business, you absolutely have something to be proud of. You have talent.” He paused. “And… you know. You smell great, so...”

“Oh, stop.”

My stomach flipped. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me like that. Like he wanted to find someplace private and bury himself into me. It only lasted a flash before he managed to contain himself, dark eyes settling back down. I had forgotten how it felt to do that to somebody, and how the sensation of something like power rippled down my spine.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“Yes,” I answered, grateful. “Please. Wine. Do you want wine?”

“Sure.” He laughed at me with those eyes of his, but I couldn’t bring myself to mind. “Wine. Red? White?”

“...Yes.”

I let him laugh at me again, settling down a little into my seat and trying not to smile too wide. Without a little dutch courage, this evening was going to head in entirely the wrong direction. Already, I had squandered my chances of retaining an air of mystery about myself. I could have made him guess what I did for a living. Instead I had offered it up on a plate, eager to share something about myself with him. Eager to give him what he wanted — eager to please him. I didn’t want him to start relying on that reaction.

Not that I’d done much to prove he shouldn’t, so far.

Once the wine arrived, things got a little easier. As he told me about his day, somehow weaving mundane and everyday threads into a tapestry that held my attention, rapt and unaffected. He made me laugh as easily as he made me blush, which was very easily indeed. By the time I realized that the wine was flushing my cheeks too, I had relaxed fully into the surprising comfort of my stiff-backed chair.

“You know,” I said, “this vegan thing isn’t so bad. I could do this.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said, waving a finger at me. “D’you know how many people have said that to me after I bring them here? And then the next day I see ‘em… I don’t know. Eating a turkey leg, or...”

“No,” I insisted, shaking my head. “No, you don’t. Nobody’s walking around Seattle eating a turkey leg.”

“I said the first meat that came to mind.”

“That’s the first meat you think of?”

“It’s not exactly my area of expertise.”

In that sentence in particular, I heard his words begin to slip together — not quite a full slur, but it was clear the wine was beginning to hit the sides of his well-oiled alpha metabolism. Well, good. The longer our conversation went on, the fuzzier the edges were getting, and I didn’t want to be the only one drunk.

“What is your area of expertise?” I ventured, pushing my glass away for a minute. Enough. “Obviously you’re a tattoo artist, so that’s one. And vegan stuff’s the other. So… hidden talents?”

“I can… tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue.”

“Real people don’t do that,” I insisted. “That’s a TV show thing.”

“Bring me a cherry and I’ll show you.”

“Sure,” I said. “Let me just get up and head out to Whole Foods.”

He laughed, folding his arms and leaning back. “Okay, but… sometime. I’ll show you.”

“You shouldn’t,” I said. “It’s embarrassing. I mean. Did you have to practice that, to learn how to do that? Sitting on your own, tying knots in cherry stems?”

“...No.”

“Liar!”

“Maybe I’m just talented enough to get it first time.”

“No,” I insisted, leaning across the table. I had abandoned all attempts at controlling my smile now. In fact, my face ached from smiling so much — but even as I felt that strain, I couldn’t stop. “No. I actually really love the idea of you sitting on your own, in your own apartment, all by yourself with a box of cherries...”

“Don’t picture me like this,” he said, playful and warm. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“What did you want?”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders back. The smile hadn’t left his face in a long time, either, but I was willing to bet I looked a damn sight goofier than he did. Even in a playful conversation like this, he radiated sex. “I don’t know. That’s the kind of impression you’re supposed to make, isn’t it? Confident. A little stupid. A very dexterous tongue...”

“I’m not sure that’s what dates are for.”

“Yeah?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. With both of us angled in, the space between us seemed negligible. A gap that barely was. “Okay, then, Dylan Kapernit.” He enunciated my name carefully, wrapping his tongue around every syllable. Was he trying to prove a point, now? It was hard to tell where the joke ended and began. “What are dates for, in that case?”

His eyes burned into mine, and I floundered a little in the spotlight. “Getting to know each other, I think. I don’t know.”

Jack pulled a face, thinking about my answer. “I suppose so. I don’t know. I don’t go on many dates.”

I laughed, assuming it was a joke. Then I saw he meant it, and furrowed my brows, lips upturned in a curious smile. “Wait, what? You don’t?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, why not?”

Jack grinned, shuffling his chair forward an inch. “You say that like it’s surprising.”

“Have you seen yourself?” I blurted out. “Of course it’s surprising. I just kind of assumed I was one in a chain of, say… fifty million.”

“Oh, wow.”

