The three of us make our way out of the building and into the warmth of the early evening. My legs are still shaking and I’m still trembling from the way Caleb handled my body, but now that I’m out on the street, I wish I could be alone with him again.

I was so close to telling him the truth, but for now the moment has passed and I’m walking behind him as his butt flexes and moves inside his shorts. My pussy jumps when I see him look behind his shoulder and wink at me.

The courts are a quick walk from his office. I assume that we’re on our way to Equinox or one of the other high-end, expensive gyms, but instead we keep walking East on 54th Street to a nondescript brick building with the NYC Parks Department placard out front.

Caleb grabs my hand and leads me around the side of the building to an open area filled with basketball courts.

“This is us,” he says, jogging past me and Mike to claim one of the hoops. He stops at free throw line and hits the fifteen-footer with ease.

“You’re pretty good at that,” I say, perching on a bench off to the side. I haven’t been to a park like this in years. When I was younger, my dad would bring me to college games all the time. I always loved the openness of the experience, the way the sneakers would squeak on the floor, the sound of the buzzer.

“Why don’t you get out here and shoot some hoops with us?” he says, crouching down and rolling the ball to me. “Let’s see what ya got.”

I stop the ball with my foot and bend down to pick it up. Caleb and Mike are standing by, looking at me intently, and I feel like a damn fool. I have no clue what to do, but I do know you’re supposed to dribble, so I stand up, and do just that. I start to dribble.

“You’re good at that,” Mike says, stepping away to clear a path for me to the basket. I steady the ball in my hands and look over at Caleb, who’s standing there expectantly, flashing his signature smile, eyes squinting slightly as he looks from me to the basket.

“Aren’t you going to shoot?” he says, inching toward me. “You’re taking too long, babe.” He quickly lunges forward and tries to steal the ball, but I spring my arms into the air and let fate, wind, and physics take over as my heart stops for a second.

Damn, this actually is quite a workout.

Surprisingly, the ball hits the backboard and makes it through the circular metal frame, and Caleb and Mike cheer for me, giving me high fives. Caleb even smacks me on the butt.

“That’s enough for me,” I say. I just want to sit in the sun and watch the man candy from a distance.

I look over and see a group of Upper East Side women off to the side, with their big sunglasses and even bigger LV purses. One of them whistles, and then the four of them look away and giggle.

The catcall is not lost on Caleb. He shoots a look over at them and gives them a big, cheesy smile, but even the hint of silent sarcasm on his face comes off as sexy.

“Nice moves,” one of them says casually, her voice dripping with sensuality and innuendo. I roll my eyes and cross my legs. I don’t mean to pout, but this is exactly what I was thinking of when I first saw him. Some rich, gorgeous, glamorous woman with a baby carriage and a professional nanny so she can make getting manicures and blowouts her full-time job.

Looking up at Caleb, I squint against the sun as he pulls his shirt over his head, his abs and chest slightly sweaty, glistening with heat and slick, salty moisture. He slowly tosses his shirt over to me and it lands in my lap, and I grab it and can’t help but laugh.

Caleb turns around and Mike tosses him the ball; Caleb makes what I know from watching basketball with dad is called a layup, and rebounds his own shot under the hoop.

The catcalls from the side of the court continue. Those...bitches! And then I get mad at myself, of course, because the tinge of jealousy rising in my chest is so not like me. The “nice moves” lady whoops and hollers, and I’ve just about had it. I’m here with Caleb, and even though I have no claim to him, I don’t like how this experience is making me feel.

I’m reminded of the time I went out on a date the first week I was in college. Some guy whose name I don’t even remember was in my Contemporary Poetry class, and I remember thinking he was the cutest thing ever. With slightly long hair, hipster glasses and an emo sweater-vest, he was my absolute girly fantasy of the kind of sensitive, coffee-sipping, Dashboard Confessional listening guy I should be with. Slightly alternative, not like other guys, I thought.

But when we had our coffee together on that stupid date, he completely chastised me for what he thought I was doing - flirting with the guy behind the counter making our coffee. Flirting, as though just being nice and polite to someone is an invitation to get into bed together.

So now I’m wondering if I’m acting as bad as he’d acted that night. I start to get up from the bench and gather up my bag, just to step away for a minute and think.

I lock eyes with Caleb and he tucks the ball into his hip, crossing the basketball court to come over to me. Looking down to avoid his gaze, I pretend to fumble around with something in my bag.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” he says, his eyebrows knotting together and his supple pink lips turning down into a frown. “You weren’t intimidated by my moves, where you? I’ll teach you.”

His fingers reach down and brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, tracing along the back of my neck and down to my shoulder. God, he is so freaking sexy. I reach my hands forward to touch his abs, but pull them away quickly. His skin is so unlike guys’ my age. Guys my age can barely be considered men, with their skinny torsos and awkward legs. Sure, there are some, like the athletes, who have the gym rat thing down pat, and they’re nice to look at, but they don’t have the maturity to talk about anything other than what kind of protein powder they put in their shakes to bulk up.

Caleb is natural. I can tell. His body’s been sculpted into what it’s become through late afternoons tossing a ball around. He isn’t obsessed with it. In another life, he didn’t work with my dad. Maybe he was a construction worker or a fireman. Because he’s got that kind of easy, natural charm and body that just comes about from who he is, not who he’s trying to be.

And that’s what’s so unbelievably irresistible about him.

Everything must come so easy to Caleb Ryan.

Even those women in the corner, who I technically think I should be calling ladies. Ladies who lunch, or something, whatever that actually means.

“Teach me?” I say in a small voice, nervously taking my hands away from him. I want to push him away, but he’s got me boxed in. The air around us grows silent as he slips his arms around my waist and pulls me in close. His fingers slide under my chin and he tips my face up to his, and my eyes close and my body melts against his, all muscle and rock-hard. I put my hands on his upper arms and feel the thick ropes of flesh against my fingertips as his lips part mine in a dizzying kiss, his mouth soft and strong against mine, sending a flash of heat through my body.

“Yeah,” he says, breaking our kiss, “I’ll teach you.”

I’ve almost forgotten they were there, but the ladies on the side of the court start hollering and laughing, and I realize that they weren’t trying to hit on my man - they were just appreciating him. And maybe that’s the maturity factor at play. I look over and they wave at me kindly, smiling as I push my forehead against Caleb’s chest.

“Sorry,” I say, almost embarrassed. “I thought…”

“That’s okay,” he says. “I told you before. You’re mine now. I’ve got you.”