Nero dampens the rest of my morning, and I'm nearly late for work because of it. Sitting at my desk, my mind refuses to concentrate on my screen, Illustrator open and waiting, my latest logo project abandoned. Ten cents to whoever can guess what I'm so busy thinking about. Or who.

Nero's words shook me to the core, and whatever happy mood Caleb left me with has dissipated into thin air, replaced with a nagging, crushing sense of sadness and unease. Every part of me hurts, but it's an emotional kind of pain.

Every memory that I've been suppressing the last couple of days comes back in waves, and suddenly, Nero's lips are all over mine again, his hands on my hips, his nose against mine, his face brushing roughly against my neck, addictive and heady.

Don't give me that. I know it's wrong, thinking of Nero like this. I know that Caleb is right, that he is funny and honest and kind and caring and everything that Nero is not, but it's not so easy to push Nero aside. I wish it was, but it is not.

In an effort to restore some sense of balance to the universe, I let myself remember last night, remember Caleb, remember the two of us, lost and tangled and very, very needy. A small smile finds its way to my lips when I recall his hands and fingers and mouth... oh his mouth. I can't help the grin that lights up my stricken face when I remember the things that mouth of his did. Mm.

And even though it had been a while, did I really need to run the whole marathon? I feel a small giggle bubble from my mouth when I try counting the number of times I... oh god. One, two, three, four... Definitely won myself a couple of hat tricks.

The way he sighed my name, like it was the most incredible word, and the way he looked at me, like I meant the world to him, in those moments at least, causes a familiar tug low in my chest.

My secret smile turns sour when I try to convince myself that that's what I need, not the sordid, illicit mess that comes with a certain dangerous, dark-haired criminal.

As if the universe is trying to give me a sign, my phone buzzes, and I can't help the face-splitting grin that comes when I spot the message on the screen.

Tried explaining to your dad and brother why I was late for work...Will pay you back later

Smiling in spite of myself, I text:

Can't concentrate at work b/c of you.

Thanks a lot

His reply is almost instant, and I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, my face going red.

Daniel just asked me

why I smell like your shampoo.

Yeah right.

Liar.

Fine, but he's onto us I swear.

You owe me big.

Oh yeah? What's your price?

I smile as I wait, the world being steadily lifted from my shoulders.

Let me cook you dinner tonight?

My place at 7.

The thought makes me shiver from anticipation, but I don't tell him that.

Idk, sounds steep.

What are my other options?

I almost forgot how much fun flirting like this is.

That's the best deal you're gonna get.

If I were you I'd take it before I come up

with something worse.

Biting my lip, I text back:

Fhhine. See you then.

His reply is instantaneous, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me, bubbly, unrestrained.

K now get back to work, slacker.

Daniel wants to know who I'm texting

I don't think he believes you're my mom.

Bye. ☺️

Laters baby. 😉

You did not. 😵

😉

Okay, if I wasn't sure I liked him before, him shamelessly quoting Fifty Shades confirms it for me. Stuffing my phone away before my boss walks by, I feel like a teenager again, hiding risqué messages from my parents, unable to stop a feeling of pure affection from filling me, head to toe.

•§•

the details, so to placate her I leave crumbs, and she licks them up eagerly and demands more.

She's completely appalled when I admit to not taking him home Saturday night, though thankfully she buys that I wasn't feeling well.

"I was feeling kinda funny too, Ros. It must have been the chicken."

I nod, putting my ever-in-demand acting skills to good use. "Probably. Or the dessert."

She leans in, her whisper conspiratorial. "So when are you seeing him again?"

I give a small shrug, taking a slow sip of my latte. "Um, maybe tonight." I barely mutter it, but she squeals, like I've just told her that she won the lottery.

"God, Ros, first not at all and then all at once, huh?" She gives me a lascivious wink. "Slow down, hon. I never knew you could be such a hoe."

She knows its funny coming from her.

I give her my most withering look. "It's monogamous, Shauna. There's nothing promiscuous about it." I can't even meet her eyes, because I remember Saturday night, and Nero's face flashing across my mind makes me feel guilty, like I'm some kind of heartless tramp.

