Waiting impatiently, I tap my foot, check my phone for what seems like the thousandth time, and stare down the entrance of the movie theater.

Where the hell is he?

After dating Hayden for three weeks, I’ve become accustomed to his habits, and being late isn’t one of them. He’s always on time, annoyingly on time, to the point that I need to be ready ten minutes early so I’m not interrupted mid curl of my hair when he arrives.

Another habit? He likes to press his thumb against my pulse, and whether it’s my neck or my wrist, it’s like a sweet spot to him.

He also groans loudly when I happen to accidentally dry-hump him.

He’s also really good at trapping me against a wall, the counter, a door, even poles, invading my space with his luscious scent and alpha-male stance, only to press the lightest of kisses against my lips and then keep walking.

God, the man is infuriating but also . . . sweet and sexy.

With one tiny kiss on my lips, he can make the earth shatter beneath me, cause my knees to quake, and leave me melting into a puddle on the floor.

It’s scary what one touch can do to me, how a whisper in my ear can cause me to break into a cool sweat. Not to mention how alarming it is when I catch a glimpse of him, of that smile, of those dark eyes, the way I can feel and hear myself visibly sigh. It seems unhealthy to be so enigmatically affected by a man, but there is no way I can consider walking away, not when I wake up every morning to a text from him, or when he has lunch sent to me at the hospital, or when he’s sitting on the steps in front of my place, with flowers in hand, waiting for me to get off work.

I know one thing for sure: he’s ruining me for all other men, because he’s the exception. He’s the kind of guy that’s one in a million.

The kind of guy you dream of.

The kind of guy you take home to your family.

The kind of guy you hope your brothers and sister like as much as you do . . .

The door swings open and a frantic Hayden searches the lobby, hair twisted and pulled from a worrying hand. When he spots me, his face softens. He makes his way through the crowd of moviegoers, carefully dodging their large buckets of popcorn and oversized cups of soda.

“Hey you,” I say as he reaches me and pulls me into his side, planting a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers breathlessly, walking us toward the usher. “I’m sorry I’m late.” I hand the usher our tickets, and he directs us to movie theater seven.

Taking my hand in his, Hayden brings our connection to his lips and gently kisses my knuckles, eyes trained on me, his smile boyish with so much charm.

“Well, no need to worry”—I pat my oversized purse that is like a red flag to a movie theater attendant looking for smugglers—“because I brought the candy and drinks.”

“Daredevil, I love it.”

We choose seats in the very middle, a few rows from the top. They’re great seats, and I’m surprised they’re still available.

Situated, Hayden doesn’t let go of my hand, not even when I bring out the candy and offer him a Junior Mint. And for some reason, he seems all shook up.

Leaning closer to him, the light of the pre-movie commercials casting a glow over us, I ask, “Are you okay? You seem kind of not yourself.”

“All good,” he whispers, squeezing my hand.

I don’t buy it.

“What happened? There’s something you’re not telling me, and I don’t like it.”

Sighing, he leans in close and says, “I went to the wrong movie theater and when I realized it, I was so worried you might think I stood you up, that I sped here, was pulled over by a cop—of course—and then spoke to the guy for longer than I wanted because he recognized me. I had to take a selfie, he excused me from the ticket, told me to slow down, and now I’m here.”

“Why does that frazzle you?”

“Because.” He kisses the back of my hand again. “I didn’t want you thinking I ditched you. This is your first real relationship, and I don’t want to set a bad precedent of what to expect.”

He’s so sweet, how could he ever make me think sourly of him?

Lifting up the armrest that divides our seats, I scoot in and drape his arm over my shoulder, snuggling in close. Reaching up, I kiss his jaw. Two pecks on his scruff, my lips lingering. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I grew up in a large household, so I can handle a lot.”

“I know.” He kisses my forehead and talks into my ear. “But it’s my job to set the bar high so no other man has a chance . . . and so that large household doesn’t want my neck.”

His teasing tone makes me poke his rock-hard stomach, causing him to laugh into my ear.

Chills.

Crazy, wonderful chills spread over my body.

He makes me feel so . . . brand new. Like he’s awakened a part of me I’ve never known before. He’s introduced me to a personality I didn’t know existed within me. Someone who can be content, thrilled, exhilarated all at the same time. A woman who doesn’t necessarily depend on a man, but allows him to take care of her because he treasures her. Someone who doesn’t need to shed her clothes to get a man to like her.

He’s shown me my worth. But what about him? He makes it impossible to not feel satisfied, adored. But what does he need from me? Am I giving him everything he needs? I don’t want him to feel as though I don’t give. But how?

