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“What if our two things merged?” Gio folds his arms, showing off his toned muscles.

When he holds this stance, it’s all I can do not to stare. I swallow the taste of hot desire, which still lingers on my tongue.

I may be cryogenically frozen in a state of re-virginization, but I have eyes. The fact that I’ve only had sex once in twenty-nine years makes this confusing attraction heightened. My hormones are on overdrive and begging to be pantry-floor fricasseed, even though I want to stab him with a sleeve of saltine crackers. It’s honestly an unfair state of play.

I clear my throat and compose myself. “There will be no merging. Ever!” I say as I stomp inside.

“You dirty, dirty girl.” Gio clucks his tongue.

Annoyed, I face him and lean into the door frame. His black hair falls over one mischievous eye. His grin signals that, no, he didn’t mean for us to merge that way. I blame our kiss-fight for my brain going there.

“But if you’re ready for round two, we can take this chat to the walk-in closet.” Gio juts his chin in my direction.

“Ugh!” I stomp. “This conversation is over.” I reach for the door.

His next words come out in a rush. “I know Adam Nice.”

At hearing that name, everything inside me sputters and stalls. My hand grips the doorknob, and my gaze swings slowly to Gio.

“And?” I ask as if to say so what? Gio doesn’t need to know he has my undivided attention.

“I can help you find him.” Gio steps onto the stoop, moving closer.

His hair is mussed because I raked my fingers through the thick strands. My nails ache from scratching down his back. Bruises are probably blooming on his rib cage right now because of me.

And let’s not forget the hard-on he rubbed against my back end, my inner thigh, and then across my clit. If things continued, I would have dry-humped him into a puddle of two-percent yogurt. We would have gotten messy and non-cultured fast.

“Tina’s going to text me his address. I can find him myself.” I step back and slam the door, but somehow, it’s blocked.

Confused, I look down. Gio’s sneaker is wedged between the door and the frame. I lift my irritated gaze in warning.

“Won’t work.” He smirks. “Adam’s traveling for work. He won’t be home.”

Gio steps around me and into the foyer, and I allow it because I’m captivated by this new tidbit of information.

“What does he do for a living?” I ask.

“You don’t know?” Gio looks around as if he’s checking out the space and sizing it up, for what I don’t know.

I keep quiet, unwilling to answer his question. Adam and I lost touch years ago, and I don’t know anything anymore. He was in college when we met.

“He’s in the music business,” Gio says and turns his attention back to me.

“Wow, he really did it.” He followed his dreams.

A smile plays on my lips, but Gio doesn’t appear enthused by Adam’s good fortune. My face scrunches as I try to determine his expression. It’s off.

“What?” I ask.

Gio’s mood darkens. When he steps closer, I move back until my shoulder blades bump into the wall. He hovers too close and then presses a hand above me and leans in. He’s trapped me within the heated frame of his body. I try not to move or breathe. If I do, I might be aroused by the smell of cookies.

“He doesn’t have time for crazy fans.”

Gio’s gaze moves from my eyes to my beauty mark, to my lips, and back again. Him studying the details of my face is my new love language. I swallow and press my body as close to the wall as I can, wishing I could sink into it and disappear out the other side to save myself.

“How can I be a crazy fan if I didn’t know what he did for a living?”

I decide to prop a hand on Gio’s chest to hold him at bay, but all I can do is stare at my fingers. It would be so easy to grip his shirt and twist the fabric into my fist to tug him closer. So easy. I lick my lips.