J—

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"Finally! I knew you liked her." Rosé shows way too much excitement over my dinner plans with Lisa.

"I like her a little, but mostly she annoys me. I won't be gone long." I deposit my phone into my handbag.

"I won't wait up for you." Rosé props her feet on the coffee table and turns on the TV.

"See you in about an hour." I slip on my yellow wedge sandals and look in the entry mirror at my fitted denim capris and plain white tee—an excellent choice for eating pizza with red sauce.

"Mmm-hmm …"

I shake my head at Rosé and open the door to our apartment. "Oh my god …" I whisper.

"What?" Rosé mumbles.

I gulp. "Uh … nothing." I shut the door behind me, mouth agape at the trail of flower petals in a rainbow of colors, starting at my door and leading to the stairway. A few areas are scattered; probably other residents have traipsed through the trail. I follow it to the stairs, lobby, out the door, and straight across the street to the pizza place.

Yes, they are in the street as well. I'm not sure how she managed it, but the trail of petals continues into the restaurant and to a table near the door—thankfully—where my arrogant, book-hating neighbor waits for me.

Looking … well, never mind. I'm not going to obsess over how she looks.

Sex. She looks like sex—the ultimate scratch to every "itch" I've ever had.

I have self-control. This won't be an issue.

"Thanks for following the dress code." She grins.

What to address first … Her plain white tee? Her denim jeans that are the same shade as mine? Or her silly yellow canvas shoes? What were the chances?

For one second, can we discuss the bouquet of stems on the table? Petal-less flowers.

If she's going for original, she's beaten every guy in the field.

"You have a mess to clean up," I say while keeping a straight face even though it's hard to do around Lisa.

"Don't ever surrender." She hands me a menu. "Promise me you'll always make me work for it."

It's hard not to surrender to that smile.

"Work for what?" I hide behind the menu before she melts me into a puddle of mush with one look.

Fucking mating dance …

"You."

Make her work for me? Jesus …

"What kind of pizza do you like?" I've suddenly spiked a fever, so I use my menu to fan myself.

"I'll eat absolutely anything." If she could say that casually while studying her menu instead of running her gaze along my face to my chest, I might be able to concentrate on things like mushrooms, pepperoni, and Roma tomatoes.

Instead, my mind goes south where I cross my legs and do not think of things she could eat that aren't on the menu. I'm in trouble, and I hate being in trouble. I believe physical attraction is a human flaw. Our species is too intellectual to be swayed by a nice body and a killer smile. And hormones … they're poison.

"Not me. There's a short list of things I'll put in my mouth."

She chuckles at my attempt to blend in with my menu again. "I don't doubt that."

"What if we just do cheese?" I slap my menu shut. "Plain cheese. Nothing crazy. Quick. Easy."

Lisa sets her menu beside the naked bouquet and drums her fingers on the table. "Quick and easy, huh?"

"Stop." I shake my head. "Stop making everything so sexual."

She presses a hand to her chest as if I'm the offensive one. "I think the first person to use the word 'sex' is the one being sexual."

I blink at her straight face for several seconds. "I apologize. That was presumptuous of me." I lift the menu to cover my face again, and she does the same. We're playing a weird game of peek-a-boo.

"I mean … I'll just throw this out there and let you mull it over," she says.

I lower my menu an inch.

"If you're easy, I can probably be quick."

Biting my lips together, I snort and retreat to the safe space behind my menu.

The waitress arrives at our table. I hand her our menus before she can ask if we're ready to order. "Medium supreme, a pitcher of whatever your best beer on tap is, and an order of hot wings … the spicier, the better."

She smiles. "You got it."

Lisa clucks her tongue several times. "Jennie Banana … aren't you full of surprises."

I lean back in my chair and give her my best flirty expression that involves lip biting and my gaze lingering on her kissable … yup, I'm thinking it … kissable lips. If I can keep my mind off her regrettable taste in books, I can focus on things we can do to scratch itches and not ruin our neighborly relationship.

"My sister would love your grand gesture." I nod to the flower stems.

"Oh?" Lisa tilts her head. "Is that your way of saying I should be dating your sister?"

"Not even close. She's married with two kids. But her husband buys her flowers all the time."

"She loves flowers. I see." She eyes the couple leaving the restaurant.

I laugh. "She hates flowers because he gives them to her all the time. Red roses, to be specific."

"Poor guy. I bet he gives them to her, thinking that one day if he dies first, she will tell their grandkids how Grandpa gave her red roses, and every time he did, she fell in love with him all over again."

