I opened my eyes to darkness and the soft sighs of Rebecca sleeping next to me. She was warm against my chest, her legs tangled with mine. My arm was fucking killing me, trapped beneath her head, but it was…nice.

Too nice.

When last had I enjoyed touching a woman?

In the beginning of my relationship with Tabitha, years ago. That was the answer. Near the end, everything had gone to shit and what time we’d spent together had been cloaked in bitterness and regret.

This was something else, though. Shit, even in those sweet years in the beginning of the relationship with my ex, the sex hadn’t been this good. Holding her hadn’t been this satisfying. Becca fit in my arms like two puzzle pieces connected, and goddamn if it didn’t make me both hard and determined to get the hell out of here before I got in far too deep.

I shifted, careful not to wake her, and looked around the room, my eyes adjusting to the gloom.

Well, damn if you haven’t screwed the pooch on this one, genius.

I’d slept with my next-door neighbor, soon to be total stranger when I moved out of this unforgiving town, and I’d promised to help her fix up her place in the meantime. Things had officially grown complicated, and it was all my fault.

Well, my dick’s fault. And her pussy’s.

Stop, jackass.

Memories of her moaning beneath me, the flavor of her, her sweat mixing with mine, only woke up the big guy downstairs, and he didn’t give a shit about my moral compunctions. He pressed into her back and nestled between her ass cheeks like he’d been created to fit there.

Becca moaned in her sleep and scooched closer to me, upping the level of temptation again.

Keep it together. Keep it the fuck together. Do not wake her up with delicious thank-you sex. Do not further complicate an already fucked-up situation.

The more I thought, fuck, the harder I became. It was a recipe for disaster.

Hell, one more romp in the sack wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? We’d already done the damage. We’d already buried ourselves in each other, or rather, I’d done the burying, and she’d done the shaking. What did it matter if we did it again?

I lifted myself on the arm beneath her and used my free hand to trail a path down the side of her neck and over her shoulder. The muted light from the streetlamps outside was barely enough to pierce the curtains, but I could just make her out.

The soft slope of her neck, the lips, puffy and parted slightly, and her eyelids shut, eyes moving behind them. Becca was dreaming.

I worked my fingers down her side and back up again, painting her with an imaginary brush, coloring her body with my desire.

“Doctor,” she muttered in her sleep, and I couldn’t help the wolfish grin in response to that. “Mmm. Doc.”

I held back my mirth and pressed my cock between her ass cheeks instead, continuing my work with my fingers. I planted a single kiss on her shoulder, gentle as the flutter of a fucking bird’s wing, then pinched her ass lightly. “Becca,” I whispered.

Hard or not, I couldn’t slip inside her when she wasn’t awake. I needed to know she wanted it as much as I did first, and moaning “Doctor” in her sleep didn’t count. Shit, she might’ve been dreaming about Looney Toons for all I knew.

“Angelface,” I whispered.

She groaned softly, and rolled onto her stomach, away from me.

I rested my hand on the small of her back and brushed that gently, too. Well, there’s your answer. Definitely for the best. Another round would’ve been amazing, but ill-advised. I gave her a light pat, then rose from the bed and bent, grabbing for what felt like my jeans and shirt in the dark. God knew how long we’d been asleep, but I had work in the morning and my stomach had already started eating a hole through my abdomen.

I began the slow creep toward the door, making as little noise as humanly possible. Becca was clearly pooped from the move and whatever else was on her mind. She needed the sleep.

A light clicked on behind me and threw the open door into sharp relief. I was about an inch from slamming into it.

“What are you doing?” Becca croaked behind me.

I looked back at her, affecting a cheesy grin. “I believe they call it the walk of shame,” I replied. “Though, in my case, I’m inclined to call it the walk of pride. You all right?”

“Yeah.” Becca sat up in bed and brought her knees up, blocking my view of her ample tits, and placing her feet just so, to cover her pussy. She blinked in the light and worked her mouth. “Just thirsty.”

“Want me to get you a glass of water?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I do have two legs, two hands, and working muscles, you know. I can get my own glass of water.”

Uh oh. Becca was clearly just as concerned as I was about the repercussions of our little fuckfest. I made quick work of tugging on my jeans and shirt, purposefully averting my eyes as Becca did the same for herself—though she pulled on a robe instead.

After we were done dressing, silence pervaded the space between us, and that same awkward, fucked-up tension was back. Christ, the sex hadn’t dissolved it. The connection—don’t start with that shit.

“So,” I said and shrugged. “Guess I’ll head home. I’ve got work tomorrow, and you said you had interviews, right?”

“That’s right.” Becca nodded, curls bopping along. Gorgeous still, even with a little mascara smudge under her right eye and pillow creases on her cheek.

Another span of quiet.

Fuck this. “All right,” I said. “Let’s talk.”

“We don’t need to talk.”

