Sexy is a state of mind. Sexy is a state of mind.

Brit had been repeating the mantra to herself over and over all night, but as Ross Alford walked her home, she began repeating it with more and more frequency, hoping that thinking about being sexy would make her feel like it.

So far, no luck.

She hadn’t had a bad time. In fact, she was fairly certain the date had gone well. Conversation hadn’t lagged. Ross’s sense of humor bordered on dorky, but at least he had a sense of humor, and they’d had a couple of shared laughs.

And he was good-looking, with thick curly black hair and friendly dark-brown eyes. Fit, good height, all that.

Granted, he didn’t eat gluten, which, for bread-loving Brit, felt a little unfathomable. He did eat oysters, except ordering them had made Brit think of Hunter, and, well . . .

There. That was the problem. She’d been thinking of Hunter when she should have been thinking of Ross.

Wondering if Hunter had had a fun day with his family, wondering what he’d say when he learned that she’d accepted Ross’s last-minute invitation to dinner.

She’d met Ross at a fundraiser a couple of months ago when she was between relationships and given him her phone number. He’d mentioned that he had some travel for work coming up but that he’d call her when he got settled back in the city.

Which had been tonight, apparently.

At the time, it had seemed like as good an opportunity as any to embrace her new sexy state of mind, yet she was feeling anything but.

Clearly she needed more than Hunter telling her that sexy was a state of mind. She needed him to tell her how to get there. To get to that point where she wanted to invite Ross up or at least practice her new move of securing the first kiss.

Instead, as they started the final block to her apartment, Brit knew she’d be practicing the other move. The one where she left it open for a second date without ending this one with a kiss, much less sex.

“Well, this is me,” she said, nodding at her building as they approached.

Ross glanced up. “Damn. Fancy.”

Brit nearly explained that a fancy apartment on her budget also meant a tiny apartment but realized that might be construed as an invitation to see said apartment, so instead she gave a noncommittal smile.

What had Hunter said came next in the polite brush-off with option for more? Not a handshake, that much she remembered.

Oh yes . . .

Brit stepped closer and touched Ross’s arm just briefly before looking up at him. “Thanks. I had a really nice time tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, already dipping his head toward hers.

Whoops, nope. Obviously she’d done it wrong.

Brit quickly stepped back and bit her lip.

“I’ll see you around?” She said it with a smile to soften it. The smile she’d been practicing in the mirror. The one that was friendly but not too friendly.

Or so she hoped.

She pivoted on her heel, liking the way the full skirt of her dress whirled around her legs, adding a little extra something to her walk.

She smiled, a real one this time, knowing full well that Ross was watching her walk away.

Hey, maybe she could do this after all.

Brit skidded to a halt as a man stepped out of the shadows. Hunter.

“Hey!” she said with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t grin back. “Thought I was staying here tonight.”

“Well, sure, of course. I just didn’t think you’d be home so early.”

His eyebrows lifted. “It’s ten-fifteen, and my parents are sixty-two. You thought clubbing was on the agenda after our dinner at Sardi’s?”

“No, I guess I didn’t realize it was so late,” she said as they walked into the lobby. “I’m sorry. I’ll put your name on the list so you can get a key if I’m not here. How was it? How was your day?”

“Chaotic, but not bad. Possible highlight was finally coaxing my mom onto the subway, only to have her use an entire bottle of hand sanitizer the second she got off.”

Brit laughed, but he didn’t laugh with her.

“Okay, what’s up?” she asked, punching the elevator button to her floor.

“What?”

She waved a hand over him. “This doom-and-gloom vibe. What happened?”

Hunter shrugged. “Tired, I guess.”

Tired my ass. She knew this man and knew when he had something on his mind.

Though she also knew he could be brutally stubborn. The more she pushed him to spit it out, the more recalcitrant he’d become.

This called for a change in strategy.

Brit deliberately changed the subject to something inane, chattering nonstop about the weather as they walked down the hall to her apartment. He hated talking about the weather; surely he’d change the subject to shut her up.

He didn’t.

Brit upped the stakes as they shrugged out of their winter coats, telling him all about a recipe for a delicious-sounding kale salad she saw on Pinterest that afternoon.

“You know, I’d never have thought of putting grapes in a salad,” she mused. “But combined with the pistachio, doesn’t that just sound delicious? And they suggested topping it with—”

That broke him, as she’d known it would. Most men could handle only so much discussion of salad.

“Who was the guy?” Hunter asked.

Brit looked up. “What?”

“The guy. You were on a date.”

“Oh, right.” Weird how she’d nearly forgotten all about Ross in the span of five minutes. “Just . . . this guy. We met a couple months ago, pre-Lenny, and I gave him my phone number but didn’t hear from him. He texted me this afternoon, asked if I’d be up for a last-minute—”

“What kind of asshole asks a woman on a last-minute first date? Did his first choice cancel?”

Ouch.

Brit stared at her best friend for a moment, in shock at the uncharacteristically mean comment. “Um, who are you right now?”

Hunter dragged his hands over his face. “Forget it. I’m irritable.”

“No argument here, but that didn’t sound like an apology,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sorry,” he snapped.

“Very sincere, Hunter.”

“Well, what do you want me to say? I had the day from hell, and then I come home to . . . that, watching you fluttering around some dude.”

“Fluttering?” she asked. “I’ll have you know that that fluttering was straight out of your playbook. You know, the whole no, you’re not coming up, but maybe some other time move?”

“You can’t seriously be thinking about going out with him again. The guy stared at your ass the entire time you walked away.”

“Maybe I want someone to stare at my ass!” she shouted.

Her exclamation seemed to bounce off the walls, then hung awkwardly between them.

Finally, Hunter shook his head, looking tired. “Whatever. That’s your business. I’m going to bed.”

Neither of them spoke as they went about the process of settling in for the night. This time, there was no shared toothbrushing experience. He waited for her to finish in the bathroom, then went in himself, shutting the door with a click.

Brit crawled into bed, listening to the water run, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why she felt so off. Why they felt so off.

He wasn’t acting like himself. And instead of talking about it, he was doing a typical guy thing, all broody and weird.

She wasn’t loving it. Just like she wasn’t loving the fact that, as with her experience at dinner, instead of thinking about Ross, instead of thinking about her date, she was thinking about Hunter.

“I don’t have to go to brunch tomorrow,” she said when he came out of the bathroom.

He flicked off the bathroom light and looked at her. “Why wouldn’t you come to brunch tomorrow?”

“Um, because you’re being a jerk?” she said. “You actually insinuated that the only reason a guy might ask me out on a Saturday night would be if his first choice canceled.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbled, hauling his duffel bag up onto the couch and digging through it.

“Well, how did you mean it?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

Sitting up was a mistake, she realized immediately.

Having figured that she’d be safely under the covers before he came out of the bathroom, and planning on beating him to the shower tomorrow, she’d worn one of her usual sleep shirts. A strappy tank top.

A thin strappy tank top that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Hunter’s gaze dropped to her chest for a split second before he seemed to drag it back up to her eyes. “I just meant that you deserve better than a last-minute, spur-of-the-moment invitation.”

“Maybe he was just trying to work up the courage to ask out someone as fabulous as myself,” she said with a smile, trying to break the strange, unfamiliar tension between them.

“I’m sure that was it.” He smiled back, but there was a strain to it.

She turned off the light; there was no joking, no laughter in the darkness.

And he definitely didn’t suggest sleeping in her bed again.