His abs are made of corrugated steel. I’m sure of it.

I remember watching him on the beach one time years ago, throwing a football around with friends. I was, as usual, wearing a boy-short tankini. Something that covered enough of me that I didn’t need a Brazilian wax or to worry about my slightly waffly butt hanging out. Back in those days I was so insecure about my body, like all young women are. I wish I could go back in time and throttle myself.

But Dylan—he was always perfect. He’s kept in shape over the years, his arms still roped with muscle, his chest broad, his shoulders amazing. I wasn’t lying to him earlier when I said his clothes look good. The way his shirt fits him makes his muscular chest and back look like those of a marble statue. His shorts are loose, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the enticing bulge in the front, or his gorgeous, tight ass. And now that he’s sitting down, I’m getting an eyeful of his thigh muscles, which are out of this world.

As I’m staring at him he turns towards me. The light hits him in the most amazing way, making his eyes glow bright as he looks into mine.

I’ve wanted to kiss him so many times in the last hour. Wanted to touch him, to do the things I’ve been craving since I first laid eyes on him. I want to take Katherine’s advice and forget about the past.

But this is good, too. Sitting here like this with him, talking like old friends. This is better than some ill-conceived fling that I might regret. We shouldn’t do something stupid, anyhow. He’s just broken up with someone and me, I’m probably just a little lonely. I keep reminding myself that I really need is a friend, and he’s turned out to be exactly that. A good friend. Someone who listens to me, who jokes with me. He’s considerate and kind, and I really like this thing we have going.

So no, I’m not going to kiss him, regardless of how much my body’s begging me to.

Okay, this is the most frustrating friendship in history.

“I guess I should head home,” I tell him, protecting myself from further fantasies. “I’m still a little tired from the time change.”

“Sure,” he replies. But he’s not moving; he’s still looking into my eyes.

Risking everything, his right hand slips up and pushes a strand of my hair away from my shoulder. My strap falls down, revealing bare skin.

I hear him inhale a gasp that sounds an awful lot like pleasure, and I know I’m in trouble, so I turn away and pull the strap up. My core pulses with need as I stare into the distance, juggling all the reasons that I shouldn’t have sex with Dylan. But I don’t need to juggle. I know why I can’t do it. Things have been going so well. I want to like him, but I also want him to prove that he’s changed. Or at least to prove that I have.

I need to know that I’m not scared of being hurt anymore.

“Walk me home?” I ask, finally gaining the courage to look at him again.

“Of course,” he replies. His lips move in slow motion as those two words come out, and somewhere under a couple of layers of cotton, my nipples turn into rock-hard beacons. Damn, those lips of his are magic.

I hop off the wall, landing on the pathway, and he pulls himself down next to me. For the briefest moment he brushes his hand over the small of my back and a surge of electricity shocks its way through my system. As he pulls away, his fingers slip down over my ass, and I swear that I hear another sigh from his chest as he pulls away. Damn it, Dylan, you’re not helping the cause.

Our walk lasts about half an hour, during which he points out the sights as we head down the tall hill. The Forum, far in the distance. Mussolini’s Palace. The Colosseum. He hasn’t touched me again. He’s trying, at least. Trying to give me the platonic relationship that I need from him, and I appreciate it.

An outdoor museum, that’s what Rome is, I think as I look around. The daylight is waning; clouds of red, orange and pink thinning themselves against the sky like a canvas. Underneath them lies the exquisite Eternal City. “It’s like a postcard,” I say softly. “The best postcard I’ve ever seen.”

“Isn’t it?” he replies. “I’ve always thought so, too.”

“I feel like photographing this and sending it to someone with the ‘Wish you were here’ message on it.”

“Oh yeah? Who would you send it to?” he asks.

“No one,” I tell him. The truth is that everyone I want is right here already. “Anyhow, it’s perfect. Well, aside from the heat. I think I need another shower,” I pretend to sniff my armpit in a very unladylike way.

“Nah. You’re perfect too,” he says.