“I know, I know.” Hayden is sitting on his couch, pulling on his hair, shirtless, shorts hanging low on his hips, with a boyish smile lighting up the room. “I miss you too, Mom, but I’ve been a little pre-occupied lately.”

Our game of Boggle was put on hold when Hayden’s parents called. Cringing, he apologetically said he had to answer since he hadn’t spoken to his parents in a while. It was cute watching him dodge their questions, sidestep his mom.

“What has been consuming my time?” He looks directly at me and smiles openly, not even hiding his happiness. “A girl.”

From his phone, there is a lot of chatter, like his mom is freaking out in excitement, but it’s muffled, and I can’t quite decipher what she’s saying.

“Yes, a girl. Is it serious?” Scratching the back of his neck, he answers, “Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “She lives in Binghamton, yeah, where I am right now.” Another pause. “Racer introduced us.” His smile grows; his eyes soften. “Incredibly beautiful, Mom. You will love her.” Licking his lips, he motions with his finger for me to come closer. I shake my head no. “Great personality. Super smart. She’s a nurse and she’s actually sitting right next to me. Want to talk to her?”

What?

Uh . . . no.

I shake my head fervently and stand to collect our dishes from a classic Kraft Mac and Cheese lunch with peas, but before I can move out of the way, Hayden snags me around the waist and brings me down on his lap. Turning the phone on speaker, he says, “Say hi to Adalyn, Mom.”

“Oh Adalyn, it’s so nice to speak with you.”

Eyes wide, feeling so incredibly awkward, I say, “Mrs. Holmes, what a pleasure. You’ve done such a wonderful job raising Hayden. He’s the perfect gentleman.”

“He better be or else his father and I will have something to say about that.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Hayden pipes in. “You taught me very well.”

“That’s right I did.” You can hear the smile in her voice. “Now Adalyn, what do you like to do for fun?”

Relaxing into the couch, Hayden places his spare hand on my thigh and leans back, happy with himself, even though I still feel incredibly awkward.

Does she know we haven’t had sex? Does she know her son has been walking around shirtless all day, driving me crazy with his taut abs, thick pecs, and forearms that seem to ripple with every word he writes on his answer pad? Does she know he struts around the cottage—swagger in every step—his shorts so low on his hips I’m practically panting for them to fall all the way down? Does she know he loves cooking meals for me and likes doing it shirtless, that he smells masculine and fresh, like he’s been hanging out in mountain rain for three days straight?

Is Mrs. Holmes aware that when Hayden is around me, or when I talk to him on the phone, or when I shamefully use Google to search him, I turn into a lustful puddle of hormones, desperate and needy for one touch, one look, one kiss?

Probably not . . . and we should keep it that way.

“What do I do for fun?” I think about that. Well, before Hayden, nothing really, but now that he’s around, my fun is whatever we decide to do together, or whatever he surprises me with. “Is it sad to say relax?”

Before his mom can answer, Hayden cuts in. “Like I said, Adalyn is a nurse and has a hectic work schedule. I covet every minute she can spend with me, because the work she does at the hospital is constant.”

Gently, I run my fingers over his chest, loving the appreciation he has for my job. For me.

“Oh, I can’t even imagine. You work at the hospital? That must be stressful and tiring.”

“It is, but there are a lot of rewarding days when you see a patient walk out, healthy and ready to take on the world again. Those are the days I try to remember when I’m having a low moment.”

Comforting me, Hayden pulls me closer into his chest and holds me tightly.

“So relaxing really is your fun, clearing your mind from everything you’ve seen during the week. I can’t imagine. I really hope Hayden has helped you forget some of the real you see on a daily basis.”

“He does.” I rest my cheek against his chest and press my body into his, seeking his warmth, seeking his coziness. “There are days that take a toll on me and when I reach the nurses’ station, there’s lunch waiting for me, or flowers, or even a box of cookies from a local bakery . . . all from your son.”

Mrs. Holmes gasps as if she is surprised someone recognizes she created the most beautiful human being ever and is validating it.

I have to be honest, I think she did. He might very well be the most beautiful human being.

“My, my, my, Hayden, you must really like this girl.”

A scarlet heat warms my cheeks, my body igniting in an inferno when Hayden squeezes me and says, “I like her a lot, Mom.” He likes me a lot. He just told his mom he likes me a lot. Simple words, yet coming from Hayden, they mean so much more. Will I ever not be surprised by how I feel around this man?