Well, Becca had officially survived an entire week off of work, and now she was on Tuesday of the second week. Her house had never been cleaner, she’d binge-watched several episodes of NCIS and the entire first season of Midnight, Texas. Could she have been doing something more productive? Probably. But should she have?

Nah.

The thing was, she never would have thought that lazing around, half-heartedly cleaning and watching too much television, could be fun. But it was the break her brain needed from the nonstop legal stuff. She’d once seen someone wearing a t-shirt that said Work hard, play hard. She disagreed. She wanted to work hard, and then play lazily.

She just wished she had someone to play with. Summer was probably busy with Jackson, or, just as likely, with Eleanor and Hayley. And Nick—she wouldn’t mind another one of those perfect kisses. But he, too, was probably already moving on. He’d texted her yesterday, saying he’d gotten her number from Summer, but Becca had ignored him. The guy’s stay was obviously temporary, and he’d only pack up and move away soon.

Why did Becca keep doing that? Pretending like hanging out with people wasn’t possible because they were too busy for her? Because they had too many friends, or that they weren’t interested?

She realized it, then. She’d been pushing people away to protect herself from getting hurt.

Why shouldn’t she call Nick? Instead of pushing him away because she was afraid of losing him and getting hurt, maybe she should call him back.

Instead of carpe diem, maybe it should be carpe hottie. Carpe hominem, if she remembered correctly from her college Latin course.

She closed her internet browser before she could tell Netflix she wanted to watch yet another episode of The Good Place, and found her phone on her nightstand. As soon as she unlocked the screen, the text message app was open to where she’d left it—Nick’s text.

Hey, Becca, this is Nick. I got your number from Summer. Wondering if I can take you out to dinner?

Her heart beat fast all over again. She was only twenty-eight, but she felt too old for these shenanigans. Still, she was going to carpe the hottie if it killed her.

She typed, Why don’t you come over, and we can order in?

Whoa—that sounded a lot saucier than she’d intended. It was more that she didn’t feel like enduring whatever scene was happening in town, or running into people she knew. She erased the last five words, then added, I was thinking of ordering a pizza and I don’t feel like getting dressed up.

Hopefully that didn’t immediately make him think this was a bootie call.

Because it wasn’t a bootie call. Was it?

She was overthinking things, so instead she watched her phone screen. Soon enough, three little dots appeared in a text bubble, and then his response appeared.

Nick: I’d love that. Can I bring beer or wine?

Becca: Maybe. You don’t think this is a bootie call, do you?

Nick: It only is if you want it to be ;)

Becca: I like white wine.

She added her address and then, determined to also reach out to her old best friend and not hide from that friendship, either, she texted Summer.

Becca: Nick’s coming over for pizza.

Summer didn’t respond right away. Probably too busy with her other friends...no. Stop that thinking. Becca didn’t always respond right away, either. Sometimes the text required thought, or sometimes she just wasn’t next to her phone.

While she waited for Summer to write back and for Nick to come over, Becca went to her closet to have a peek. She was sure Nick wouldn’t care what she wore, but she still wanted to impress him.

She just didn’t want to have to get dressed up to do it.

She had a super soft jersey skirt that she liked, and she paired it with a purple long-sleeved boyfriend tee. Comfortable. To amp up the sexiness, she added a pair of long, dangly earrings, stuck her hair up in a messy bun, and painted her toenails. Thank goodness her legs were shaved and her Brazilian wax was recent. Not that she expected things to go there, but still, it was nice to be prepared.

Just as she was about to place the pizza order, her phone buzzed with a text from Summer.

Summer: That’s great! He seems like a really nice guy.

Becca: So you approve, then?

Summer: Completely. I want to see you happy.

Summer added a kissing face emoji, and Becca sent one back. Then she placed the pizza order online, feeling a lot better about hanging out with Nick tonight. No, she hadn’t needed Summer’s blessing, but it was good to have, anyway. And maybe tomorrow, she and Summer could grab coffee during Summer’s work break at the dentist’s office, and Becca could tell her all about the date with Nick.

The doorbell rang. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror. “You got this, Becks.”

She tried to keep her breathing slow and even as she walked downstairs, but her heart sped up and tripped and flopped around in her chest like a gasping, desperate thing. She was well on her way to falling for this guy, and she’d only seen him twice before.

When she opened the door, he stood before her, holding a bottle of wine and holding a bouquet—a mix of roses in all shades of pink and red imaginable. His brown eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.

“I know you said you didn’t want romance...but you also said this wasn’t a bootie call,” he said.

She laughed, taking the flowers from him. “Make yourself comfortable while I put these in water,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

He spoke from right behind her, and she nearly jumped. “Or I could make myself useful and pour us some wine.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, turning to face him. She couldn’t look away from his beautiful mouth and those lips that had given her a perfect kiss. “You could do that.”

“Or I could kiss you again,” he whispered, taking a step closer so that they stood inches apart, “because I think that’s what we both want right now.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” she said.

She set the flowers on the kitchen table and braced herself by putting her hands on his chest. Then she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his once, twice. She wanted more. The desire building within her felt as if it had been building for years, and maybe it had. She hadn’t done more than kiss another man since Grant.