"I love that you're defending him."

"I love that you're having dinner with me tonight." Lisa Manoban uses one of those industrial-sized push brooms to sweep me off my feet. "Do you have any other siblings that would love my grand gesture?"

"Nope. Just one sister." I fiddle with the paper wrap holding my napkin and silverware.

"I'm envious. I'm an only child."

"Because you were too perfect or a total terror?"

"You know the answer to that." Her eyes narrow.

"I don't. Enlighten me."

"Slept through the night from the day I was born. Potty trained myself a week later. First job by the time I was two …"

"Stop." I giggle.

Her contagious grin doubles like her far-fetched story of Super Baby. "Actually, I was eight weeks premature. My mom suffered severe postpartum depression. I did everything late in life … walk, talk, potty train, read, and make friends. Go figure. The couple, who never wanted kids, had an unplanned pregnancy and a difficult child."

"Do you want kids?"

"Of course. How many should we have?"

Heat fills my cheeks. "No hand-holding. No first kiss. We're just going to plan a family?"

"You're a traditionalist?" Her teeth drag along her lower lip while her chin dips into an easy nod. "That's cool." The legs of her chair screech along the floor as she stands.

My eyes widen while she leans over the small table, reaches for my hand, and gently takes it while she presses her lips to mine.

I freeze—all thoughts obliterated, next breath stolen, heart stilled.

She reverses just as quickly, taking a seat and scooting her chair toward the table. "I'd like at least two … and maybe a third one that's unplanned—conceived in a moment of untethered passion."

I slowly rub my lips together, feeling her kiss that reached far beyond my mouth.

"Have uh…" I'm breathless and incurably flustered "…you opened your shop?"

"You'd know the answer if you weren't avoiding my cousin's cafe—if you wouldn't have given Rosé the gift card."

"Her fiancé lives in another country, and she's not had sex in two years." I forge ahead with this new subject because I have not and will not be formulating coherent thoughts about that kiss and our kids anytime soon. Or ever.

She coughs. "She might need more than a gift card for coffee."

"For sure." I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ear.

The waitress drops off our beer, and I watch her return to the counter to grab our plates and basket of wings. After she leaves again, I pour beer for both of us. "Do you have your apartment decorated?"

"Absolutely." She brings her beer to her lips and smirks. "My mom sent a snake plant. I have a sofa and a coffee table."

"You're a minimalist. Nice."

Her laughter wraps around my chest, warm and comforting. "Bare minimum."

"There's a new antique store off Walnut Street. Want to check it out with me this weekend?"

"A second date?" Her eyebrows lift.

I shrug, giving her my best coy expression.

"You probably should make a good inspection of my apartment before we go shopping for furnishings. Maybe after dinner, you could take a look around." She cups her beer and drums her fingers on the table with her other hand.

And that look on her face? It says I'm in trouble. Lisa Manoban isn't anything I'll be able to quit without therapy.

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After dinner, we exit the restaurant hand in hand, and she guides me down the sidewalk. I don't know where we're going, and I don't care. I point to all the shops she should check out when they're open. She presses the buttons for the crosswalks, worming our way to the other side of East Village, where there's a skating park filled with skaters, kids at the adjacent park, and a crowd of people milling around by the bridge and walking dogs under the bright lights.

Lisa stops to push a child on the swing as their mom struggles to soothe her other child in a carrier. She thanks Lisa with exhaustion on her face.

Her hand returns to mine, and we mosey along the trail. "I never imagined liking Des Moines as well as Kansas City."

"But?" I gaze up at her.

She gives me a quick sidelong glance before returning her attention to the skaters. The hint of a grin bends her lips. "But it's growing on me. Tonight, I'd say it's growing on me a lot." She squeezes my hand.

We stop near a crowd of people watching two guys on skateboards tearing it up. They're wicked good. I tense up every time they leave the ground and relax again when they land in one piece. Lisa chuckles at my cringes. When our gazes meet, smiles mirrored, she wets her lips and walks me back a few feet, so we're away from the crowd.

My skin tingles and my heart knocks around in my chest when she slides her hand along my neck and kisses me. The kiss ends too soon, but she keeps her head ducked while sweeping her gaze over my face and kissing me again. This time, her tongue flicks my lip, and I relax, opening for her. Her other hand cups my cheek, and we moan simultaneously, making me grin and break the kiss.

Dropping my chin, I press my fingertips to my lips. Are people staring at us making out?

"I think it's time for you to inspect my apartment … you know, to give me decorating tips."

