We stand there for another minute. It’s probably not that long; it just feels that way because neither one of us is talking—instead we’re staring at each other.

Any other time I’ve had a woman back to my place, it’s been for the sole purpose of fucking. Sometimes there’s food involved, but that’s usually afterward. Sex makes me hungry. This is the first time I’ve ever done this with the intention of having real conversation and dinner prior to getting Sunny into my bed. I wish there was a manual to consult.

“Can I show you around?” I gesture to the open concept living room-kitchen-dining room combo.

“Can I hug you first?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. For sure.” Physical contact I can do. I hold my arms out. She presses her entire body against mine. It feels really nice. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and drop my face into the crook of her neck. I wish I could turn her smell into an air freshener.

Sunny sighs and burrows in, her arms tightening around me. We stand like that until I start to get an obvious hard-on. I back off, expecting Sunny to do the same. Instead she lifts her head and licks her lips.

It’s the sign.

The one where she wants me to kiss her. It’s been almost a week since I’ve had my tongue in her mouth, so I’m all over accommodating her wishes.

I lower my head an inch, and Sunny lifts her chin. The first kiss is soft, lips touching lips. Sunny sucks my bottom lip. I open for her, letting her take the lead. All the nervousness melts away like cotton candy on my tongue. The emotions I couldn’t or didn’t want to name before we made up in Toronto are clear as exploration makes my hard-on ache.

She frames my face with her hands and breaks the kiss to get some air. “This week was long. I like you better in 3D than I do through a computer screen.”

“It’s way easier to make out, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

We go back in for round two of tongue wars. She has to be able to feel my hard-on by now. Girls are lucky. All their signs of horniness can be hidden. Guys have this big—if we’re lucky—stick that jabs people in the stomach to let them know what’s going down. Or up.

Sunny starts to run her hands over my biceps, but I catch her wrists. “Maybe don’t do that today.”

She glances at my arms. “Oh my God! What happened?”

“I uh . . . I had an allergic reaction to some cream.” It’s not a total lie.

“Geez. That’s terrible. What kind of cream was it?”

“I can’t remember the name. Anyway, it looks worse than it feels. It’ll be fine in a couple of days.” I hope it doesn’t scab. I have interviews, and if my arms are a mess, I’ll need to wear a long-sleeve shirt. I like golf shirts better; then I don’t have to mess around with a tie.

“Is it only on your arms?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to be extra careful with you then, won’t I?”

“Not too careful.”

Sunny’s expression turns devious as she runs her hands down my chest and slips them under my shirt.

Which is the moment a loud moan filters through the wall. The timing couldn’t be worse.

Sunny freezes. “What was that?”

“I think my neighbor’s dog’s in heat.”

The next moan is louder.

“That doesn’t sound like a dog.”

I’m positive it’s not her dog, but I’m hoping it’ll stop soon. “I’ll turn on some music.” I grab the remote from the back of the couch and flip on the TV, but I’m not fast enough.

This time words accompany the moan. “Oh God! That’s it. Right there!”

“Um—”

“My neighbor moved in while I was away at camp. I haven’t had a face-to-face meeting with her yet.” It does nothing to explain what’s going on over there. Until now, the only thing I ever heard was the occasional thump. Penthouses shouldn’t have sound issues.

The noises stop as quickly as they started. I don’t trust that this is the last time it’s going to happen, and I don’t want more interruptions of the moaning variety tonight, unless they’re coming from Sunny. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go talk to my neighbor.”

“But they’re having sex. Or something.” Sunny’s eyes drop to my crotch. I only have a slight semi—nothing obvious, thankfully.

“They can do it less loudly.”

Sunny peeks around the jamb while I walk barefoot down the hall. I knock and wait. It takes a minute before someone comes to the door. I recognize her face immediately. She’s definitely a porn star. I will never, ever tell Sunny I’ve seen her naked, even though it was only on a screen and for purely whacking-off purposes.

Fortunately, she’s not naked or even partially naked. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which is pulled tight across her extra-large chest. She looks like she has water balloons tucked under there. She’s also holding a stack of papers. Behind her in the living room are the three buff guys Violet mentioned. They’re all fully dressed, too. One of them is reclining on the couch, and another one is standing with a foot on it, pretending he’s holding something. The third guy stands behind the couch, giving stage directions to the other two. It’s whacked-out as far as neighbor intros go.

“Can I help you?”