After work, Hunter takes me through another business lesson. This time it's projections. We look at years of historical data. Models based on a few months or a year. Compare our estimates to reality.

There are formulas, sure, but there's an art to it too.

By the time we get home, my brain is fried.

I zone out while we cook.

Hunter helps. He even sets the table.

We savor eggplant Parmesan together.

We barely even joke about the phallic implications of the vegetable.

Then we retire to the couch.

Watch more Daredevil, drink too much coffee, eat too much chocolate.

I try to keep my distance, but with every episode, I move a little closer.

I rest my head on his chest.

Soak up the smell of his soap.

The warmth of his skin.

The thump-thump of his strong, steady heartbeat.

Another morning, another living room filled with the scent of coffee.

And the even more delicious sight of Hunter in my raspberry towel.

He's no longer dripping, but he's wet.

Light bounces off his slick skin. Calls attention to the deep lines of his muscles.

How can one man be this endlessly yummy?

It's wrong.

I barely manage to walk across the room. I'm knock-kneed and nervous. It's not like me, but that's the Hunter Keating effect.

He nods to a mug of coffee sitting on the counter. "Sumatra."

Mmm, that's a good one. I brush against him as I wrap my hands around the mug.

He's right there and he's wet and warm. His skin is soft, but his muscles are so hard.

He's just so…

Mmm.

I swallow a sip of coffee. Let my moan fill the room.

Fuck, this is good. But it's nothing compared to him.

"You're wet." I bite my tongue. I need something more subtle. More articulate.

"Just got home from the gym."

"You're supposed to invite me."

He raises a brow really.

"Yeah. I'm gonna get swoll. Like you." I flex my barely there bicep.

He chuckles. "Doesn't seem like your hobby."

If it wasn't for the whole teasing Hunter thing (okay, and the staring at his bod thing), I wouldn't get anywhere near a weight.

It's bad enough when Kaylee decides she wants to take up jogging and "invites" me to go with her.

"I thought about inviting you," he says.

"But you realized I'd embarrass you in front of your gym bros?"

He laughs. "You would. But that wasn't it."

"It's my epic skills, isn't it?"

He shrugs true. "You looked peaceful. I didn't want to wake you."

"You watched me sleep?"

"Checked if you were up."

Still. He watched me sleep.

It's sweet.

It's pure I want you as more than a friend.

But I can't remind him of that.

I have to keep him relaxed. So he doesn't go on the defensive.

"Creepy," I tease.

He nods that's me. Takes a long sip of his coffee. Sighs with pleasure.

Mmm, that sound.

It's music.

Better than everything on my emo playlist.

And that's a hell of a playlist.

"Your brother texted." He pushes off the counter. Does nothing to secure the towel clinging to his hips.

I watch the berry fabric with rapt attention.

I need that towel gone.

I need him naked.

I need the intimacy. The honesty.

Like the night he told me everything.

I've never felt like that before.

I've never wanted it this badly.

God, I need to touch him.

I need to connect with him.

I need to get ahold of myself.

Ahem. "Brendon offer some bondage tips?"

"How'd you know?"

Fuck, I didn't think this over. I can't joke about my brother's sex life. It's just… ick. "You offer anything in exchange?"

"Not sure my masturbation stories are worthy."

I hide my blush behind my cup of coffee. He's teasing, but it's there in his eyes—he wants me hot and bothered over the thought of his hand around his cock.

Fuck, what a thought. "How could those possibly fail?"

"Figured Dean can pull it off."

My laugh does nothing to ease the ache in my sex. "Is that what you call it?"

He chuckles. "Nobody calls it that."

"There are a lot of euphemisms."

"You're not the euphemism type."

"Still."

He moves into the kitchen. "You want eggs?"

"You're cooking them?"

He nods.

I exaggerate my concern. "Is that really a good idea?"

"You've taught me so well."

"Even so…"

"Trust me."

God, those words do things to me. I nod an okay. I do trust him. I doubt his ability to cook anything, but I trust him. "And bacon?"

"Is there another way?"

"I'm more… you're gonna laugh."

"Probably."

"More into chocolate oatmeal for breakfast."

He does laugh. "Of course."

"It's perfect. The fruit is sweet. The cocoa powder is bitter. It's chocolate nirvana."

"That's a lot to live up to."

"Should probably just give up."

He nods.

"So… was there anything notable about your self-love?"

"Self-love." He half-smiles. "That's a sweet way of putting it."

I nod.

"More like self-abuse sometimes."

"Go on."

He shakes his head. "Pretty sure friends don't discuss this."

"Pretty sure they do. At least our mutual friends."

He laughs true enough. "Hate to break it to you, Em, but I'm a gentleman. Not gonna discuss how often or hard I come."

My blush spreads to my chest. "Then you won't hear about my—"

"For the best."

Okay. I need to pull back. He has to come to this conclusion himself. "What else did Brendon say?"

"Something about how much he loves tying up his girlfriend."

Ugh. I stick my tongue out.

Hunter's laugh gets lower. Heartier. "Fuck, your face."

Yes, please, do. "He didn't."

