Brooke lets out a tiny yelp and practically bounces off my chest. The impact doesn't move me an inch but throws me off my mental footing; this crash is the most bodily contact we've ever had.

How did I not realize someone was in the master bathroom? It's a good thing Joshua didn't answer my calls, lest Brooke learn all about my family's filthy laundry. Brendan is Fort Knox with secrets; I'm fairly confident she doesn't know the sordid details—nor does she need to.

We both survey the damage from our collision. Brooke's clingy purple dress has a huge wet spot down the middle. Her glass is empty. And a clear pink puddle of high-end gin and organic tonic sits at our feet, glistening against the worn oak hardwood flooring.

"Oh my god." Brooke scowls at me. "Why are you in here?"

I lock my phone, slipping it back into my pocket. "Relax, Lululemon. I didn't follow you. I needed to make a call in private."

"Oh, I see. Gotta tend to the harem."

"Not exactly." I wish my problems were limited to something as simple as women.

Then again, the dynamic between me and Brooke isn't exactly simple, either. How can someone be so magnetic and so goddamn infuriating at the same time? I mean, Brooke signed her hit-and-run note with a smiley face. Who does that?

If there was ever a question as to whether attractive people have it easier in life, I'd like to present Exhibit A: Brooke Maccabe.

"Why didn't you go outside?" Brooke reaches into her cleavage, pulling out a stray ice cube and dropping it into her empty glass with a clink. I've never envied a piece of ice before, but there's a first time for everything.

I want her, and I hate that I want her.

"You'd prefer I froze my ass off in near-zero weather?" I ask.

She gestures at herself. "I would've preferred not wearing my drink."

"Maybe we can call it even for you running into my car."

It's a low blow, even for me, but I'm pulling out all the stops to keep her at arms' length. Especially now that we're up close, with her coffee-brown hair curled into perfect waves; smokey eyeshadow that makes her big blue eyes stand out even more; and that goddamn dress hugging every curve of her perfect body.

I want to see what is beneath that dress more than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life.

Brooke's long, dark lashes nearly hit her eyebrows as she rolls her eyes. "If it means you'll drop that, it's a deal." With a huff, she turns on her heel, stomping back into the master bathroom.

Leaving the door open, she turns on the sink faucet and reaches for the shelf beside the tub, grabbing a handful of white face cloths. She stands in front of the sink, alternating between patting her dress with a damp cloth and blotting it with a dry cloth. Somehow, my clothes are completely unscathed, so I guess that means I'm on cleanup duty.

I step over the puddle of gin and tonic and come to stand beside Brooke in the bathroom. She continues to ignore me, still fussing over her dress.

Clearing my throat, I nod at the white bathroom vanity. "Excuse me."

"What are you doing?" Brooke pivots out of my way, eyeing me suspiciously. Her posture is guarded, like she always is around me. Like she should be, really, because my intentions when it comes to her aren't exactly pure.

"What does it looks like I'm doing? I'm wiping up the spill." I open the shaker-style cabinet door, bending down and surveying the cupboard's contents. "Brendan keeps cleaning supplies under every sink."

Brendan and I were roommates for years, and he's obsessive about cleaning—practically scrubs the bathtub as a hobby in his spare time. He once told me he finds vacuuming 'satisfying'. Vidya says his nerdiness is part of his charm. God love the guy.

"I know that," Brooke snaps, but I'm pretty sure she didn't.

Like I expected, beside a stack of fluffy white bath sheets, there's a caddy full of cleaning supplies with a brand-new jumbo roll of paper towels. I grab a spray bottle and the paper towels, heading over to the doorway to sop up the remnants of Brooke's gin and tonic.

From inside the bathroom, Brooke lets out a little growl of frustration that is way cuter than it should be. "Dammit, Hollis! Even the ends of my hair are wet. I'm going to smell like I fell into a vat of gin."

Brooke and gin sounds like a delicious combination to me but I can't say that, so I bite my tongue.

After I finish removing the last of the residue from the floor, I squeeze past her again and toss the used paper towels in the bathroom garbage. Then I stash the cleaner under the sink and quickly wash my hands, beginning to make an exit. Something about being in close quarters alone with Brooke right now feels like treading on dangerously thin ice. The ever-present tension between us is at an all-time high and my willpower is at an all-time low.

Before I'm past the doorway to the bathroom, Brooke turns to face me. Her hostility of moments ago has faded and suddenly, she looks almost uncertain; maybe even vulnerable.

"Presentable?" She asks, straightening her dress.