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t smelled me yet.”

Dylan stops in his tracks, grabbing my arm as he turns to face me. His features have gone so serious, almost stern, and he’s staring at me like he’s about to chastise me. “When we were younger, Lucy, you didn’t see yourself like everyone else did. You never knew how beautiful you were. I’m still not sure that you get it.”

I find myself tensing from both fear and excitement. I’ve wanted to hear those words from his lips so many times over the years. I always wanted Dylan to think I was beautiful. Even now, even though I keep him at a distance, it fills me with indescribable bliss to hear him say it.

“I…” I begin.

“I’m serious,” he says. For a moment I think he’ll reach for me, take my hand, something. But he drops his hand to his side, resisting whatever temptation he might have to touch me again. Part of me wishes he’d stop resisting. If he makes the first move, then I can blame him when I give in to my desire. “I hope you understand, now that we’re older,” he says. “I hope you look at yourself like you’re looking at Rome and marvel at how beautiful you are.”

“Of course I don’t,” I say almost defensively. “That would be…”

“It would be perfectly reasonable, given that you make Rome look like a pile of dirt and rocks,” he growls. “Lucy, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

“Dylan…” I blurt out, but the truth is, I don’t know what to say. I want to tell him to stop saying nice things to me. But I also want to tell him to keep going, because it feels so good.

“Don’t,” he says. “I didn’t say it to make you respond. I said it because it’s true. You’re beautiful, and any man who gets to be with you is a lucky fucking bastard.” With that he turns away to guide me home.

We spend most of the walk in tense silence. I almost want to ask him what he’s thinking, but I suspect that I know perfectly well, because I’m thinking the same thing. Screw friendship. I want to take you to bed.

When we finally arrive at the staircases that lead up to our respective apartments, Dylan turns my way and takes my hand. Oh shit, I think, it’s happening. He’s going to ask me to come up to his place, and I’m going to say yes because I’m fucking stupid and because I want him so, so badly. His blue eyes are narrowed, hungry. For a moment he chews on the inside of his lip, assessing what he’s about to ask me.

“Loose,” he finally says quietly.

“Yes?” I reply, steeling my resolve and doing an awful job. I’m yours, Dylan, I’ll do anything you want.

“Would you come to a cooking class with me on Thursday?”

He’s still got that super-serious look on his face. Is he messing with my mind on purpose?

“What?” I sputter.

Finally his lips turn upwards and he chuckles. “A cooking class. With me. Well, me and an Italian chef. I’ve been wanting to do it since I got here but haven’t had anyone to take with me. Are you up for it?”

“Um…I…sure, what time?” I ask. I’m slightly pissed off at him for getting me going like that, but hell, a cooking class sounds fun.

“10:30.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

He nods. “But I’m skipping out. I’m my own boss, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Mr. Big Architect. I’d almost forgotten. Fine, then. Come by and knock on my door, would you?”

“Sure. Oh, and there’s one other thing,” he says. I realize he’s still holding my hand, and he moves towards me, putting his other hand on my waist.

“What is it?” I ask, ready to melt through the marble floor.

“Would you reconsider the friends-only thing? Because I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

Yes. Yes. Oh, God, yes.

He slips a hand up and pushes my hair back over my shoulder again, sliding the backs of his fingers along my skin. Fuck, that feels good. My strap falls down again as if by command, baring the top of my left breast, and it’s all I can do to stay upright.

This is a crossroads. I could pull my dress down and ask him to suck my nipple right here, right now. I could slip one of his hands under my skirt and show him how wet I am. I could unzip his shorts and cup a hand around his hard-on.

I’m breathing hard, my heart is beating fast, and I need this so badly that it hurts.

It hurts.

I shake my head. “No. I can’t.”

“That’s what I suspected,” he replies, shooting me a wicked smile before he turns away. “G’night, Loose,” he says as his amazing ass disappears up the stairwell.

He was testing me. The bastard was seeing if I’d cave, just for fun.

Okay, I have to admit, it was fun.