His mouth was warm. He wrapped his arms around her, wrapping his fist in her t-shirt. His pecs felt so solid beneath her hands. She wanted to see more of him, feel more of him. She ran her hands down to his waist and felt the warm skin just above his jeans.

He groaned into her mouth. “You’re killing me.”

Feeling powerful and reckless, she said, “Shirt. Off.”

“Your wish is my command.” In a quick move, he yanked her shirt over her head.

Becca screeched and pulled her arms over her breasts. “I meant your shirt!”

He gave her a slow grin. “Really? Well, you should have been more specific.”

“Your turn,” she said. She could have kept her arms over her chest, but the enjoyment in his gaze gave her more confidence. She had nothing to hide. In fact, as soon as they’d started kissing, she’d known it would go this way.

He lifted his shirt over his head. Well-defined abs, broad pectorals. She touched her lips to make sure she wasn’t drooling. Then, reaching out, she ran her hand over his chest.

“Becca,” he growled. “Give me that beautiful mouth of yours again.”

She obliged, tilting her face up to meet his.

The doorbell rang. “Oh, shit, the pizza,” Becca said, finding her t-shirt on the counter and clutching it to her naked chest.

Nick laughed. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Cash is on the little table by the door,” she said.

Shrugging his shirt back on, he went to the front door. She heard him and the delivery person exchange a few words, then the door shut and he came back in, bringing the tantalizing scents of cheese and garlicky marinara sauce.

Becca carried plates and napkins into the living room, balancing them on the pizza box.

“I’ll grab the wine,” Nick said.

She had Hulu up and ready to stream on her television, but as Nick brought out two glasses of wine, he said, “So, you’re a lawyer?”

“Yeah. I argued with my parents a lot when I was a kid. My dad encouraged me to make a living at it as a joke at first. Then when I did a mock trial competition in high school, I fell in love with it.”

“Lots of school, right?” He put a piece of pizza on her plate, and then one on his own.

“Yeah,” she said. “How about you?”

“Nothing as smart as you,” he said. “I barely graduated high school.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t smart,” she said.

“It’s the dumb choices I made that mean I’m not smart, not the lack of school.” He took a bite of pizza.

Becca wondered what to say next. Should she pry? Hell, why not? What did she have to lose? “What kinds of choices do you mean?”

He finished chewing, then said, “My family pressured me into fighting. Like, cage matches, you know?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know.

“Mixed martial arts.”

She could feel her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was good at it, but I also hated getting pummeled for a living. So, one day, I took off. Haven’t looked back since.”

“Whoa.” She wasn’t sure what to say.

He grinned. “I’ve got all sorts of scars from getting kicked around, too. Wanna see them?”

At least he could joke about it. Smirking, she said, “Yeah, maybe I would.”

He’d finished his pizza, and she would’ve expected him to grab another slice, or five, but he set his plate aside and looked at her intently. “You’ve got a little bit of sauce, right...there.”

He touched the corner of her mouth.

Becca froze. They’d just been making out in her kitchen. How could one little touch ignite her like this? Desire flooded through her. She set down her half-eaten piece of pizza.

Nick stood up and grabbed their plates. “Let’s put these away.”

“Are you going to have any more pizza?” she asked him.

“I’m not hungry for pizza.”

Becca followed him into the kitchen. The way he’d said that...whoa. She’d follow him anywhere. He made himself at home in her kitchen, opening the dish washer and putting their plates inside it. She watched, amused, while he hunted in a couple of cupboards until he found some storage containers. After boxing up the leftover pizza, he placed it in the fridge.

“Job well done,” Becca said, laughter in her voice.

“I didn’t want you to be worried about pizza or a mess when I do this,” he said, coming over to stand in front of her.

“Do what?”

He leaned toward her and kissed her lips.

Becca kissed him back, gripping the bottom of his shirt, craving his contact. He threaded his hand into her hair, tugging her forward experimentally, as if wondering if she’d like it. She moaned in appreciation. Yeah, she liked it.

She yanked at his shirt, and he pulled away to lift it the rest of the way over his head. Then lifted her arms up over her head and pulled off her shirt, as well. He kissed her bare shoulders, then nuzzled against her neck, kissing her just below her ear until she squirmed. He held her hips in his hands and trailed kisses down to her bra-covered breasts. He sucked one nipple through the lace, and Becca couldn’t help moaning as a bolt of desire shot straight to her pussy.

“Are you doing okay?” Nick asked, his voice a low rumble against her chest.

“Better than okay.”

He knelt on the kitchen floor and touched her knee, just beneath the hemline of her jersey skirt. “I like your legs.”

His fingers were warm on her skin, just barely grazing against her. He moved his hand up the inside of her thigh. Becca leaned slightly to the side so she could hang on to the kitchen island.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, pulling at the hem of her skirt with the other hand.

“Please,” she said.

He pressed kisses against her waist even as he tugged the skirt down. The black fabric pooled at her feet.

Nick remained on his knees before her and stared up into her eyes. “I can’t wait to taste you.”