It's like being thrown onto a tightrope without warning. I pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. A darker patch remains in the middle of her dress, still slightly damp. Unfortunately for me, it does nothing to reduce her appeal. It doesn't detract one bit from her supple breasts, narrow waist, or curvy hips. And it doesn't change her beautiful face, watching me expectantly while she waits for an answer.

My gaze lifts and our eyes lock, sending a small jolt of electricity through my body. "More than presentable."

"That's practically a compliment, coming from you." A rosy flush creeps up her chest, blooming across her cheeks.

"It's the highly censored version of what I really think." The words tumble out before I can stop myself. I'm not even drunk. I have no defense, other than being under her influence.

Brooke freezes in front of the sink and stares at me, wide-eyed. A hush falls between us, an electric charge flooding the room. We bicker and hate-flirt all the time, but this the second time in two days that I've taken it too far.

Her gaze flicks over to the open bathroom door, then lands back on me. We stare at each other wordlessly and neither of us moves. I take Brooke's lack of action as my answer—I took a shot and missed. I almost never get shut down, but after the lengths I've gone to in order to make Brooke dislike me, I shouldn't be surprised.

The rational, evolved part of me above the shoulders knows it's for the best, but my lower half holds a strongly dissenting opinion

I clear my throat. "We should get out of here." Or I should, before I embarrass myself any further. But my feet don't seem to want to cooperate, which is why I'm still frozen on the spot, practically drooling on the Carrara marble floor.

Or maybe it's my cock steering the ship right now. Yeah, he's definitely running the show.

"Tell me what you really think first." Brooke draws in a breath and places a manicured hand on the white quartz counter, her slender fingers curling around the edge.

That she looks even more fuckable than usual?

My voice drops, turning husky. "I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Brooke's perfect mouth tugs into a half-smile. "Has your offer from yesterday been withdrawn? Something about finding out for myself?"

"No, that's a standing offer."

Damnit, Dean. This isn't some random woman at a bar, this is Brooke—and Brendan is more like a brother to me than my own brother. I'm so far over the line right now, I can't even see it. And yet, I can't seem to shut the fuck up.

Maybe the headache of dealing with my parents and Joshua tonight has contributed to my lack of filter. Not to mention, being sidelined from hockey and having zero outlet for all my stress. My reserve of mental strength has run out; right now, I'm operating on fumes.

"What if I wanted to take you up on it?" Brooke bites her glossy bottom lip, stiletto heels echoing against the tiles as she takes a small step toward me.

My breath stills. I know I shouldn't, but every inch of my body, every fiber of my being is screaming for me to grab her; to take whatever she's willing to let me have.

A fierce battle commences between my brain and body, each fighting tooth and nail against the other. Brain makes a compelling argument for refraining, but body pulls out the launch codes and opts for the nuclear option.

Fuck it.

Before I can think it through, I quietly shut the bathroom door behind me, fastening the lock. Brooke watches me while I close the distance between us, walking her backwards so she's up against the wall beside the door. Her breath quickens as she looks up at me through heavy eyelids, her lush lips slightly parted.

I reach down, cupping her chin in one hand. Her tiny turquoise nose ring sparkles in the dim bathroom lighting. My gaze drops down to her edible mouth, lingering for a moment before lifting to meet her eyes. Her pupils dilate as she watches me, waiting.

"We both know that's a bad idea," I tell Brooke.

I'm saying it for myself as much as her. Not to say that's going to stop me now, though.

"Then why is it a standing offer?" She sounds breathless in a way that drags my mind even deeper into the gutter.

Somehow, my other hand is wrapped around her waist, and I didn't even realize I'd grabbed it. I'm legitimately high on lust, incapable of rational thought or sensible decisions. At this proximity, her perfume should be considered a controlled substance. I want to tear off her underwear and fuck her brains out right here, right now.

"I didn't say I don't want you to take me up on it. I said it's a bad idea."

"Why, because you think I'll get attached?" Brooke splays her palms on my chest and leans in closer, grazing my ear with her lips. The tether keeping me in line strains, nearly reaching the breaking point. "I don't want a boyfriend, Hollis. And if I did, it wouldn't be you."

"That's a relief, but it's not the only reason." The biggest one being Brendan, which neither of us want to say out loud.

"You're right." A seductive grin emerges across her face, her tone teasing. "You couldn't handle me."

I cock an eyebrow. "Is that what you think?"

To be clear, I am fully aware that Brooke is playing me—and it is fully working.

"Prove me wrong." The words are a whisper on her lips, and they obliterate the last remaining shred of my self-control.

On some level, I know this is a huge mistake.

I just don't care.

Daaaaamn.

Nine years is a long time to wait...and want.