Good pussy had the ability to change a man completely. History had proven that it caused men to go bankrupt, cheat on their wives, commit murder, and even declare war. Denying the effect a tight pussy had on a man’s ability to retain his wits would be foolish.

I wasn’t a foolish man.

I pushed the door to Andy’s office open. Sitting sat her desk with a stack of paperwork in front of her, she was wearing a form-fitting gray blouse that accentuated her every curve. Her blond hair was down and had a slight wave.

As my cock began to rise against my jeans, she looked up and smiled.

I tore my eyes away from her tits and looked her in the face. “Do you make your hair like that, or is it natural?”

She reached for her hair. “Like what?”

“Curly. Like it is now.”

She lifted a few strands of hair off her shoulder with her index finger. “This isn’t curly. This is what it looks like if I straighten it and then curl it a little. If I leave it alone, it’s a disaster.”

“Disaster in what sense?”

She raised both eyebrows. “It’s a curly mess.”

My throat tightened. I swallowed heavily and then raised my index finger. “Is that the natural color?”

“This?” She shook her head lightly, sending her hair into slow-motioned orbit. “No. It’s naturally brown. Brown and curly.”

A person’s nationality made no difference to me. I truly believed we were equal in the eyes of our maker, and, therefore, should be in mine. I ranked people based on idiocy, and quickly cast the idiots from my life. Sensible people were kept as associates and companions. Color, religion or nationality never came into play.

I did wonder about Andy having the Brazilian temper, and how it might come into play when I broke off our sexual relationship. The odds of Cash being right about her nationality were a million to one. Her pale skin tone told a story that her hair and eyes couldn’t deny.

I sat down. “Kinky and brown? Is that a genetic thing?”

“I suppose. My mother’s Brazilian. I’ve got her hair.” She blinked a few times. “And her eyes. Sucks that blue eyes are recessive. I wish I had them, instead.”

What little rigidity my cock had when I sat down promptly vanished. I swallowed a mouthful of complications and coughed into my clenched fist. “Brazilian, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re pretty pale for a Brazilian,” I said, as if I could argue her claim.

She rubbed her forearm. “I use sunscreen and try to stay out of the sun as much as possible. If not, I’d be pretty dark.”

I stroked my beard, and then forced a smile. “Interesting.”

Fuck.

The last thing I needed was to be on the shit list of a Brazilian woman with an explosive temper. The problems she could bring into my life were huge. Then, there was Cash. If she simply came to my office to call me a cocksucker and he recognized her, it would be disastrous for her – and me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Based solely on my fear that she’d react in a manner comparable to how Natalia acted with Cash, I decided not to end our relationship. I needed more time to think. There had to be a way I could leave her and save the repercussions. I simply needed to figure out what it was.

I needed to remain in her good graces – at least for the time being. Feeling oddly relieved with my decision not to end our mid-day sex sessions, I exhaled a breath of relief and crossed my ankles. “The other day, the regional manager said you had bad news. I forgot to ask what it was.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Regional manager?”

“The old man that drives the truck.”

“Oh, Mort.” She leaned onto the edge of her desk and wrung her hands together. “I was excited to tell you, but we started boning and I forgot.”

“So, what’s the news?”

“3-A.” She faked a pout. “It’s no longer available.”

I had no interest in moving into the apartment, but she certainly didn’t know it. I clapped my hands together. “That’s great!”

“But wait,” she said. “It gets better.”

I widened my eyes in more false excitement. “Really?”

She pushed herself away from the desk and crossed her arms. “Guess who’s moving in?”

“I’d hate to try.”

“Seriously. Guess.”

“Ben Harper?”

She laughed. “The musician?”

“What do you know about Ben Harper?”

“I know that Diamonds on the Inside is what most would describe as his best album, but I disagree. I think The Will to Live is much better. Not everyone likes live albums, though.”

I stared at her in sheer disbelief. Ben Harper was one of my all-time favorite musicians. For her to have heard of a lesser known musician such as him, and to like him, was a shock.

“So, it’s not Ben Harper?” I asked jokingly.

“Back up,” she said. “How do you even know who he is?”

I crossed my arms and gave her a look. “How do you know who he is?”

“I listen to his music, that’s how.”

I looked her over. Her hair was a little lighter than normal, and I liked the new shade. I cocked my head to the side. “Who else do you listen to?”

“Everyone from The Delfonics to James Blunt, why?”

Both were artists that I had listened to, and enjoyed. I was surprised that our taste in music was so similar.

“Just wondering.” I glanced around her office, and wondered why she hadn’t given it a woman’s touch. When she came back into my line of sight, I grinned. “What makes you angry?”

“What do you mean?

“What irritates you in life?” I asked. “Day to day life. Give me the top ten.”

She counted on her fingers as she responded. “Tailgaters. Lines at the grocery store. Oranges that I can’t get the peel off. People who don’t use their turn signal. Call centers who call me and try to sell me something. Stubbing my toe. Upside down toilet paper. Having the cashier hand me change on top of a receipt. People who park crooked, and burnt toast.”

Her response was without hesitation, which I thought was impressive. I agreed with everything she mentioned except for one thing.

“What’s upside down toilet paper?” I asked.

She twirled her finger in a circle. “When it’s upside down.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“When it comes off the back instead of the top.” She exhaled a breath through her clenched teeth as she shook her head. “If I’m at someone’s house, and their toilet paper is like that, I’ll fix it. It drives me insane.”

“I’m the same way.”

“Why’d you ask me what irritated me? Nobody’s ever done that.”

“If your favorite car color is red, and mine is blue, we’re not going to argue about who’s right. We’ll just accept it. But, if you hate it when people park crooked, and every time we went somewhere I parked crooked, it’d drive you nuts. A person’s dislikes reveal far more about their compatibility than anything.”

She leaned away and looked down her nose at me. “Why are you worried if we’re compatible?”

She had a good point. I really had no idea why I asked her the question. It was time to change subjects.

I looked away. “I’m not.”

After a short period of silence, she cleared her throat. “We got off track. You were guessing who was moving in upstairs.”

I wasn’t in the mood any longer. “I’ve got to make my rounds.” I stood and brushed the wrinkles from my jeans. “Just tell me.”

“Me,” she said with a smile. “We’re going to be neighbors!”

Just like that, my biggest fear was one wrong move away from becoming a reality.