She seems oblivious though, and I silently thank her boundless energy. It takes away from her normally alarming powers of observation. "Come on, tell me, Ros. How good was it?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the small, knowing smile that creeps across my face, eliciting another sharp shriek from across the table. I don't have to say anything, because she does it for me. "Mm. Of course. I mean, he is very hot. And charming. And funny. Oh, and also, kinda loaded too, huh?"

"Shauna," I groan, resting my elbow against the table. "It's still new, so just give me a break. Please?"

She lets out a laborious sigh. "Fine, I'll be merciful this time. But you're not off the hook forever, you know."

"Of course not." The dryness in my voice earns me a look of displeasure, and then we manage to move on to another, much less invasive conversation. But, thoughts of Caleb still run rampant through my mind, along with the dark shadow of another man, who, even in my head, just can't seem to leave me alone.

•§•

the door, his bright grin sends a stab of want, low and delicious, straight between my legs. I flush instantly and before he can even shut the door I'm in his arms, and we're laughing between an endless string of sloppy kisses.

"Hi," he whispers against my lips, his mouth spreading into a pleased smile.

"Hi." I give him another small peck before falling out of his grasp, slipping my shoes off onto the mat. "How are you?"

He smirks, his eyes sparkling. "Better, now that you're here."

I bite my lip to suppress a goofy smile, every part of me growing warm just from being around him. "Mm, smells good." He leads me into the kitchen, and I'm impressed with his tasteful, understated furniture, his state-of-the-art appliances. I smile teasingly, lifting a questioning brow. "Let me guess, pasta?"

He gives me a playful, withering look, sticking a wooden spoon into the pot and lifting a heaping portion of a rich red sauce, holding it up to me with the arch of an eyebrow.

I give him my most skeptical look, raising an eyebrow of my own. "You don't know this about me, but I kinda have a talent for the culinary arts..." I give the sauce, which looks fantastic, a suspicious sniff, mocking him with a glance full of disdain.

He laughs, bringing the spoon even closer so it just touches my lips. I look at him when I give it a small taste, and it is as good as it smells, full and tangy and just a little sweet. He gives me the most dazzling smile, knowing that I know it's good. The brilliance of his grin makes me spin just a little, and when he kisses me, I have to hold him to stay steady.

When he speaks, its soft against my mouth, his breath warm and minty and dizzying, his hands gripping me by the hips, holding me to him. "Visual arts, culinary arts... do you perform, too?"

He's teasing but I give him an honest smirk, preening just a little. "Drama minor," I preen, and he laughs before tugging my mouth to his, a hand weaving its way through my hair, soft and insistent. My lips on his match his tender, fervent pace, and a sigh of pure want escapes me.

My mind fills with a haze, enjoying the warmth of his touch, and when he pulls away, both of us have tingling lips, hooded eyes.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah, Rosalyn?"

I bite my lip, looking at him innocently through thick lashes. "Are you going to make me wait until we finish dinner before I can have dessert?"

The crooked little grin he gives me is so, so hot, and it makes my knees even weaker. With a small peck on the forehead, he lets go of me with an infuriating wink, busying himself with his pasta and leaving my question purposefully unanswered.

I lean against the counter and watch him toss the spaghetti into the sauce, pouring two platefuls and sprinkling them with pepper and parmesan, whisking them away to a neatly laid table.

I follow him and he gives me a mischievous smile, gently pulling out a chair for me to sit in. I laugh when I see the bottle of Pellegrino he has waiting for me, and it's such a small thing but it makes me so incredibly happy, knowing that he's attentive and considerate.

We don't speak, but his slight nod and tilt of the head and little smile all tell me to take a bite, and I somehow manage to twirl a graceful forkful, saucy and so yummy. I give him an approving smile, and his grin is relieved and cocky and knowing all at the same time.

"This is good," I tease, and he just rolls his bright blue eyes at me.

"Don't sound so surprised." He starts to slice a warm baguette, his gaze sparkling with mirth. "I'm good for more than just the incredible orgasms, you know."

I take a sip of water to cool the heat that rushes into my face, and I feel so light that it's easy to meet his eyes, which smoulder, glinting and dangerous. We hold each other's gaze for a long time, neither of us willing to call a truce.

Finally, he gives me a small wink, breaking the silent intensity between us. "Eat your dinner, Rosalyn." His voice is soft and low, rough and dark and teasing. "The sooner you finish the sooner I can get you out of that dress."

I laugh, and his wolfish smile is all the encouragement I need.

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