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  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she says, panting and moaning as she starts to come down. She breathes out hard and each exhalation sounds like pure satisfaction.

  Then she laughs. A giggle at first. As it turns into a chuckle, I arch a brow. “Something funny?”

  She shakes her head and opens her eyes. They’re glossy with lust and brimming with satisfaction. “No, I’m laughing because it was so good.”

  I flash her a lopsided grin as pride surges through me. “Yeah?”

  She loops her arms around my neck and tugs me down, bringing my mouth to hers and kissing me. When she breaks the kiss, she says, “Yeah, Chase. It was the definition of mind-blowing.”

  I wiggle an eyebrow.

  And then her busy little hand darts between us, shooting down to my briefs. She cups my dick, and I’m not even sure I can ever speak again. Words fail me. There is nothing as good as Josie touching me when I’m on the edge already.

  She whistles, a low appreciative sound. “Nice package, Summers.”

  What can I say? I wasn’t shortchanged when dicks were handed out.

  Then she lets go, pushes on my chest, and knocks me to my back. In a second, I’m pinned. She straddles me, dropping down on my cock, rubbing against me. Her little shorts are damp, soaked all the way through. Grabbing my wrists, she pins them over my head—such a fierce little thing. Straddling me, she rocks back and forth, and holy shit, my roommate is a wild lover. She’s daring and unafraid, and she wants me. It floors me, the look in her eyes—all heat and fire, her green irises like blazing emeralds.

  She lowers her face near mine, her hair falling like a curtain, framing me in more of her wondrous scent. God, when did I become so addicted to the way someone smelled? I don’t have a clue, but it’s happened with her.

  “Chase,” she whispers, and for a second I tense, thinking she’s going to want to talk about what we’re doing. I don’t want to discuss or dissect it. But we’re on the same wavelength because she says, “Want to know what else gets me off?”

  My throat goes dry. “Yes. I do.”

  A little thrust of her hips. “Want to know what did it for me in the shower the other night?”

  I strain against her wrists. I want to touch her so badly, but I can tell she wants to steer this ship. “I’m dying to know,” I rasp out, my voice like a dry husk on a hot summer day.

  Then the vixen runs her tongue over her teeth, brings her mouth to my earlobe, and whispers, “The thought of sucking your cock.”

  I’m roasted. I’m fried. I’m well past broiled. I push against her hands, sit up, cup her cheeks, and stare into her eyes.

  “Do it,” I tell her.

  She nibbles on the corner of her lip and shoots me a wicked grin. She’s like a quick fox, darting down, her hands tugging at the waistband of my boxers. She yanks them off, my dick springing free.

  She kneels between my legs and takes my cock in her hand. She’s silent for a moment. When she speaks, her words are the best dirty poetry. “You’re fucking beautiful,” she says, staring at me as if she’s mesmerized. And she’s not looking at my face. She’s gazing at my dick, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s bestowing compliments on that part of my anatomy.

  She wraps her hand tighter and strokes up once, and it feels out-of-this-world good. I shudder. She bends lower and licks.

  “Holy fuck,” I mutter, my head falling back onto the pillow. It’s so ridiculously good.

  She swirls her tongue over the head, licking me as if I’m a piece of candy and making the sexiest murmurs.

  “Fuck, that’s good, baby.”

  She wraps her lips nice and tight and inches lower, taking more. The pleasure in me shoots into the atmosphere, sails above the stratosphere.

  I don’t want to go crazy and fuck her mouth hard, but God, I want to go crazy and fuck her mouth hard. I lace my hands in her hair and thrust up into her heavenly mouth, letting her lead, letting her take what she can.

  She takes it all, sucks me to the base, and then licks her way back up. She drives me insane.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, and when I stare down, she’s smiling, she’s fucking grinning, and her eyes meet mine. They’re full of both mischief and utter, sensual delight.

  My God. This woman. This amazing woman.

  She picks up the pace, and her mouth is a blur. My vision is, too, and my whole body sizzles. It crackles. It pops. It’s ready to snap. I’m losing control, and an orgasm gathers force in my body as her mouth races over my dick. When she wraps her hand around my shaft, squeezing the base, I fire.

  Unspeakable pleasure barrels through me from a climax so powerful it rocks me to my bones.

  I grunt and grip her head, my hands curling tighter as I come in her mouth, and my whole world turns electric with ecstasy.

  At some point the orgasm recedes, but I’m still floating because that was the kind of orgasm you could measure on the Richter scale. It’s the kind that makes the news. That causes epic aftershocks. I tremble as another wave ripples through me.

  With a loud, wet pop, she lets go of my dick, wipes her hand over her mouth, and crawls up my body. “You tasted better than you did in the shower.”

  I kiss her, and she seems surprised at first, like who would kiss a girl who just went down on him? This guy. She kisses me back harder, and when we separate, I say, “I want to do that to you.”

  “I want that, too.”

  I cup her cheek. “I want to sleep with you, Josie. I want to be inside you. God, I want you so much there aren’t enough Swedish Fish to explain it.”

  “I want you, too,” she says, then dusts a light kiss on my lips. “But I’m not ready tonight.”