“I’m a little drunk,” I admitted. “You’re not allowed to take any of this seriously. But you know what you look like, don’t you? You’re that big, strong, handsome alpha everyone’s looking for. You’re just… Why?”

His eyes drew an outline around my face. I felt it so intensely that it could have been a fingertip. “I don’t feel like I need it, much. I save my time for people I like.”

“But how could you know?” I insisted, tipsy enough that this false assumption was still tripping me up. It just didn’t make sense that Jack wasn’t out every night with a different omega — and kissing a different one goodbye every morning. He looked the type. And if he wasn’t, then… what was I doing here? What was there to expect?

“Huh?”

“If you don’t date them,” I pressed. “How can you know whether you like them or not?”

That had him pinned for a second. I watched him work out his answer, cogs turning in that handsome head of his, before he eventually spoke. “I guess I just… know.”

It hit me then, in a tidal wave of understanding, what he was actually saying. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want other people. It was that he did want to see me.

“Why?” he pressed, speaking out into my slack-jawed silence. “You want a few competitors to be jealous of?”

I was just on the right edge of tipsy, and there was nothing holding me back anymore. Knowing he wanted me, and that he didn’t do this often, and that his standards for wanting were surprisingly, strangely high, the wolf in me lost control. I closed the gap between us at the table in a short, breathless kiss — his face fitting neatly against mine, soft at the lips but stubble-rough on the jaw. He tasted like wine and black pepper.

“Well, now,” he said, voice sandpaper-rough and quiet, still at close range. I could feel his breath against my lips, and almost see his pulse beneath that light stubble on his neck. I imagined how it would feel to take that pulse with my lips — soft kisses pressed against the underside of his jaw, lingering and reverential. “So. Why don’t I ask for the check?”

The walk back to his place was torture. He told me it was only a few blocks, but we’d only traveled the length of one when my body started to beg. It was a strange feeling, half positive and half negative — like excitement strong enough to make you nauseous. Every time he looked at me, turning his head sideways with that rugged canine grin on his lips, I could feel my chest fluttering and feel my body already wanting to arch for him.

“Not long,” he promised. His hand slipped from mine to rest on the small of my back, and the heat from his palm spread right through the lower half of my body. As a father and a business owner, I never gave in to instincts like these any more. When I got horny, either at random or as my hormones tugged me into heat, I dealt with it quickly and painlessly. Alone. It was neater that way, but no amount of mental gymnastics could make me believe it was just as satisfying as finding an alpha. Especially one as attractive of this.

I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, face already flushing. I could picture myself tugging him into an alleyway by the lapels of that fake leather jacket, and ruining the knees of my trousers on the damp street floor. It was exhilarating to know that I was only a heartbeat away from that wilder self. That more real self, somehow. I knew in my bones that Jack would let me. It was so easy to imagine him leaning against the cool brick of the wall, one hand in my hair and the other pulling his jeans out of my way…

Better snap out of that. I wasn’t 21 years old with Micah any more, giggling my way through my first legal beers. I had a daughter now, and car repayments, and arranged flowers for a living. I’d spent last weekend shopping around for better health insurance. I knew how to fold a fitted bed-sheet and unclog a drain.

“You okay there, Flower?”

How could anybody make that nickname sound sexy? I tried not to swoon, squeezing my hands tighter against my sides, and into tighter fists inside my pockets. This walk was too damn much. “Just peachy, thanks.”

He grinned. A second later, my knees nearly gave out as he drew a circle with his fingertips, dipping down under the waistband of my belt for a split second.

“Not long now. Nearly there.”

My heart thudded at a mile a minute, but my speedy pulse didn’t move us towards Jack’s apartment any faster. Pride prevented me from quickening my pace, but if I thought I was being subtle, I had a surprise coming.

Jack cleared his throat, bending his head to murmur in my ear. That alone had my cock twitching in the confines of my pants — his hot breath; the smell of him — but his words were even worse. “It’s in your scent, you know. You can play it cool, but your hormones can’t.”

“I...”

“I know how bad you need it,” he said, voice darker than the night air. My vision clouded with desire, as if speaking its name made it double in size. One hand whipped out of my pocket, gripping his arm hard and tight. “One word from you, soon as that door is shut behind us, and I’ll show you what a good alpha does.”

“How far?”

He laughed. The hand on the small of my back lifted, rubbing a warmer, bigger circle over my back. “Take it easy, sweet. One more block.”

