He places two sliders on my plate, while I give him more than half of my fries. Just like I thought…we don’t have to talk about it. Like we’ve known each other for years.

Jackson takes a bite of his mini burger. “Mmm. This is awesome.”

“Not the healthy food I would’ve imagined you ordering,” I point out with an arched eyebrow.

“Do you think a man wants to order a salad after watching a classic horror movie?” he asks.

I have to stop myself before I remind him that he hardly watched any of it. “A genre-defining one, no less.” I smirk instead.

“Exactly, smartass. I don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of health nut, either.” He shoves a few fries into his mouth at once, like he’s trying to prove his point.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a health nut.” But I’d never be one myself, and I can’t imagine ever being one. Or being with one. It would get boring, I think, when I’m not super into cross training or veganism or any of that.

“I still don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Like I said last night, it’s all about balance. I ate like a pig last night, so I spent an extra twenty at the gym today—and believe me, I struggled through it,” he grimaces.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? I’m the one who went for seconds—I mean, granted, I wouldn’t have if you weren’t such an amazing cook, but I can hardly blame you for that.” His eyes twinkle.

“It would be like blaming me for having brown hair. I just can’t help it.”

His laugh rings out over the conversation around us, and my heart just about bursts. I love making him laugh. I’d stand on my head for the rest of the night if he would just keep laughing like that.

“I happen to be a man who likes to eat.” He’s smirking behind the rim of his glass, so he knows what he said and how I could take it one of two ways.

Absolutely wicked. My body responds at the mere suggestion.

I need another sip of beer before I can speak above a broken whisper, “I-I think we’ll get along very well, then—so long as it’s not brains you’re hungry for,” I add, thinking back to the movie.

“No,” he murmurs, still smirking. “It’s not brains. You don’t have to worry about that.”

How is it humanly possible for one man to be so sexy? It’s enough to make me forget to breathe, I swear. He just exudes it. His charm, the way he smiles, the way his voice lowers into a near growl—I’m surprised my panties haven’t melted off.

And I’m not the only one who thinks so. A high-pitched giggle from the bar catches my attention and I glance over purely out of reflex, because when something catches your attention you look, right?

It’s a trio of blondes who all look like they’re taking the night off from being supermodels. Awesome. Just what I was hoping to see. Just the thing to make me feel really good about myself.

And they want his attention. They want it bad. All three of them keep trying to catch Jackson’s eye, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Finally, just as he’s draining the last of his beer, one of them slides off her stool and walks over. She’s a little unsteady ‒ had a bit to much to drink, I guess ‒ and drunk girls always have more confidence. Or so I’ve noticed.

Sometimes, drunk girls even buy love potions.

“Excuse me.” Blondie ignores me entirely, focusing on Jackson. “Have we met before? I think we’ve met before. At a party at Pete’s?” She leans down a little, so her boobs can peak out of her V-neck sweater.

I wonder how she’d feel if I punched one of them.

I look at him, holding my breath to see how he’ll respond.

He blinks, looking at her, then frowns a little. “Oh. Sure. Sorry, his parties are always so crowded.”

She beams. “They are, aren’t they? I was hoping to see you again, but you haven’t been around.” She bites down ever so slightly on her bottom lip, hopeful. Teasing him.

She sure wouldn’t look so pretty if I pulled her teeth out, would she? I’m not normally this violent, but it takes a certain level of bitchiness to walk straight up to a guy who’s clearly with another woman and pretend that woman doesn’t exist. This place isn’t even nearly crowded enough to pass that off as a mere accident.

He smiles again, and I can tell he’s flattered.

Well, damn, it was fun while it lasted. Why would he want to hang around with me when he’s got nearly six feet of perfect Nordic beauty—and her boobs—in his face?

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy. It’s nice to see you again, though.” He turns his focus to me. “You ready?”

Oh. I guess I am. Not that I have any beer or food left. It just seems sort of abrupt. I’m not complaining, however. Especially when Blondie falls back a little with her glossy lips in a pout. Poor thing.

I make it a point to smile at her as we’re leaving—I mean, she looks so disappointed, I just want to bring her spirits up a little. She and her girlfriends want to spit nails, I can just tell. Maybe they should try not being so sleazy and obvious next time.

He gave her the brush-off in favor of me. Me! Hot damn!

“Why are you so smiley?” he asks as we step out into the cold.

I can’t believe him. I really can’t. “You didn’t notice what just went on in there? Are you really that oblivious?”

“Ouch,” he murmurs with a smirk. “Yeah, I noticed what was going on, but it was nothing.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re used to random bombshells throwing themselves at you wherever you go.”

He stops, taking me by the hand and pulling me closer. “Hey. Wait a second. I want to make something clear.”

I look up at him and get a little lost in those eyes of his. They’re gorgeous—and intense, staring into mine. He means business right now. “What is it?”

“I’m out with you because I want to be with you,” he murmurs, locking his fingers with mine. “You’re the woman I’m out with tonight, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only woman in the world.”

I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. But his kiss isn’t a dream—firm, warm, tantalizing. The arm around my waist isn’t a dream, holding me in a vice grip against his body. It’s all very real.

I can hardly hear the traffic rushing past us for the rush of blood in my ears, creating a storm in my head. He wants me. He really wants me. And damn… if I don’t want him more every minute we spend together.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers when the kiss ends, our foreheads touching as our breath creates a fog around our heads.

“Yes. Let’s,” I agree, ready to flag the first cab I see.