I am in deep shit.

I know this because even though rationally, I should be keeping my distance from Damon and just fulfilling the terms of the contract, I’m doing exactly the opposite—getting closer. Letting him in. Physically, and emotionally, to the point where it’s actually crossed my mind to tell him about my past and how it’s affected my getting intimate with anyone. Am I simply ready to talk about it, or is it that I’m ready to talk about it with him? I can’t deny that a driving force is wanting to free myself so that I can be with him, completely—feel him inside me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. My Kindle full of romances has proven woefully inadequate, because once you have a taste of the real thing, fantasy men can’t hold a candle.

Candle—>phallic symbol—>Damon.

Like I said, deep shit.

After our lunch yesterday, I kept thinking about how I agreed to let him stay with me and have been questioning my decision. I was so distracted at work today that I forgot to make coffee when I arrived (a cardinal sin at Precision Machine), I transferred a call to Stu that was supposed to go to Lou, and I forgot to attach a quote to an email I sent. My bosses were already irritated with me, so what better time to give my two-week notice? I printed out my letter of resignation and left it on Stu’s desk before beelining it out of there.

On the way home, I had a sudden urge to go to the Humane Society and see if I could get Tucker for a Dog’s Day Out. I thought it would be fun to surprise Damon when he came over tonight, especially where he isn’t going to be around this weekend to visit Tucker. I went to the dog kennels and was greeted by a very raucous group of canines—mostly pit bulls and Lab mixes—but no Tucker. I asked at the front desk about him, and the girl said he’d been adopted. I left feeling so glad for that absolute love of a dog, along with a selfish twinge of sadness that I wouldn’t be able to see him again. As nonsensical as it sounds, it felt like he knew he was home in my apartment last weekend. It felt right to me, too.

Just like Damon felt right.

Oh, I’m in such trouble.

I’m excited about having him stay here, but there’s a thick layer of apprehension swirled in, too. I haven’t had a man stay the night in five years. I’ve tried not to dwell on that and attempted to focus on my yoga workout, cleaning the bathroom, unlocking the ground-level door and putting a pillow, sheet and blanket on the couch.

Just to make it perfectly clear—to both of us—where he’s going to be sleeping.

Damon texted me earlier about picking up Chinese. I’m setting out plates and glasses for us when I hear a knock. I open the door, and there he is at the top of the stairs, legs slightly apart and arms folded behind his back, his grin lighting up the doorway.

“Hi, Sprite. We’re here for our sleepover.”

“We’re…?”

His arms comes forward, and in his left hand is a bag of take-out food. And a bag of dog food. In his right is a leash. And connected to that leash is a big black dog, waving his tail at me.

“Oh...Tucker!” I drop down to my knees and take his frosted face in my hands, then look up at Damon. “I’m so happy to see him! I actually went yesterday to get him for a Dog’s Day Out, but they said he was adopted. Wait...is that you?”

He’s nodding, grinning from ear to ear. “Shelter space was getting tight, he was stressed out, and I couldn’t stand to have him in that kennel for one more night. Not the best timing since I’m not in my new house yet, but sometimes other things are more important. And this guy definitely is. If it’s not okay for him to crash here with me, I can get a pet-friendly hotel.”

“As if! Please. Like I wouldn’t let the sweetest boy in the world stay here.”

“Thanks. But what about Tucker?”

“You’re quick. I’ll give you that.”

“Not always.” He winks.

“Best behavior, remember?”

“Absolutely. Sorry. Kind of um, hard, when I’m around you.”

I fold my arms indignantly and try to glare, but I’m so not mad, and he knows it. How can I be, with a sweetheart dog, Chinese food and this guy in my apartment?

After having his leash unhooked, Tucker trots over to my couch and hops up like he knows exactly where he’s supposed to be. And he’s right.

Damon grins when he sees the bedding laid out. “How subtle.”

“Thank you. Sorry I don’t have a guest bed.”

“No problem. T-Man and I are just glad to be invited, aren’t we, buddy?” He scratches Tucker behind the ears. “Listen...would it be okay if he stays with you this weekend, since I have my bachelor’s thing?”

“Absolutely. I’ll take any time I can get with this boy. I’m kind of jealous, if you want to know the truth, about you adopting him.”

“We can share him.”

Something about the way he says that makes a flurry of feeling kick up in my chest. “That would be great. I’m planning to adopt a cat once I get Memory Lane up and running.”

“Fantastic. Tucker loves cats. And I do, too. I love—”

“Stop. Don’t say it.”

“Wh-a-at?” He holds out his arms, his eyes wide with innocence. Fake innocence. “Just saying I like felines.”

“You are awful.” I’m trying to frown at him, but my lips keep curving up.

Laughing, he pulls me toward him in a spontaneous hug as Tucker woofs. I wriggle away, but I’m fighting myself on that, too. “Let’s eat.”

Over dinner, I ask him about his closing. “Are you sad at all, moving out of your place?”

“Leaving The Condom? Nah.”

“Oh my God. That’s what you call it? I can take a guess about how it got its name.”

“And you’d be right. Guys don’t get sad moving out.”

“No? Saying goodbye to the memories of all those girls?”

“I can make new memories of girl. Singular.”

I take a forkful of fried rice, my heart thumping. Just as I’m trying to process this, he makes a one hundred eighty degree turn.

“By the way, I’ve decided we’re not doing anything tonight. We’re just going to talk.”

Oh. I’m trying to decide what I feel about that. A little relief, but then again, damn.

“I decided on the way over here that if I’m going to stick to my word about being on my best behavior, I can’t even kiss you. Wouldn’t be able to stop. And I want you to be perfectly comfortable with me staying here.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Damon raises his beer bottle to his mouth and tips his head back, then sets it down, his lips twitching. “Plus, I figured by next week, you’ll want me even more.”

The urge to laugh wells up in my chest, battling with the desire to get up from the table and go kiss his maddening, delectable, infuriating, delicious mouth. “You really are incredible, you know that?”

He’s laughing, an easy, boyish, genuine laugh that warms me better than any Chinese food could. Then his next words heat me up even more.

“I’m really glad I’m here, Sprite.”

I swallow. The fried rice seems to be catching in my throat. “I’m really glad you’re here, too.”