I watch his back when he turns around. I’m standing in the middle of the busy Oakland sidewalk, fiddling with my fingers, palms sweating, looking down at my chucks.

I pulled a dick move, time to own up to it. "Shane's not my wedding date. And we don't go on dates, period. We're friends. I didn't lie to you yesterday, and I'm not lying to you today. It's just that..."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Opening up to a stranger seems like an insane idea, but opening up to this hunky stranger—a guy who makes me feel so dazed, so hot, so bothered—in front of dozens of random bystanders, makes me feel downright nauseous. And still, his feelings matter, somehow.

"It's just that you kinda intimidate me. I'm sure you're a great guy. I just don't want to date you."

The few sexual encounters I’ve had were nothing to write home about. Sex was a way to be intimate with the two serious boyfriends I’ve had, not a tool for physical pleasure. They kneaded my breasts like it was cookie dough and drilled into me with the determination and grace of a drunken college kid jumping into a street fight.

I filed sex in my head as something rather underwhelming. Even if I could open up to the idea of dating a guy like Ty, I would embarrass myself no end the minute we stepped into the bedroom. He has the experience, the reputation and most probably really high expectations. I have nothing to offer him in this department.

He takes a step toward me, tilting my chin up with his finger and thumb. The hustle and bustle of the sidewalk blurs around me, the smell of food, body odor and pollution no longer wafts through my nostrils. His eyes shine with intensity. I want to break free from his gaze, but he is forcing me to stare at him, chaining me to this moment.

"You don't want to date me," he repeats evenly. No question mark.

I give him a quick nod, but my stomach is clenched, my body tight with anticipation. He takes another lazy step forward, his face unreadable.

"I'm going to kiss you now. If you don't want me to, turn away. Offer me your cheek. I won't be mad." There's a beat before he continues. "And you'll still get your interview."

My heart is crashing against my sternum when his forehead dips into mine. I’m swimming in a warm pool of honey.

Turn away, I tell myself. Don't do this. He's offered you an exit route. Move your feet and run.

But I don't. I close my eyes, my breath hitches, and I wait. And wait. Then wait some more, my skin itching for his touch. He's always chewing gum, and the minute I smell it—the minty sweet twist—I part my lips and let out a soft moan.

His lips find mine, brushing my mouth, leaving warm tingles wherever they touch. He's testing the waters. No tongue. No rage, just pure, surprising gentleness.

My toes curl when I feel him grasping my waist to bring me closer, body to body. He feels so firm and tight against my small frame. The only things separating us are a few pieces of clothing and my goddamn stubbornness. A stranger's shoulder bumps into mine by accident, and Ty is quick to shield me from the rest of the throng with his back, cornering me against a storefront, making sure that I'm safe.

His hand is in my hair and his body is pressed against mine, when he finally parts his lips, and not a moment too soon. His tongue explores my mouth eagerly, and I can't help but grin into his lips. He grins back, still kissing, so I allow myself to wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers trailing over his tattoo softly. I know that logically, we are not physically compatible. He is huge and I'm pretty small, but based on kissing him alone, it feels like we were created especially for one another.

We kiss for ten minutes, maybe a little more, but when we break away and I lift my eyes to his, my cheeks flushed, my heart stops completely.

The twinkle in his eyes is priceless. Different. Almost freaking vulnerable.

I want to remember this.

The surprise in his eyes, the tenderness of his touch, the sparks flying between us when I finally found out what he probably knew long ago—that I wanted him. Wanted this.

I touch my cheek self-consciously, so Ty lifts his hand to stroke my knuckles, his tone all business.

"Suffice to say you do want to date me."

I laugh into his chest, no longer afraid of his touch. I kissed him and survived. I kissed him and it was delicious. I kissed him and found out that despite his reputation, and the fears I failed to keep at bay, he was just a boy, kissing a girl, hoping she'd like it—and him—after all.

I stare at his face, not sure whose turn it is to speak. This is the first time I'm seriously toying with the idea of considering this as an actual date.

True, he is too hot to be mine. Hell, he is too hot to be anyone's. But weirder things have happened. I could probably name a few of them once I step out of the lusty mist I'm intoxicated with.

"So Shane...?" He leaves the question floating. This time I don't hesitate.

"Shane's just a friend. Honest to God, nothing less, but nothing more either."

Ty's eyes cling into mine, desperately seeking the truth.

“Good.” He nods once and swivels, leading the way back to the Hummer. “Now, get into my car before I do something that’ll get us both arrested.”

***

Recipe for a successful second date with a hot MMA fighter you're equally scared of and lust after. Ingredients:

One girl who blocks away thoughts about other girls, particularly ones named Nicole.