“I mean, seriously, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed?” Her eyes are wide and eager.

“I—don’t.”

“A long freaking time.”

“Any man alive would be happy to kiss you.” My voice comes out a little tight.

She nods. “It’s what comes after the kissing that makes me nervous.” Then she looks up and meets my eyes, her bright blue gaze inquisitive and demanding. “The only guy I’m comfortable with is you. I mean, if you wanted to take a break from all the hookups and help me get back in the saddle . . .”

She starts giggling again, and my heart fucking stops.

“Saddle. Get it?” She chuckles, raising her eyebrows dramatically while she pokes me in the ribs.

I hope like fuck I’m hearing things, because otherwise I’m pretty sure Becca just suggested we have sex, and there’s nothing about that scenario that makes any sense.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I ask, my voice sounding as tense as my body feels.

She taps her fingers to her chin, pondering this. “Two margaritas at the bar.” She counts those on her slender fingers. Her nails are painted pale pink. “And then I think a couple of tequila shots when we got back here.”

“Who let you have that much tequila?”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I’m not even that ’toxicated. Plus, this is the most genius plan I’ve ever had, really, Owen. It’s brilliant.”

Averting my eyes, I groan. “Please, for the love of God, close your legs.”

“Huh. Why?”

“Because I can see your panties.” For the fourth time.

“Oh, sorry.”

Does she seriously think I’m mad? I’m about to go certifiably insane.

Becca twists one long dark lock of hair around her finger as her gaze wanders over my body. “I hope you haven’t shaved your chest, because I love the hair on it.”

I’ve never heard words like this come out of her mouth in the four years we’ve been friends. My heart begins to hammer against my ribs.

“I mean, I know you’re probably a lot bigger than the toy I use, but we could at least try.”

Toy? My mouth has gone bone dry. Focus, Owen.

“Becca, I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Sweet fuck. I can’t with her right now.

“Because. You have issues with intimacy and trust and . . .” My mind goes completely blank. Where the fuck am I going with this?

She’s nodding. “Exactly. And you could help me get past those insecurities because I trust you completely, and we’re besties.”

I shake my head. “You should sleep it off.”

Several tense seconds tick by. Neither of us moves.

“Can I just at least look at it?” Her words come barreling out, her tone hinting at annoyance.

She’s annoyed with me? Oh, that’s rich. I’m trying to do the right thing, and she’s making my job ten times harder. Literally.

“Look at what?”

Her gaze drops to my crotch. “Your penis.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You want to look at my dick?”

“No. Well, yes. I mean, please, Owen. I need to prove to myself that there’s nothing scary about this, right?”

Something painful squeezes inside my chest. She needs help remembering that men aren’t scary, and she feels safe enough with me to not only talk about it, but also ask for my help.

Fuck. I rake my hands through my hair as my mind runs at a million miles an hour.

I would do anything for this girl. The moment I really got to know her, I became protective of her. Even though her request is crazy, there’s this achy feeling in the center of my chest for her.

“It’s just a plain ol’ wiener, right? Nothing to be scared of. But every time I even think about it . . .” She squeezes her eyes closed and gives her head a firm shake. “I freeze.”

“Becca.” I stop beside the bed and place one hand on her shoulder. Her eyes open and latch onto mine. “You can’t be serious here.”

“Just one quick peek before I go to sleep?” she asks again, those big blue eyes still peering hopefully up at mine.

Christ. Why won’t she just drop this? Doesn’t she know my self-control is hanging by a thread? I’m a guy . . . and a woman wants to see my junk, so, of course I’m actually contemplating it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Understatement of the century.

She scoffs. “The guys in the locker room have probably seen it eight thousand times. It’s not a big deal.” She pouts, pushing out her lower lip.

Apparently, because I’m a masochist who has no problem showing off his dick, I start to soften to the idea. “One quick look, and then I’m leaving and you’re going to sleep.”

She bounces up and down on her knees, practically giddy. “Yes. I promise.”

This is so fucking weird. Like a twisted version of show and tell.

“You’ve got ten seconds, Becca.”

She nods in agreement.

I’m wearing athletic shorts, so it’ll be simple to pull them down my hips. Yet there’s nothing simple about the way Becca’s gaze appraises me. Her brow is crinkled in concentration and her expression is serious. It’s like she’s studying for a damn calculus exam.