True to his word, he guided us up the steps of an apartment building as soon as we’d stepped onto the next street. His hand still kept in contact behind me, steering me towards the elevator — but he kept his word there, too. As my heart hammered in my chest, desperate and hypnotized with lust, I looked up to meet his eyes. They were dark and desperate too, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t touch me any further until he’d unlocked his door and let me through it, shutting and locking it behind us.

Then he turned to face me again, shedding the faux-leather jacket without losing my eyes. He advanced on me like an animal, silent and waiting. Breathless and dizzy, with hormones rising so high even I could feel them, I finally remembered what he said.

“Jack, please,” I said. “Please, yes.”

I felt the full force of his body press me up against the wall in the hallway, one knee grinding up into the eager heat between my legs. I was already rock-hard, straining against the confines of the stiff fabric of my pants and the waistband of my underwear, but he didn’t release me yet. Instead he caught me even harder, rubbing his face into the scent-heavy space between my neck and my shoulder — and lifting it, his dark eyes drunk and eager to kiss me.

His hand was at my jaw, angling me up to meet him, but the force was all for show. He didn’t have to hold me in place to keep me moaning against his lips, as desperate for his kisses as for any other part of him.

Almost.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, plain and direct into our kiss. I couldn’t form an eloquent answer, only digging my hands into the short hair at the back of his neck and pulling him closer — telling him yes with the arch of my body and the sharpness of my moans. But that wasn’t enough. He pulled back, running both hands down roughly over my sides, tugging at the waistband of my pants. “Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I bleated back, obedient.

He lifted me as if I were as light as my flowers, carrying me through strange unlit rooms I’d never stepped in, and didn’t care about. Later I might notice the bareness of the decoration or the absence of photographs, and wonder what it said about the man I was getting to know — but in the moment I only wanted to learn him through his hands and his hips and his cock.

I felt the desperation filling me up as he dropped me down onto his bed. Omegas felt this kind of desire like a human might feel dehydration, or hunger, or the need to sleep, and I experienced it as a need instead of a want. If I didn’t have him soon, it felt like the light would fade out and I’d vanish into the rough cotton of his bedsheets, dull and unsatisfied. I clawed at his shirt with my hands until he caught the signal, pulling it off over his head in one fell swoop. His belt followed next. I watched his hands, deft and long-fingered, as he unbuckled it. He didn’t bother to pull it away. Now that it was loose, he simply shed it along with his jeans — scorching me with the knowledge that he wore nothing underneath.

The thick, dark flush of his cock was about the only stretch of skin on Jack’s body without any ink. Out of his clothes like that, I could get a full appreciation for it, but the sight of him hard and ready was too much of a distraction for me to take notice of anything else. My eyes fixated on him, hungry for the entire length of him.

“You’re still dressed,” he said, half-growling. There was a smile on his face as he pulled me closer by the legs, helping me to undo the buttons in my desire-drunken stupor and throwing it open to bare my chest. “Fuck. Your scent… It’s like you’re about to burst.”

“Please just hurry,” I begged, lifting my hips to let him pull my pants away. Soon after he clawed at my boxers, and I gasped as I finally sprung free into the cool air. I watched him taking in the sight of me — not just as if there were no finer sight in the world, but as if there were nothing else to look at, period. I shrugged out of my shirtsleeves, tossing it aside onto the floor.

He leaned down, hands spreading over my thighs. I couldn’t fight the shudder in my breath as he crawled onto the bed and sank his head down, pressing rough kisses to my stomach.

“I need to fuck you,” he told me. Though he’d already promised, it sent another shock of sexual energy through my spine. I felt like liquid in his hands. “But, hell… Dylan. I can’t wait to suck your cock.”

“Jack.”

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he promised, lifting his head and shuffling up to me, lifting my legs around his hips. Almost there. I heard a pained moan and wondered if I’d made it, tensing my thighs around him as I watched him lean to the bedside drawer for a small tub. Lube? A condom? I barely cared. “After this. Once we’ve spent already. I’m going to blow you so long you’ll beg me to let you come.”

“Jack, I’m begging you now.”

He grinned, reaching down with slick fingers to my waiting hole. As they slipped inside, I felt my breath shudder out of me in a stuttering gasp, eyes fluttering shut — and then opening back up just to drink in the sight of him. He was like a classical statue painted with contemporary art. Skulls and ravens and flowers fought with tense skin and the ropes in the backs of his hands, distorted with his effort but still beautiful. He opened me up, scissoring his fingers back and forth. When he added a third, I sat up on my elbows. My skin felt burning hot.

“Enough,” I insisted. “I’m ready. Just-”

“Shit, Dylan.”