I force myself to look at her even though I know my face is flushed along with the rest of my skin. Offering her nothing more than a quick nod, she wraps an arm around my waist, sliding her fingers into my back pocket while we make our way to her apartment.

When we have to wait for the lights to change at crosswalks, Lisa turns and kisses me. Each kiss escalates. We are a tangled mess of greedy lips and wandering hands when we reach our floor.

A long walk has never been foreplay for me until tonight.

Sex on a first date has never been my style until tonight.

Public indecency has been a hard limit for me … until tonight.

At every intersection where we had to wait for the light, I wanted Lisa to go further.

Sex against the light pole? Honestly, I might have let her.

She stabs her key at the lock with our mouths remaining fused. It takes several attempts—probably because I have the button to her jeans flicked open, and my fingers are teasing her abs just above her briefs. We stumble into her dark apartment.

"The book club book …" My words come out breathy. "Did you finish it?"

Where did that come from?

I internally scold myself. How does my brain go there when every other body part is laser-focused on getting out of these clothes?

I feel her lips along my neck curl into a smile. "No."

"If you finished … you could like it, right? There's a chance you could change your mind. Right?"

Why? Just why am I still talking?

Lisa has my body pressed to the wall, legs around her waist.

My hands are in her hair.

Her fingers grip my butt to move me against her.

And I'm … asking about a book.

"Um …" She chuckles before opening her mouth, hot tongue flicking the skin along my neck.

"Just …" I tip my head to give her better access. I curse the clothes between us. I've never wanted someone inside of me so badly. Yet … I'm still talking about that fucking book. "Just tell me it's not entirely impossible."

She carries me to the bedroom. Her fingers flick the button to my capris when my feet reach the floor, making breathing difficult.

"Lisa …" I need her answer, maybe not as much as other things … but I still need it, nonetheless.

Her hand slides into my panties, and she moans. Yep … I can be this wet between my legs and think about a book.

"I'd say …" The pad of her middle finger stops just shy of my clit. "Anything feels possible at this point." She ducks her head to kiss me, but I turn my head. She smirks. Taking advantage of her proximity, I run my fingers through her hair and kiss her cheek and jawline, dragging my lips to her earlobe, eliciting a soft moan.

I peel off her shirt and take a moment to admire her—her mussed hair, taut abs, and open fly.

"Jennie, you're going to give me that mouth."

With a sly grin, I gaze at her while discarding my shirt … and bra.

Her hands curl into tight fists at her side when I step toward her, pressing my lips to her sternum. "I'll give you nothing until I'm ready," I say, gazing up at her.

She grips my jaw with one hand, her face soft and relaxed while her thumb slides along my lips. "That's my line, Jennie." That playful sparkle in her eyes transforms into something wicked, sending a chill along my skin, two seconds before she shoves me onto the bed. I laugh, but it evaporates when she slides off her jeans and briefs in one smooth motion. I don't even pretend not to stare at her erection bobbing like a heavy spring while she retrieves a condom from her nightstand and rolls it on.

Lisa displays too much patience ridding me of the rest of my clothes. She kisses my ankle, leg, knee, and inner thigh. I spread my legs an inch or two. Each breath that passes my lips sounds a little more ragged.

Kiss me there. Kiss me there. KISS ME THERE!

I grab her hair. She chuckles, biting the skin along my hip, entirely skipping a particular area.

"Lisa …" I try to force her to go in reverse.

"I'll give you nothing … until I'm ready."

"Bastard," I whisper. "Ouch!"

She bites my nipple. "Try again." Her tongue laps over it once before her lips creep up my neck.

"You're evil." I narrow my eyes and then jerk my head when she goes for my lips again.

Her hand slides between my legs, burying two fingers inside me, sending my back arching off the bed as I gasp. She withdraws her fingers and pushes her erection between my legs, filling me in one hard thrust.

It's nice. Really nice. I-can't-breathe nice.

I lift to meet her, but she angles just enough to keep me from feeling one ounce of friction while she sets a steady pace.

While she sucks my nipples and teases them with her teeth.

While she gives up on trying to kiss me.

While her hand hooks my leg and lifts it toward my chest, sending her deeper.

Touch me. Touch me lower. Kiss me. Kiss me lower.

I have a clit. How can she ignore it? My clit will not be ignored!

My lips need hers. My tongue keeps wetting them, readying them.

"Kiss me …"

"I'm good." Her face tenses as she speeds up her pace.

I attempt to wriggle beneath her, to find friction. She's the worst.