  And I don’t know what that means, except the obvious—this isn’t a one-time thing.

  19

  She’s up and gone before I even wake up.

  It’s probably for the best.

  Not that I don’t want to see her.

  More like all I want is to see her, but I don’t know what we’re supposed to say or do, or how we’re supposed to act after last night.

  Do I just bump into her on the way into the bathroom to brush my teeth and say “hey,” all nonchalant? Or do we wake up and pepper each other’s cheeks with morning smooches?

  I drag my ass out of bed, grateful I don’t have to make those decisions this morning. After I shower, dress, and grab my phone, I head for the door.

  I stop.

  And stare.

  And grin.

  On the doorknob hangs a black lace thong, like she promised she’d leave if she expected to be getting it on. But that was when we’d first laid out our roommate rules. When we didn’t expect to be getting it on with each other. Truth be told, though, I can recall a dose of jealousy coursing through me during that conversation at the mere prospect of her with someone else.

  Hell, maybe this thing between us started before I was even aware of it.

  I grab the scrap of lacy fabric, twirl it on my finger, and then bring it to my nose. It smells fresh and clean, like her laundry detergent. I toy with the idea of stuffing it into my pocket, but I’m not a panty-stuffer—or even a habitual panty-sniffer, for that matter.

  Instead, I leave it on the coffee table, and I look for a sheet of paper to write her a note when I spot something else from her.

  A small, see-through plastic bag from her bakery with a sunshine yellow ribbon wrapped around it. Inside are red candies. A little bakery card dangles from the ribbon. I flick it open and read.

  * * *

  Are things supposed to be awkward now between us? Or weird? Or tense? I hope not. But just in case . . . here’s some Swedish Fish, and the hope for more.

  * * *

  My heart thumps harder than it should from a gift of candy. But it’s not just candy. It’s the perfect morning-after acknowledgement. It’s everything I wanted to say last night, but couldn’t. It’s her knowing how to fucking handle this.

  And it’s one more thing that makes
me want her in every way.

  I ride my bike to the hospital, whipping through the early-morning traffic like nothing can get me down. And nothing can. Because something is happening. Something wild, and crazy, and undoubtedly incredibly foolish.

  But right now, it feels so fucking good, like sailing, like flying, like soaring.

  Chase: Can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.

  * * *

  Josie: Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.

  * * *

  Chase: Love the panties.

  * * *

  Josie: Thought you might.

  * * *

  Chase: Love the fish. I ate them all when I walked into work. Totally got jacked up on a sugar high before I had to put stitches in a chin. Some dude fell off his skateboard.

  * * *

  Josie: Ouch. But maybe you’ve uncovered some new natural high for a physician!

  * * *

  Chase: Ha, maybe I have. Also, most of all, love the note. A lot. I’m curious, though. Did you just happen to have candy on hand?

  * * *

  Josie: Perhaps I did. Perhaps I had them on hand just for this occasion.

  * * *

  Chase: More later. Forceps calling my name. But that is awesome.

  * * *

  Josie: Good luck, Doctor McHottie. When you’re done with whatever emergency has your name on it, here’s this treat for you.

  * * *

  A picture fills my screen, and I stop in the hospital corridor, grab the wall, and try to snap my tongue back up from the floor. Because I am panting that hard as I gawk at the image of the tops of her breasts. She took a goddamn fucking selfie of her tits, and I’m royally turned on.

  But here at work, I have to keep the drawers neat, so I turn off my phone. I’m all business for the two hours until break time.

  Chase: Had to remove a marble from a nose, and it took all my brainpower not to think of the sad fact that I didn’t get to see your breasts in the flesh last night. Your picture didn’t help. Wait. Scratch that. Send more. SHOW THEM ALL TO ME.

  * * *

  Chase: I should let you know I’m a dirty bastard, and you have the world’s most glorious breasts I’ve ever seen, only I haven’t seen them yet. Therefore, I’m sad.

  * * *

  Josie: Don’t be sad. I have a solution to make you happy.

  * * *

  Chase: More pictures???

  * * *

  Josie: Better. I’ll flash you when you get home.

  * * *

  Chase: Did you just hear the groan of excitement I made all the way from Mercy?

  * * *

  Josie: It’s still reverberating here in the Upper West Side.

  * * *

  Chase: Also, please do more than flash me.

  * * *

  Chase: Gotta go. Break’s over. See ya.

  * * *

  Josie: Good luck. Let me know if you want me to bring you home anything.

  * * *

  Chase: You.

  20

  Max lowers the hood on an electric-blue beauty, gently closing it. His eyes are focused on the metal meeting metal the entire time, until it’s whisper-quiet on the lot. Then he turns, wipes his hands on a red-checked rag, and nods hello.

  “What will that sapphire baby set me back?” I tip my chin toward the sleek vehicle that shines so bright it’s reflecting the skyscrapers nearby where Max’s custom car shop is located in Midtown West.

  He laughs at me and shakes his head. “More than you ever can afford,” he says, then tucks the rag into the back pocket of his jeans, streaked with grease.