"No. He didn't. But for someone so—"

"Watch it."

"Open." He laughs over his euphemism. "You really hate hearing about your brother's sex life."

"And I suppose you're just begging for details?"

"Never have to beg." He grabs a pan, sets it on the stove, turns the burner on. "Wes is always offering."

"Of course he is."

"Chase is more quiet. Now Griffin—he's got a gift."

"Oh yeah?" I motion go on. I want to hear one of Griffin's dirty stories. I want those words on Hunter's lips. If he connects us with sex—that has to help.

And, well, I always like dirt.

Hunter shakes his head. "I wouldn't do him justice."

"Paraphrase."

He studies my expression. Decides this is a good enough idea. "He was flirting with this sweet blond chick in a long dress. She was modest. Innocent. Kept talking about church and volunteering. Then he gets to her bedroom and it's a fucking dungeon."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She changes into this black corset and boots that go up to her cunt and she orders him onto his back and sits on his face."

"Was he into it?"

"Way into it."

"So he…" I clear my throat. "He's submissive?"

"No." Hunter chuckles. "He's open-minded."

"Slutty?"

Hunter nods yeah. "He's not like me."

"Not wounded and broody?"

He shoots me a teasing watch it. "He likes sex for the connection."

"No fear of intimacy."

"Yeah." He pulls the eggs from the fridge. Cracks them in a bowl. Whisks them. "But no real desire to commit either."

"One-night stands left and right?"

"More flings."

"Get in, get out, avoid getting hurt?"

"Something like that."

"I get that." I wrap my fingers around my cup. Bring it to my lips. Sip. Sigh.

His eyes flit toward me. They light up with desire, but his posture stays cool calm.

God, that towel is so right around his hips.

He's just…

I just…

MMMMM.

"I guess that's how I've always operated." I press my palms into the mug. Soak up its warmth. "It's never been a conscious thing. I've just never found a guy who interested me enough."

"You're a lot to handle."

"Hey."

"It's a compliment."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." He pours olive oil on the pan. Grabs the handle and tilts the pan so oil slides over the surface. "You're a strong woman. You know what you want. You don't take shit. Guys your age are dumb boys. They aren't gonna be able to handle you."

"Maybe."

"Probably can't even handle their own laundry."

That's true. But it's not encouraging. It only digs that we can't happen knife into my chest.

Maybe I've got it wrong.

Maybe this is his subconscious taking over.

He wants me to know how desirable I am.

He wants me.

He just—he has to connect the dots.

"Guys can be idiots."

He pours the eggs over the pan. "That guy who was at your old place. Was he like that?"

What?

How the—

Fuck.

His voice is even.

There's no sign he knows.

But then…

Why else would he mention it?

"Vinnie?" I ask.

He nods.

"No. He was older. Wiser. Worldly."

"Did you like that?"

"Yeah." My chest tightens. "He made me feel smart. Special. But I… he wasn't really the best guy."

"What happened?"

"He just didn't…" I can't tell him. I want to. But I can't. I can't say it out loud. And I definitely can't have him looking at me like a victim. "You know when you really like someone, you see their flaws through rose-tinted glasses."

He nods.

"Eventually, they broke. I realized he was condescending and pretentious. That he didn't respect me. That he saw me as a silly plaything."

As someone who wouldn't fight back.

I guess he was right.

That happened and I did nothing.

I let him get away with it.

I haven't even told anyone.

Something changes in Hunter's expression.

Like he knows.

But how the hell could he know?

"What, um…" My fingers curl around the handle of my mug. "What did Brendon actually say?"

"Asked if you were looking at apartments."

"He wants me out that badly?"

Hunter turns the eggs over. "I think he does."

My laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. This can be okay. Vinnie can stay a distant memory. At the very least, I can have one fucking day without his presence ruining the mood. "You're not supposed to say that."

"I get it. I would too."

"Hey."

He motions to my backpack, currently sitting on the couch. "You leave your shit everywhere."

"You walk around the house in nothing."

"You never do the dishes."

"I cook, you clean."

"You demand coffee."

"I say thank you."

He shakes his head you do not.

"Well, thank you."

"Your sweet talk won't save you."

"It's 'cause he wants to bang his girlfriend."

"Won't she live with you?"

"Yeah, but she'll come here to that giant bed and its—" My nose scrunches. "Under the bed restraints."

"And you're into it?"

"God no."

"Maybe the way Griffin's fling was?"

"Maybe you sound like Dean right now."

He laughs. "I was thinking Wes, but yeah, I do."

"Am I that awful of a roommate?"

"No. But then my last roommate was a manic depressive who spent most of his time talking about cocaine."

"He set the bar high."

"Exactly." He scoops the eggs from the pan and places them on two plates. "I pulled a few listings."

"Oh."

"We can go before work. You're on at two, right?"

"Yeah." Same as him.

He brings the eggs to the table. Takes the seat opposite mine.

"Thanks. For breakfast."

"You can sweet talk me all you want, Em. It won't help your case."

He's right.

I need something stronger.

I need to convince him we belong together.