Dave glanced at his phone as he walked through the apartment complex. His shirt flapped away from his bare chest, and the top button on his trousers stood open, revealing more skin than he usually did when enacting the Walk of Shame. That was saying something. He’d been in such a hurry to get out of there, he’d stopped at nearly buttoned up.

A text message had come in from Colton. Where you at?

Frowning, Dave noticed the time. Six o’clock.

When was the last time Colton had texted that early?

His first thought was that something might be wrong. The very next thought was Janie.

On my way home, he texted back. What’s up?

Stop by when you can. I want to show you something. Maddie is not pleased.

Anything wrong?

Not in the way you’re thinking.

With a frown, Dave trudged up the steps to the apartment.

“Oh shit!” One of the stoners from next door closed his door and walked toward Dave with a huge smile. “Dude. You are my hero.” He put up his hand for a high five.

Dave paused for a moment, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Are those women’s yoga pants?”

Joe—or was it Tim who had the fuzzy beard probably hiding a rodent or two?—looked down at himself. He adjusted his dick to not be so obvious. “Probably. I don’t know. I just put them on.”

“Do you have—” Dave stopped himself. Why ask if they had a woman staying over? How could that possibly make it normal to pull on a pair of yoga pants without a man-sized crotch, legs a half a foot too short, and fitting issues in the thigh area?

“Cool.” Dave turned the key. It slid too easily. Unlocked.

He pursed his lips, because Janie needed to be better about locking the door in such a dumpy part of town.

He pushed into the confines of his apartment and felt his shoulders relax. The smell of clean cotton from the air freshener wafted up to him. The feel of his surroundings calmed him. Helped him get past the night from hell.

He tossed his clothes onto the couch, shrugged out of his shirt, and pushed down his slacks. All of those went into the pile. His shoes he slipped off where they were, leaving him entirely bare. Wallet went on the coffee table, as did his phone. He went and got himself a glass of water and gulped it down.

He was halfway to his room when he stalled. He had a roommate now. He couldn’t just leave all his laundry for Janie to find. That wasn’t fair.

He bowed over at the thought of tidying up. Exhaustion dragged at him.

“Oh!”

Dave’s head snapped up. Janie stood in her doorway with a teeny-tiny tank top and itty-bitty girl briefs. The pink fabric hugged the V between her upper thighs, promising the kind of delight that had haunted his dreams last night, making him toss and turn. The delight he’d wanted instead of what he’d had, something that had become painfully obvious when he’d struggled to maintain an erection. He’d had to keep the woman occupied with foreplay while the little blue emergency pill kicked in.

“Sorry—” He gritted his teeth and tensed. He’d meant to apologize for the nudity, or maybe the mess of clothes she was about to find. Now, however, that sorry would also have to cover the hard-on that had finally showed up in full force.

Ten hours too late!

“Wow.” She grinned as she looked away. Her teeth raked against her full bottom lip. “That is quite an instrument you got there. And it was left switched on, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She laughed, an erotic sound—which was probably his mind playing tricks on his dick. “I was about to start the coffee brewing early. Want some?”

He groaned at the sight of those briefs pulling up into her shapely butt, exposing half of her cheeks. He’d never seen briefs like that, and while they didn’t seem very practical, they were the hottest damn things he’d ever seen in his life.

His shoulder hit the wall as he staggered into it. He bent over painfully, looking like a fool, but so close to rushing toward her and taking her he couldn’t think straight.

“Is this a Jekyll and Hyde situation and I’m about to see the switch?” she asked from the kitchen. “Or maybe you’ve ingested poison and I should be calling 9-1-1… Blink once for yes, twice for—”

“I’m good.” He straightened up painfully and sidestepped until the corner blocked his cock from her line of sight.

His extremely lucid dreams of Janie last night had severely fucked with his mind. Severely. He was so far gone he didn’t know how to come back.

“I need to get a few hours’ sleep.” He turned toward his room without another word.

He needed to take a moment, jerk off, shower at the coldest possible setting, and sleep. All of those things were mandatory. In that order.

It wasn’t until he had lain down in an attempt to sleep that he realized he hadn’t asked about her painting session. He wondered if she had started, and if so, what subjects she’d chosen, or if she was simply going for abstract. It wasn’t like he would understand much of what she said when she got into the nitty-gritty of her art, but he had every reason to suspect he’d still be fascinated. Just watching her eyes light up as she spoke about the work she loved would be enough.

His eyes drooped. What seemed like a moment later, he felt a small hand on his shoulder, shaking. “Hey, dummy, wake up. Your phone won’t stop ringing. It’s probably important. Are you supposed to be balls deep in someone’s ass right now or something? Because clearly they can’t wait for a little pump and grind.”

Her low, sultry voice slid across his skin like velvet. The stir in his cock was instantaneous, like he hadn’t thrown in an extra whack-it session and accidentally come all over the well.

“Jesus. That thing is like a jack-in-the-box. Dave, wake up.”

Something flicked the tip of his hard cock. His eyes snapped open of their own accord. He sat up in a rush. “What the fuck?”

Janie stood over him with a scowl—one hand braced on her hip, the other holding his phone.

“What?” he asked, panting. The dick flick didn’t escalate into pounding, or even stinging, pain. He gave a relieved, though shaky, exhale.

“Here you go, playboy.” She held out his phone, and he realized she’d put on a bra, a loose shirt, and jeans.

“What’s the problem?” He wiped his eyes.

“You left your phone on the coffee table. It seems like every five seconds you get a text from a chick. It’s distracting. And someone named Betty has been calling for the last half-hour. Clearly you overslept for an appointment.”

He snatched the phone out of her hands. “How long have I been out?”

“Three hours.” She turned away from him.

“And she’s been calling for half an hour? Or less?” His heart started to thud.

After tapping Betty’s name, he hopped out of bed, accidentally bumping into Janie as he did so. He muttered an apology while hurrying to his dresser. “C’mon, pick up. Pick up.”

“How late are you?” she asked, hesitating by the door. “And what are you supposed to be doing?” She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea why I find this whole thing fascinating.”

“It’s not a gig.” The phone went to voicemail and his stomach clenched. “Damn it, Betty. Pick up!” He tapped it again. “Janie, is there coffee made?”

Her brow settled low over her eyes. “It’s a little old because I didn’t know when you would wake up, but there is some.”

He snatched out some sweats and a T-shirt and threw them on the bed. “Can you get me some, please? I need help. I have to—” It went to voicemail again. Adrenaline pushed his heart into his throat. “Fuck. I have to go. Now. It’s an emergency.”

Confusion stole over her expression. “Okay. Sure.”

Without another question, she disappeared from the door. He could hear her hurried footsteps down the hall.

He tapped the speakerphone and then Betty’s name before grabbing some underwear. He put them on and slipped into the sweats.

“Here.” Janie rushed in with a travel mug, bless her heart. She’d figured out that he’d have to leave. “It’s hot. Give it a minute.” She put a bottle of water beside it on the dresser. “Water actually wakes you up faster than coffee, so you might want to drink that, too.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged into his shirt. Fear surged through every ounce of his person.

“It’s not my business, but who is Betty?” she asked in a small voice.

“My mother. Our agreement is that if she thinks she might not make it through the day, she calls ten times in a half an hour. Last time it was because she had been on a drug binge for a week and didn’t want to go through life anymore. She’d slit her wrists.”