Let’s make it lunch then,” I say.

When Damon smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkles. I don’t know why but that little detail makes me want to pull him close and kiss him.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” He gets up and starts walking toward the door. “I mean, later today.”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“Good night.” Damon pulls the door open and walks backward out into the hallway.

He almost stumbles on something. I hear the crinkle of plastic as we both look down.

“Almost forgot about these flowers.” Damon bends down to pick the bouquet up. He takes the white card with his one-word message on it and hands it to me.

“Thanks.”

We stare at each other at the door, unsure if we should kiss.

He probably wants to and I know I want to. But is that a good idea?

What is this anyway? Are we trying to be friends? Are we a couple? Are we somewhere in between?

I don’t ask the questions and neither does he. Everything’s hanging in a precarious balance. I don’t want to do anything to tip it over in the wrong direction. I mean, I don’t even know which way is the right direction.

But I guess I’ll find out.

* * *

I wake up before my alarm and check my phone. I’m an hour early, but I may as well get up now. I can’t go back to sleep. I’m too excited.

After the way I treated him at the hospital, I didn’t think Damon would want anything to do with me, much less tell me he wants to build a future with me.

I spend longer than usual getting ready. I shave. I exfoliate. I paint my nails. I pick out sexy underwear—Damon won’t see them but just in case . . .

When I hear the buzzer, I run to the panel.

“Hey, it’s me.” Damon’s voice sounds funny when it’s distorted like this. “I’m buzzing your apartment like a normal person.”

I giggle. “I’m coming down.”

Downstairs, the walk to Damon’s bike feels a little awkward because we’re so close to each other, and I want to touch him, but I don’t know if I should.

We make small talk but it feels trite to be talking about the weather and the restaurant when there are bigger topics we’re both avoiding.

But I get on his bike, and before I even think about it, my arms wrap around his waist. It’s automatic. Kind of like riding a bike.

The ride is exhilarating. By the time we reach the restaurant, my hair is a flattened mess, thanks to the helmet. But from the way Damon looks at me, it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed.

“This place is supposed to have the best sashimi in town,” Damon says. He smiles and takes my hand as we walk toward the entrance.

“Fancy.”

“I told you. I’m a changed man. Diners and cold pizza just don’t cut it anymore.” Damon grins. He may be a big, dangerous man, but he looks so boyish right now it’s hard to believe he’s ever gotten into trouble with the law over anything more than a parking ticket.

As it turns out, the food is good . . . I guess. It probably is. But I’m so wrapped up in our conversation I barely pay attention to it.

For once, instead of talking about the past, we stay in the present. Damon tells me about the classes he’s been teaching, the new people he’s met, and his plans for the future. I tell him about my work and my new apartment.

This is a standard date, as far as topics for conversations go. I’ve gone on enough blind dates to know that.

But this feels different. I’ve known Damon forever, but I’m seeing a new side of him, getting to know him all over again.

He makes me laugh at his jokes. He takes care of my needs. He protects me. And when he talks about the future, I can’t help but imagine myself standing right there beside him.

We stay at the restaurant long after the food’s gone, just talking. Then Damon takes me to see his workplace, where we meet some of the students and talk some more. Before I know it, it’s time for dinner, after which we talk even more.

By the time I get home, it’s late.

“When can I see you again?” Damon asks as we approach my door.

I smile. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t want you to get sick of me.”

“Never,” he says quickly.

“Damon, I really want to see you again. But a voice inside me tells me I should take this slow.”

“Just ignore it. Problem solved.”

I giggle.

“How about tomorrow? That won’t be too soon. That’s a whole day of not seeing me at all.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek as he stares into my eyes. “I won’t leave before you tell me you’ll see me again.”

I can’t help it. I lean into his touch and close my eyes.

When I feel his lips on mine, I’m not surprised. I welcome it. I’ve been staring at his lips all day.

Sure, I’m supposed to take this slow, but we’ve already kissed this early morning, so what difference does it make?

Damon puts his hand on my back and pulls me against the warmth of his body. His lips taste just the way I remember. And he still kisses me like he wants to possess me.

“Tomorrow?” Damon whispers against my lips. “It’s just one dinner.”

“Okay.”

It’s just one dinner.