“Jack, I need it.”

When he finally entered me, it felt like an answered prayer. Even after preparing me, he was thick enough that I ached with the stretching. With the fullness I had missed. I heard a ripple of snarled pleasure. For a moment I thought it was mine — then I turned up to look at him, his handsome face alight with desire so strong he looked positively furious.

He began to move in me. The ache and the burn persisted, but I couldn’t get enough. Wouldn’t have asked for the pleasure without it. It felt like I earned every thrust of him, breath hitching and moans forced out of me like air.

It was better than I could have imagined, even as I begged him to hurry up and fuck me — even as I had closed my eyes and pulled myself off last night, trying to imagine what it would be like if he took me. Letting my wildest dreams run away with me.

Knowing that, perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a shock to feel him swell more inside me.

“Oh, Jack.”

“Sorry,” he grunted. “I...” For a second I thought he might be about to stop, but he entirely misunderstood. Knotting was unusual the first time a pair of new mates fucked, but if some omegas were disturbed by such a show of physical intimacy, then I wasn’t one of them. I lifted a hand to knead into his chest, desperate and intervening.

“Don’t stop,” I managed. It was hard to say any words I’d chosen; so far, the only ones that had come out of my mouth were moans and cries that were wildly out of my control. Focusing now was difficult, but I arched my back harder and rocked up against his cock. “It’s good. It’s so good.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, then – almost...”

He pounded into me, rough but not aimless. I felt the mounting crest of my orgasm building, and tipped my head back into the crumpled pillow to let it wash over me. Still waiting, I opened my eyes to look at him, and watched as he took the length of my cock in one of his great hands, stroking me off in rhythm with his final hard, deep thrusts.

I was spent in a heartbeat, stuttering out his name in short, staccato bursts — adding syllables that weren’t there, choking up and curling on the strength of my orgasm. He didn’t take long to follow, leaning down close against me for two final, hard thrusts before collapsing into my chest, my name a desperate and muttered chant against my skin.

It took us a good few minutes to collect ourselves, my hands winding around his back unbidden to rub at the flushed, smooth skin there. Coming back to myself, and feeling the omega wolf in me fade away, I began to drink in the details of the art on his body, and notice the speed of my heartbeat as it finally lowered and steadied.

When he lifted his head, impossibly handsome with his ruffled hair and cum-drunk eyes, I didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t know that would happen,” he said, breaking the silence for me. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” I said, still more breathless than I thought. I dropped back down into the pillows again. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” A short pause, and then — “But you do have something to be sorry about.”

I cracked one eye open, taking far too much enjoyment in the concern on his face.

“There is no unicorn tattoo on your ass.”

He scoffed, climbing up to pepper laughter and kisses over my neck and my face. It felt like we’d been lovers for a year. It was easy to forget, in the welcoming glow of his body, that it was too early to think of the word love at all.

In the morning, my body felt stiff with pleasure. A warm ache settled at the small of my back and down between my legs, a not unwelcome reminder of the way Jack had me last night. My back didn’t ache like usual, and I put part of that down to the way I had curled up against him. Judging purely from how it felt right now, waking up, his shoulder made an excellent pillow.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly so as not to disturb the perfect peace of the scene. His sheets were light on my body, thin enough not to overheat us as the sun streamed through the chinks in the blinds.

Wait. Sun…?

I sat up in a sudden panic, eyes hunting for a bedside clock. Soon enough, I found what I was looking for — and it didn’t help my panic.

“Shit!”

I kept my voice quiet, stumbling out of bed with all the grace of Bambi on the ice. There would be no boss tapping his foot at the threshold of Blessings, but for all I knew, customers might be, and they controlled my livelihood with far more power than a boss ever could. That was my daughter’s money, too. She’d be at school by now, dropped off by kind Uncle Brandon, but she’d be disappointed if she knew I’d lost track of time like this.

How would I ever ‘sell all the flowers’ if I couldn’t open on time?

I scrambled into yesterday’s clothes, wincing at the overly formal way I looked as I opened the shop. I had been planning on going home to change first, but there clearly wasn’t time for that now. There wasn’t even time for a last look before I dashed out of Jack’s apartment. Considering how appealing I knew the view would be, with tan-brown, inked-up limbs stretched out wide and smooth beneath the sheets, that was a hard sacrifice indeed. But that view wasn’t the only thing I left behind.

As I dashed out of the door, visions of angry customers flooding through my head, my phone sat undisturbed from where I’d left it on Jack’s bedside table.