  He’s shirtless, the fucking show-off. “Dude, put a shirt on.”

  “You can’t handle this much manliness, can you?”

  He puffs out his chest, the intricate Celtic tats on his pec and the tribal bands on his arms on full display.

  I roll my eyes. “Let’s just say I see more bodies naked in a day than you can even imagine, and though most aren’t vying for Centerfold of the Month, yours still ranks as the one I least want to see bare.”

  In a flurry, Max wraps an arm around me and puts me in a headlock.

  Fuck, I forgot how strong he is. His muscle-bound bicep ropes tighter around me, and he digs his knuckles into my head, reminding me how he’s the master at noogies.

  “Say you love me best,” Max commands, his voice deep. “My bare chest especially.”

  I wince as his grip tightens. I refuse to give in. “Never,” I grunt.

  “You sure?” His knuckles might, just might, be penetrating my skull now. He’s sweaty, too. Crap. I have to give in.

  Nope. I can’t give in.

  “I love you but not your chest,” I say between stilted breaths.

  The punishment deepens. He squeezes harder. Airflow becomes a debatable item in my life. I have no choice. “And your stupid chest,” I mutter.

  “My chest isn’t stupid.”

  His hold on me turns pincer-grip style, but his skin is sweaty from work, and with one quick twist I break free, then dart out from his grip. Thrusting both hands in the air, I strut across the asphalt. “And speed beats brawn,” I tease.

  Max just shakes his head at me as he strides inside the garage and grabs a black T-shirt from his messy desk, strewn with papers and tools.

  He tugs the shirt on and wipes his brow. He returns to the small lot. “And the answer is—this baby is a cool five hundred K,” he says, running his hand lovingly along the exterior of the car.

  I whistle. “Damn. What have you Frankensteined together here?”

  “It’s a souped-up Lambo, and get this—” His dark brown eyes gleam with excitement. “Got a call earlier today about custom outfitting a car for RBC network for a new show where the hero is like a modern-day Magnum, P.I.”

  “Fuck yeah,” I say, clasping his hand in a congratulatory shake. “That’s awesome.”

  “It’ll be a blast and it should do wonders for business,” he says and mimes an explosion with his hands. Max’s business is already killing it, and he’s got several celebrity clients as well as plenty of under-the-radar high-rollers. “But this kind of deal could be huge for publicity.”

  “You are a rock star,” I say, no joking, no teasing this time. “You ready to ride?”

  “Always,” he says, since we’re scheduled for a training ride before I head home. Josie has her soccer league tonight, so I’m not sure when I’ll see her.

  He heads inside to grab his road bike, and while he’s gone my phone beeps.

  I grab it from my back pocket.

  * * *

  Josie: Game over. We crushed the competition.

  * * *

  Chase: Because you’re fucking fierce on the field.

  * * *

  Josie: That might be true. :) Okay, catching the subway. Heading home. How was your day?

  * * *

  Before I tap out a reply, I answer the question in my head. My day was fucking amazing. My day was fantastic. My day was the best ever. Because of last night.

  But more so, because of where I want to be right now.

  Where she is.

  I drop the mic.

  That’s it.

  Everything’s clear.

  I know. I just fucking know.

  She’s the one I want to spend the rest of this day with. She’s the one I want to talk to about my good days and my bad days. She’s more than my roommate. She’s more than one of my best friends. She’s the one I want every day. I have no clue what happens after tonight, but I need tonight with her to start right the fuck now.

  When Max rolls out on his bike, I point my thumb across town. “I gotta bail.”

  “What?” he asks, like this doesn’t compute.

  “You were right.”

  “I always am. But about what this time?”

  “Just say I told you so. Just go ahead and say it.”

  “I told you so?” he tosses out quizzically.

  “You did. And I have to go see Josie. Wait. No.
Correction. I want to go see Josie.”

  Max snickers and shoots me the biggest I-told-you-so grin in the history of facial expressions.

  I shrug. What can you do? Then I go to the only place I want to be.

  The diagnosis I was trying to piece together last night? All the symptoms point to one malady.

  I’ve got it bad for this girl. I’ve got a textbook condition of a classic illness. I’m suffering from a motherfucking case of falling in love.

  And I’m not ready to take a pill to cure it.

  21

  It’s a scene ripped straight from a fantasy I never knew I had. But it’s so incredibly enticing that the vision in front of me has shot straight up the ranks.

  We’re talking the Pantheon of dirty images, and it’s not even filthy.

  Yet.

  Josie’s in the kitchen, wearing an apron and heels. Her hair is twisted in a bun with a chopstick stabbed through it. A home-cooked meal sits cooling on the rack on the stovetop. I’ve never had naughty housewife fantasies, but I think I might now.

  The apartment smells like my favorite food ever, the one I missed most in Africa—pizza pie with cheese and mushrooms.

  An ’80s tune, “Tempted” by Squeeze, is playing. If I stop to think about it, the lyrics are wildly wrong. It’s technically a song about straying. But I’m convinced this song became famous because all you hear in this tune is the longing, the want, the hunger for another person. That’s the thing about song lyrics. You take the parts that speak to you.