But then one dinner turns into two, and then three. By the end of the work week, it feels completely natural to always share dinner with Damon. Even though I see him every night, I miss him whenever he’s not around.

On Friday night, Damon carries two full bags of fresh vegetables and meat into my apartment.

“That looks like a lot of food for one meal.” I hold the door open for him.

“You can’t shop for just one meal,” Damon says. “There’s plenty of things you can’t just buy a small amount of. We can use the leftover ingredients for next time. Obviously, you’ve never cooked at all, princess.”

“Keep talking like that, and there won’t be a ‘next time.’” I laugh and shut the door.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” he says. “Grab a knife and a cutting board.”

“So bossy.”

“I thought you liked that,” Damon says without missing a beat.

I go into the kitchen and open the cabinets behind him just to avoid showing him my face, which has no doubt turned red.

To be honest, I spent the whole week wishing I could feel his possessive hands all over my body again. His teasing lips. His skillful hands. His tongue. His thick, hard . . .

“Sausage,” Damon says.

“Huh?”

“I said, the butcher told me they’ll be getting some imported sausage next week. We should have that for dinner, assuming there’s going to be a ‘next time,’ of course.”

“Oh.” I crouch down and rummage around in the cabinet even though I know exactly where the cutting board is. My face has grown even hotter.

“Maybe we should make Friday our nights in,” Damon says.

“Found the cutting board,” I say, waving the plastic thing in the air to change the subject.

I don’t want to give myself the chance to even entertain that idea because I’ll be tempted to say yes to everything Damon suggests. It all sounds so good. But there’s a huge, glaring problem we’re not talking about.

By the time Damon starts to show me how to cut the potatoes, I know I’m in deep, deep trouble.

He stands right behind me. My back almost touches his chest. In fact, if I take a deep breath, I can just feel the hardness of his muscles. The heat between us . . . I feel like my back is on fire.

I should push him away. Tell him I’ve got this. Stay away from him.

But I don’t want to.

And he doesn’t either. I mean, he doesn’t have to speak so close to my ear just to show me how to cut a root vegetable. He doesn’t really need to put his hands over mine. And there’s absolutely no reason for his breathing to grow heavier.

Except I’m breathing funny too.

Damon plants his lips on my neck, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world for me to drop everything in my hands and turn around to give him all my attention.

We kiss, more deeply than we have the whole week. Damon traps my face in his hands, and I clutch onto his arms as our tongues twist together.

He sweeps everything off the counter and lets it fall to the floor with a loud crash. Then, his hands wander to my ass, and he lifts me up onto the counter.

I part my thighs, wrap my legs around him, and pull him close. He yanks my top off, then my bra, then he takes my nipples, one by one, into his mouth.

It’s a whirlwind of urgency. Everything is forgotten. Everything except this heat between us. This unspoken tension that has been building up all week. Neither one of us can contain the pressure anymore.

Next thing I know, we’re both naked and Damon’s sliding his hot, hard cock inside my wet pussy. Right there, on the countertop of my new kitchen, we consume our desire, giving in to sweet temptation.

As Damon fucks me deeper and harder, I feel the shackles I put on myself break. I don’t have to hold myself back. I can let myself go.

I can do anything I want, and what I want is Damon.

Crying out, I wrap my arms around him and dig my fingernails into his back as my body shakes against him. His muscles stiffen as he grinds into me, releasing his cum deep inside me.

For a moment, our frantic breathing is the only thing I can hear.

Then, Damon breaks the silence. “I guess we’re not having potatoes tonight.”

I grin. I giggle. I burst into a fit of laughter that won’t stop. With Damon’s softening dick still buried inside me. He catches the contagion, and soon we’re both collapsing all over each other on the floor, slain by the laughter.

Somehow, that comment about potatoes was the most inappropriate and the most appropriate thing to say.

Damon reaches over to put his hand on my waist. Still grinning, he looks into my eyes and says, “I love you, princess.”

This time, I can’t help but say it back. “I love you too.”

And so we lie on the hard, ceramic floor until it warms up to our body temperatures.

“How about breakfast tomorrow morning? Let me stay over?” Damon asks. “I promise I’ll put the toilet seat down.”

I take a deep breath. I’ve been dreading this moment all day since I got that phone call from Dad.

“I can’t tomorrow,” I say. “I’m meeting my dad for breakfast. You shouldn’t be here in the morning.”