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Maybe he’s like that with all his hookups, but I want to believe it was just me.

“Where do you live?” I ask, needing to know something about him.

“Chicago. You?”

My gut sinks. Of course he’s nowhere near me. The pang of disappointment his answer sends through me is completely uncalled for, considering we’ve spent a grand total of one night together.

There are flights, my mind unhelpfully suggests as if he’s going to get on a plane and fly to me so we can, what? Hang out? Have a sex weekend? I don’t know anything about him. It’s an insane thought—one I need to squash. Maybe we’ll get tonight by pure dumb luck.

“Seattle,” I finally answer.

He doesn’t say anything right away; he just watches me, and I wonder if he’s doing the same math I just did—how Seattle and Chicago are thousands of miles apart, and we should make the most of the night. Neither of us moves, but the space between us is collapsing. Or maybe I’m collapsing into it. I think about the brick wall, his hand on my dick, the way he ravaged me. That same energy thrums between us now, a year later, as though no time has passed at all, and I’d give just about anything for a repeat.

“So, what do we do with that?” I ask when he doesn’t respond.

“I have a few ideas,” he suggests, and my cock immediately starts to thicken in my pants.

CHAPTER 7

Marcus

Evan not-so-subtly adjusts himself, and knowing that just the insinuation of my hands on him has him hard sends my blood rushing south. I want to get my hands on him. No, I need to get my hands on him. I refuse to let him walk away tonight without making him come because I never thought I’d see him again—let alone get another chance to touch him. I can’t possibly waste it.

I step toward him slowly, memorizing the way his breath catches as I close the distance until I’ve got him cornered against the counter, heat radiating between us.

“You know,” I murmur, “I’ve thought about that parking lot many times over the past year.”

“You have?” he breathes, throat working around a swallow.

Instead of answering right away, I reach up and trace my thumb along his jawline, watching goosebumps rise on his skin as his throat bobs again. His brown mustache is new, and it’s sexy as hell.

Evan is already putty in my hands, and something about how easily he melts for me has satisfaction settling in my chest. This is exactly what I wanted a year ago—someone good, the kind of person who could drop every wall the second I put my hands on him because he’d never had to build them as high as I had.

I spent months telling myself it was just good sex, nothing worth this much real estate in my head, but when I don’t have many good things happening in my life, it’s harder to let go of those moments. Especially when he’s seemingly handing over control again so easily. Having control during sex is one thing I’ve always needed because it’s the only place in my life where I have any. Everywhere else, control has always slipped through my fingers.

But with him, I know I have it.

“Mhmm. What do you want now, Evan?” I ask, though I already know. I can see it all over his face and in the bulge in his pants.

He swallows hard. “You.”

“Good answer.” I step back before he can close the distance, before things go too far in Josh’s kitchen. Not because I’m ashamed or hiding who I am, but because once I kiss him, I know I won’t want to stop. My Jeep isn’t going to cut it a second time, either. I need more than that. I need the space and time to fully take him apart and turn him into a needy, begging mess. “Later.”

The light in his bright blue eyes dims, and he blows out a breath through his nose, shoulders dropping as if it takes everything in him not to beg me to finish this right here. His exasperation is adorable, and I laugh under my breath, I can’t help it. Instead of walking away though, I crowd his space, leaning in until my mouth brushes his ear. “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

Then I step back, forcing myself to break contact. My eyes deliberately track down his body until they land on the prominent bulge in his jeans, and I watch his cheeks burn red, the flush spreading down his neck.

He doesn’t bother hiding it. His hand goes straight to the front of his jeans, adjusting himself without an ounce of shame, gaze locked on mine the whole time as if he wants me to watch him do it.

“You could leave it,” I instruct, my voice carrying a command and his hand stills instantly. “I like seeing you hard for me.”

Then the most obnoxious beeping I’ve ever heard cuts through the air—a fucking timer going off—and Evan startles.

“I got it!” Josh’s voice carries as he runs into the kitchen.

When he enters the space, he’s too worried about the turkey to notice the tension his alarm just sliced through. I create more space between us as I walk over to the sink to dump the rest of my beer down the drain. I have new plans tonight and want to make sure I remember every single detail.

“Turkey’s done!” Josh announces.