I’m having fun, and no one gets hurt by false promises of more than one night. And I’m sure as hell not ready to settle down. But now with Becca looking at me like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve, I find myself feeling a little uneasy.

She purses her lips, thinking. “Honestly? I kind of wish I could be like you.”

She wishes she could sleep around? That’s news to me. Not to mention, any guy in his right mind would be perfectly happy to introduce her to the business end of his dick.

I’m transported back to our chat last week when we met for coffee. Listening to Becca complain about her dating life, I thought it was nothing more than a little dry spell, but now I’m starting to think maybe there’s a lot more to it than that.

“Um, why?” I manage next.

“I wish I could have a more relaxed attitude like you have about sex. You just seem to enjoy yourself and have a good time and not overthink it, I guess. That’s all.”

I shift my weight, realizing how close we’re standing. “Yeah, that’s true. I enjoy it for what it is.”

Something doesn’t add up. Becca is a good girl. She’s not the kind of girl who does casual hookups—she’s the kind of girl you settle down with once you’ve sowed your wild oats and are ready for monogamy. She’s serious, and straight-forward, always has been.

She reaches up, patting my chest, whispering and giggling at the same time. “You know, there are rumors that you have a really big dick. I’ve been on message boards and seen girls talk about him—I mean it.”

I almost swallow my tongue. Drunk Becca is freaking hilarious and has absolutely no filter. What exactly does one say to that? “Thank you” feels inappropriate. And I’m certainly not going to disagree with her, so I opt to stay quiet.

“Okay, then.” I clap my hands together once. “Enough with the bedtime stories. It’s time for you to sleep off the booze.”

She drops onto my bed, sighing dramatically, and as she does, the T-shirt I gave her rides up her thighs, giving me a clear view of her panties beneath.

They’re light blue. Cotton. Basic. And still sexy as hell.

I swallow and take a deep breath. “Becca, close your legs.”

She sits cross-legged and looks up at me. “Hmm?”

“I can see your panties.” I make a point of looking down at her lap and swallow. “Please close your legs.”

She seems unconcerned about this, probably because she’s so comfortable with me. And it’s not like they’re even sexy panties, but my body doesn’t care.

Becca is gorgeous, poised, sweet, and smart. Just because we’ve always stayed firmly in the friend zone doesn’t mean I don’t notice how attractive she is. You’d have to be blind not to.

I should tuck her in and leave. I definitely shouldn’t be standing here ogling her like she’s on tonight’s menu. She’s a good friend to my younger sister, Elise, and she’s a good friend to me, one of the only females I’m close with to be honest. She works at the arena, and I cannot, will not fuck anything up by objectifying her.

“You’ll be comfortable in here, right?” I hear myself asking.

She nods and smiles. “Thank you, Owen. What would I do without you?”

I suck in a harsh breath between my teeth. “Becca. Your legs.”

“I mean, here I am all broken, and you’re being so sweet to me.”

“You’re not broken.” My voice has a hard edge to it, and I clear my throat, trying again in a softer tone. “Why would you say that?”

I know her history, and it’s awful. It makes my blood boil just thinking about it.

Becca survived a brutal attack her freshman year at college, and the upperclassman who tried to rape her only got a slap on the wrist. It was some bullshit technicality that the judge latched onto. The deed hadn’t been completed before the fuckface was pulled off of Becca by a bystander, who I wish I could thank. Still, the attack left a lasting impression on Becca. I didn’t know her then, but I do know she’s been through years of counseling to deal with it, and still carries the emotional scars. How could you not?

She grabs my pillow and hugs it to her chest. “It’s just, I want to move on, you know? I don’t want to be defined by my past. But every time I get close to someone . . .”

“What?” I ask, stepping closer to the bed.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a big pussy when it comes to hooking up.”

Realization of her choice of words hits her, and Becca starts laughing. “Pussy. Oh my God!” She clamps one hand over her mouth, still giggling.

I chuckle along with her. “You don’t have to hook up and sleep around if you don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with being choosy. Hell, I think it’s a damn good thing.”

She licks her lips, curling her legs under her in the center of my bed. “I know. It’s just, I feel like I’m finally at a place where I want more, and I have no idea how to go and get it.”

I’d already met her through Elise, but it was when Becca started working in the office at the arena that we became instant friends. I used to tease her about why she never dated, and then she finally told me the truth. She’s dated casually but has a hard time trusting people and opening up, and anytime a man attempts to take it to the next level, she completely freezes up. Which makes sense, obviously.