“Becca, you’re so quiet I can hear your fridge making ice downstairs,” I replied. “Clearly, you’ve got something on your mind. Spill it.”

“Do you always get people to do what you want them to?”

“Glad you noticed,” I said, with a wave of my hand, egging her on. “Spill. You’re concerned because you just met me, I’m your next-door neighbor, and we fucked. Sorry, my bad—we had the most mind-blowing session of sex you’ve ever experienced.”

“Humble much?”

“Truthful,” I replied. “Even you can’t deny that what just happened was something…else.”

“Eloquent.”

“Do you have any other adjectives you’d like to pin on me? Sexy? Unforgettable?”

“Obnoxious,” Becca replied and pointed at me, the corners of her lips twitching.

“Gorgeous.” I grinned at her. “That’s you, not me. Seriously, let’s talk. You’re freaked because we fucked, I get it. I’m not here to mess up your plans. I’m just the friendly neighborhood carpenter.”

“Who’s also a doctor,” she put in.

“More adjectives?”

“That was a noun,” she replied, and the smile broke through in full now. It faded a second later, and she cleared her throat, once and then once more. “OK, I guess I’m just not interested in having my heart dragged backward through a field of broken glass again. And something about you tells me that there’s a high possibility that might happen if I let you any closer. Or let you, um, inside me again.”

“Now, see? There’s where you’re wrong. You’re not looking for anything serious because of the heart-dragging issue, right? I’m not either. So, we’re good,” I said.

“Good,” Becca said and huffed a sigh, tucking her hands into her pockets. “That’s good. But this still won’t ever happen again. For you and for me. For us, you know? It’s too risky.”

Who the hell hurt you? She wasn’t even willing to risk casual sex because she was afraid of what it might lead to. It was wise on her part, and I had no interest in being anything more than casual, but this was—she was hurt. Some son of a bitch had hurt her, and it made every protective part of me puff up and roar.

“All right,” I said. “Deal.” I stuck out my hand.

She regarded it for a second, then took it. “No more sex. Just—casual friendship.”

“Better keep the word casual out of it.” I grinned as we shook, her hand tiny and soft against my calloused palm. “You still need my help with the house.” It wasn’t a question.

“You said one weekend, right? The weekend’s over. I’ll figure it out on my own, Mason, you don’t have to—”

“There’s no ‘have to’ about it,” I replied. “I want to. I’ll be here to help you, Becca, that’s a promise I already made. Unless it’ll be too difficult for you to see me working shirtless.”

“Sheesh, did I mention obnoxious already?”

I chuckled. “I’d better get home. Work tomorrow.”

“Right.” She tucked her hand back into her pocket. “Right. Thanks for…everything.”

“Anytime you need me,” I said, “I’ll be here. Listen, you don’t have to walk me out, you get back in bed and languish. I think I’ll manage.” I didn’t give her a chance to object before I was striding out of the bedroom and down the hall, down the stairs up which I’d carried her, out the front door against which we’d almost fucked. I made straight to my Dodge, breathing like a winded rhinoceros. My dick was hard again.

Even memories of her drove me wild. What the fuck would it be like helping her fix this place up in my spare time? I’d have to use every ounce of self-control to keep from shredding the clothes off her body and feasting on her again.

I made the short drive home then unlocked my house, flicked on the lights, and sighed. The hallway was full of half-packed boxes. A job I needed to finish by the end of the month—when my replacement at the practice was due. I needed to hire a moving van, too.

It wasn’t an insurmountable task, but I couldn’t find the motivation to follow through. Which was weird, given that all I’d wanted since the divorce was to get out of this damn town.

I shut the front door and traipsed past the boxes into the kitchen and set about fixing myself a sandwich, banishing thoughts of packing and summoning up naked Becca instead. The images were a welcome distraction.

My phone pinged in my pocket, and I frowned, fishing it out.

“Thanks for what you did.” It was a text from Becca. No hearts or emojis or any of that other shit, just the words. I tilted my head and read it again, grinning.

“Like I said, angelface, anytime.” I sent it off, nodding to myself. Angelface was the perfect name for her.

Another text blipped through and I opened it, anticipation building in my gut. I tamped down on it hard—she didn’t want sex, and I didn’t want complications. I’d have to keep reminding myself.

“We nd 2 tlk.”

I blinked at the text then read who it was from. Cold water doused any fucking flame I’d held a second ago. It was from Tabitha. My ex. What the hell? She knew better than to text me after what she’d done. She knew better than to come within a few feet of me, for fuck’s sake.

“Bby pls. Thnk we made a huge mstake. <3”

One of my pet peeves was text communication without real fucking words, and she goddamn knew it. Tabby had never given a shit about anyone but herself. I deleted the texts, blocked the number, then placed the cell on the kitchen counter and returned to my sandwich-making.

Bottom line, Rebecca was right. Life was too damn complicated for us to get involved. The sex had been a perfect mistake, one we couldn’t repeat again.

No matter how much we wanted to.