Yeah . . . crazy. That line of thinking right there is completely fucking crazy.

They’re treats. Damn good ones. And he’s just a man who enjoys his dessert.

Period.

As I’m sliding up the zipper on my black pencil skirt, my bedroom door bursts open.

Joey walks in like he owns the place, which, if we’re being technical, he doesn’t. The condo belongs to Billy. But this is Joey, and I’ve learned since moving in here that the concept of knocking before a grand entrance is not something he is privy to.

I’m fully dressed, but it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t care less if he sees me naked. But at night, when I’m more than likely to engage in a little me time, my door remains locked.

His gaze sweeps over my attire, slow moving and encouraging. He plops down on the bed. “You look hot to trot. What shoes are you wearing with that?”

“Those.” I point to the Steve Madden’s on the floor by the closet.

Okay, okay, so I seriously need to return them to Dylan. And I will.

Next week.

“Earrings?”

I hold up the silver hoops I’ve set out for tonight.

“Lip gloss or lipstick?”

I pull the tube of MAC’s Vegas Volt out of my makeup bag and wiggle it in the air. Joey nods approvingly.

“What’s this?” he asks, plucking the small gift bag off my night table.

Shit.

I move like lightning, snatching it from him before he has a chance to peer inside.

He stares at me, startled. “Jesus. What the hell?”

Clutching the bag against my chest, I hurriedly explain, “It’s nothing. It’s a joke between me and Mason. You wouldn’t get it. Stop snooping around my room and asking me a thousand questions. God.”

I toss the bag on top of the dresser.

My breaths come hurried, air moving in and out of my lungs with desperation. I probably look psychotic.

Maybe he won’t notice? He’s not that perceptive, is he?

“Mm.” Joey lays out on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head and crossing his bare feet at the ankles.

He looks positively delighted.

He noticed.

“Interesting. So you and Mason have inside jokes already? After only knowing each other for five days and one earth-shattering orgasm? Seems a bit fast, don’t you think?”

I roll my eyes, sliding one earring through my ear and moving on to the next.

Earth-shattering? I never said it was earth-shattering.

It was so fucking earth-shattering.

I could ride that man’s long, thick fingers every day and twice on Sundays.

“Do you want to keep him, Brooke?”

My head whips right. Keep him? Is that what he just said?

“Are you high right now? Do we have weed in this condo I’m not aware of?” I step closer, my voice lowering as my eyes shift around the room. “No, seriously, do we? I could really use some.”

A few hits would surely mellow me out a little.

Of course, if I knew what to expect tonight, I wouldn’t be so wound up and wired. Sex doesn’t make me nervous. I own that shit. I can work it in my sleep if I have to. But dinner and the unknown with a man who would rather talk than fuck?

What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to prepare for that?

Joey laughs under his breath. “When was your last actual boyfriend, Brooke? College?”

“High school,” I answer, picking at my thumb nail. “I played the field in college. Literally. I think I was one defender short of bedding the entire lacrosse team.”

Joey punches his fist into the air. “Go Blue Demons.”

“Why?” I stick my hand on my hip. Joey trains his eyes on the ceiling, obviously avoiding.

“Mason isn’t my boyfriend, Joey. I’m not in a relationship with this guy.”

He wiggles his body, settling between two pillows. “Then what are you doing spending time with him?”

“Hello!” I slap my thigh.

What, has he suddenly been living under a rock? He knows exactly why.

“I’m trying to have sex with him! In order to do that, I have to talk to the guy a little. Share some personal shit. Build a friendship. Then, and my God, will this be so worth it, I get to feast on that glorious appendage I’m actually concerned might not fit inside me.”

“Shut up,” Joey spits, grimacing. “How many dicks have you had? There’s no way you aren’t well prepared for a third leg.”

“Joey.”

I hold my hands out, measuring a very, very impressive distance between the two.

My mind becomes flooded with flashbacks, images of Mason working that gorgeous piece of flesh behind a curtain of water and steam.

He was so raw in that moment. Stripped down to the point of depravity as he sought his release. As he pursued it with urgency. Beautiful. God, he was beautiful standing there, the muscles of his back and shoulder working simultaneously. His head bowed as he slowly unraveled. The sound of skin moving over skin.

I wanted to watch him come.

I wanted to feel him come.

I still do. Now, maybe even more. I’m like a child who has been told they can’t have any candy.

Fuck that. I want that candy.

In my mouth.

Joey slowly sits up, mouth falling open, drool pooling on his tongue. He looks from my hands to my face, back to my hands again.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I would never.”

“He’s that big? How is he walking?”

My phone beeps on the dresser. I shrug, turning around and padding across the room.

“How the hell do I know how you boys manage to tuck and move?” I ask, swiping the phone and staring at the unknown number glowing on my screen.

“Shit. You might want to pop some Ibuprofen before you go down that road, or sit on an icepack. Numb it up a little. I’ve heard about cases where you ladies rip something. That can’t be pretty.”

I chuckle at Joey, storing away his advice because I may seriously need to consider some sort of preparation when that time comes. I’ve been with my fair-share of well-equipped men. I’ve had a few surprise me when that zipper comes down. But Mason . . .

He might take the cake on this one.

Oo, cake. I’ll definitely be ordering dessert tonight.

I move my thumb over the screen, bringing up the text message.

Unknown: Hello, gorgeous. Do you want me to come up?

I slowly lift my eyes to Joey.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, giving me a look that tells me exactly who gave Mason my phone number.

Why am I surprised?

He stands, stretching his arms above him. “He was adorable asking for it,” he mumbles before exiting the room.

Adorable. I’m sure. Lots of ‘yeahs’. Numbahh. Even I would’ve given it to him once he started talking.

I program Mason’s number into my phone and quickly type my response.

Me: Stalker. Do you know my blood type yet?

Mason: Working on it. Give me a few more days.

I chuckle softly.

Mason: What’s your condo number? I’ll come up. I feel like a tosser waiting for you out here.

Me: I bet you look sexy. A sexy tosser is better than a regular one, right?

Mason: Either way I’m an arsehole.

Me: Why?

Mason: This is a date. I should come to your door. Walk you out.