The. Worst.

I'm not suggesting every man I've had sex with has been an expert with the female anatomy, but they've attempted (even if it was inaccurate and clumsy) to find that magical little nub.

How can one person have so much physical appeal and potential and waste it by being bad at sex? This is why I don't screw people who live in my building. From now until the time that one of us moves out, it will be awkward. They will see me and smile like they's all that, but I'll know the truth. And the most I will be able to offer them is a cringe before averting my gaze and running in the opposite direction.

"Fuck!" I wince. "Stop biting my nip—"

Oh. Sweet. Baby. Zebras …

Lisa kisses me like God stopped by and gave her a tutorial on kissing a woman. At least, I assume God would be good at kissing. Things to think about later …

My fingers claim her hair because I will physically harm her if she stops kissing me. Lisa engulfs every inch of me with her body, bringing all of my senses to life as her hips prove they know about the special little clit. She hits it just right every time.

"Lisa … Fucking … Manoban!" My mouth rips from hers, my head lulling to the side while I claw the mattress with one hand and her hair with my other hand.

"You're welcome," she chuckles, head buried in my neck, her rigid body incrementally relaxing on top of mine.

I can't argue. Nope. Not at all. She earned it. Man … did she ever earn it.

After a few moments, she rolls us to our sides and grins while her gaze skates along my face, and she tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. I barely catch my breath, and she kisses me. It's lazy yet deliberate. I fucking love kissing this girl. Nothing makes me feel more desired than a slow kiss. I've never made out with a guy like this after sex. Her hand presses to my cheek, tongue sliding against mine. Then that hand glides down my neck to my chest, where the pad of her thumb circles my nipple. And we do this for a while. Unrushed. Legs intertwined. Breaths mingling.

Lisa's head inches away from mine, and she smiles. "When you're not angry, you're ineffably beautiful."

"Is that so?" Why does she have to be this irresistible? "When you're not insulting my favorite book, you're rather charming and sexy."

"Your favorite book?" She chuckles while her fingers tease my thigh. "If I say nice things about your favorite book, will it elevate me to a level beyond charming and sexy? I can't imagine it gets better than that."

I feather my hand along her chest to her back because I like touching her the way I think she likes touching me. "Perfect." I bite my lower lip and grin. "Perfect beats charming and sexy. You might be perfect if you like my favorite book. You have everything else. A contagious smile." My lips brush hers. "Your irresistible eyes." I lift my gaze to said eyes. "Even your mating dance."

Lisa's grin grows from something sexy and subtle to something so victorious that I feel it deep in my chest. This—whatever this is—is different. She's different in the best possible way. I think I could like her more than I've liked any guy in a long time. Maybe ever.

Kissing my forehead, she murmurs, "For now, I'll settle for being sexy and charming." In the next breath, she saunters her naked ass to the bathroom.

What's that supposed to mean? She doesn't want to be perfect? She doesn't plan on liking my favorite book? An imposter's voice in my head whispers, "It's okay."

And it should be okay. It's. A. Book—fiction at that.

But … it's not okay.

I slide into my capris, tug on my shirt, and gather my undergarments and shoes before tiptoeing to her front door. I hear the toilet flush as I ease it open and, just as quietly, shut it behind me before scurrying to my apartment. When I turn the corner into my bedroom, the hall light illuminates.

"What do we have here?"

I cringe at Rosé with her messy red hair, boy shorts, black tank top, and gotcha expression. "Hey."

Her gaze locks on my arms cradling yellow sandals, a bra, and panties. "Looks like you bolted. Why did you bolt? Poor girl's going to feel rejected. Seriously … I've never seen you home on the same night. Did she kick you out? Is she a weird sleeper? OCD? Bed hog? Did you start snoring?"

I roll my eyes. "No to all of the above."

"The sex was that bad?"

"No. Just…" I shrug "…the opposite."

Her eyes widen. "Oh … my … god. You like her. Like … really like her. She crawled under your skin, into your panties, and you didn't know what to do, so you left."

Shaking my head, I turn on my bedroom light and dump my stuff on the floor. "We live in the same building, and it just didn't make sense to stay all night." After plucking a nightshirt from my dresser, I change tops and shimmy out of my capris.

"So you said goodbye, and you didn't sneak out. Is that what you're saying?"

"It's late." I squeeze past her to the bathroom. "We had sex. It was good. I have to work tomorrow. End of story." I close the door.

"Are you going to have sex with her again?"

I plop onto the toilet and close my eyes. God, I hope so.

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