I pursed my lips, then hurried out of the apartment, leaving my sister and her questions behind. I knocked on Ali’s door, pounding on it until it swung open and she glared up at me.

“Are you going to apologize?” I asked her, slipping past her, going inside so my sister wouldn’t overhear. She shut the door behind me but I didn’t go far into the apartment. Instead, I found myself moving toward her, backing her up against the door. I took her hands, pressing them to the door on either side of her, pinning her in with my body. Her eyes were wide as she looked at me, her body trembling against mine.

“No,” she breathed.

“You owe me an apology, Ali,” I said to her softly, brushing my lips over her cheek, her jaw, feeling out of control with anger and desire. I took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, only sucking on her lips before I pulled my face away, not tasting her the way I wanted to. She looked up at me with her lips still parted, waiting for more, not struggling against my grip.

“No,” she repeated, her eyes narrow, stubbornness in her expression. I grinned at her, had to kiss her again, this time slipping my tongue inside of her mouth to tease her. She hesitated but then sighed against my lips, responding to the kiss, her body rubbing against mine as I held her there.

“Ali—”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, pushing me backward, pulling the door open, and glaring at me. She was out of breath, I could tell, her lips pouty, her body needing to be touched. Yet she stepped back and gestured for me to leave. Irritated and wound up, I stormed out, heard her slam the door behind me before I went back to my own apartment.

Trixie was sitting on the couch and she stood up when I walked in, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Just my awful neighbor,” I snapped. “I cannot stand that woman.”

Trixie snorted and I shot her an annoyed look.

“Please,” she said, shaking her head. “You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“No,” I said to her, turning around and heading into the kitchen, pulling out a frozen dinner and throwing it on the counter.

“You don’t hate that girl,” my sister chided, coming up beside me and leaning against the counter. She licked her thumb, reaching up to wipe my cheek like our mother used to do when we were kids with food on our face. I pulled away, grimacing at her.

“You have lipstick on your mouth,” she said with an eyebrow raised. I grumbled in response, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

“You like her,” she said. I shook my head, opening the meal and putting it in the microwave, watching it spin as it cooked. My mind was racing with thoughts of Ali, her scent, the way her mouth tasted, the soft feeling of her full, curvy body against mine.

“I don’t,” I insisted, although the words didn’t quite feel true anymore. Before she had gotten angry at me, I had been eagerly looking forward to spending time with her and getting to know her better. Now, though, I was only irritated.

“I wish you would date women who you were actually interested in,” Trixie said. “You always go for those bimbo models.”

“Have you ever thought maybe I’m attracted to those bimbo models? Maybe that’s what I like?”

“No,” she snorted. “Everybody knows that you only go for those girls to keep from falling in love, and to keep from getting hurt.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil,” I said. “Thank you for the psychological assessment.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me just because it’s true. You can keep denying it all you want, but you have the hots for that girl. And she’s cute as hell—much sexier than Amanda.”

I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with that but said nothing, only grunting in reply.

“You’re not exactly serious with any men either,” I said to her.

“I’m still young,” she said, laughing at me, waving me off.

“I’m not interested in Ali,” I said to her. “She’s a brat.”

“Keep telling yourself that, bro,” she said in a teasing voice as I pulled my food out of the microwave. Her face wrinkled up in disgust.

“You really gotta learn to cook,” she said.

“Don’t you need to go home for dinner?” I asked her, annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “I’ll call you tomorrow, grumpy ass.”

“Night,” I said to her, watching as she left. I sat down, closing my eyes, thinking about all she had said. I spent the rest of the evening fighting thoughts of her, but by the time I got into bed, they were full-fledged fantasies. My cock grew hard just thinking about where that kiss could have gone, what it might have been like to undress her, touch her soft skin, the gentle curves of her ripe body. I closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but all I could think about was what it might be like to taste her, wondering if her pussy was half as sweet as her mouth had been. I kept my hands off myself, refusing to give in to the temptation, although it almost overwhelmed me even as I fell asleep, thinking about the sweet sounds she would make coming on my face.